Red Lipstick- Part 2

I haven't worn red lipstick for a while- mostly out of laziness: that stuff gets everywhere. Alas, the last time I wore it resulted in the first Red Lipstick story. Maybe it's just sheer dumb luck I experienced the same sort of crap again seven months later.

I went out with a couple of friends tonight to see a film (Mad Max is the most intense, awesome two hours of film ever). Because we were also going to a nice bar beforehand, I decided to put my favourite red lippy on. I was just wearing the sort of dress I'd wear to work. Nothing revealing, nothing fancy.

But it seems like these are a distraction for some:

Even when they're attached to a face with an expression like this:

I caught a late train home and managed to grab a seat, immediately getting my phone out to play Go (an ancient Chinese board game I've recently become mildly obsessed with). No sooner had I taken my phone out and started a game than the man sitting next to me- about thirty years my senior- leaned into my personal bubble of space.

"Got to make sure you reply to those texts, right?" He drawled.

"Yep," I said shortly, not liking his snarky tone and not bothering to correct him about what I was doing.

"I can reply to some of them if you want?"

"No, thank you," I said, again keeping it short but (foolishly) polite.

"Come on, let me help you reply to your texts."

"Nope," I said, more than a little more curtly.

"Aww come on, don't be like that." He leaned over a little more.

This time I completely ignored him, calmly placing a stone on my virtual Go board instead.

The man then turned to his mate, sitting on his other side, and snorted loudly, "People on trains these days. They have no class... no matter how they look."

I'm not joking: that's what he said.

I flat-out ignored him, even though I really, really wanted to verbally tear him to pieces. Of course, it was just bait to get me to respond.

Throughout the journey this man kept on and on at me, while I held my ground. The last straw was when he turned to his friend and asked what stop he needed to get off at: it was my stop. Right at the end of the line.

'Sod this,' I thought, and got off the train at the next stop, catching the next one home.

Why am I so sure it was the red lipstick? Because once again, as I mentioned in Part 1: my hair, my clothes and the rest of my makeup was as it usually is. The only thing different about my style was the colour of my lips- and I never, ever get this sort of problem when I'm not wearing it.

Why is red lipstick a green light to be pushy for some people? It's just a sodding colour, after all. I'm going to go ahead and say it: it's because for some people (and it's just a few select arseholes, both male and female), see red lipstick as a great big sandwich board with 'I'm easy' written on it.

Am I going to stop wearing red lipstick when I feel like it, because of this?

Heck, no.

Forever Alone

It was the kind of occasion where somewhere, deep down, you know heard other person correctly: but it was just so damned weird that you didn't believe your own ears.

"Sorry, what?" I asked the barista.

"I said, 'do you dance like black women?'" he said, quirking a suggestive eyebrow at me.

My problem is that I'm immune to flirting, which has two main downsides. If a nice guy flirts with me, I only see it as "banter" and banter right back, but not in the right way- causing the nice guy to "take the hint" (that wasn't even there because I was so clueless) and give up, and me to kick myself about five hours later when I realise I was being flirted with. That's the first downside. The second downside is that a not-so-nice guy will take it too far, and I won't realise what's happening until it gets to that point- resulting in time being wasted and me being marginally ticked off.

I walked into the coffee shop this morning and asked for a flat white.

"Alright," he said. "But I gotta warn ya... it's either going to be in this cup, or this one." He indicated to a large cup and an espresso shot cup.

"Uh, aren't flat whites just regular? I'm pretty sure you don't shoot one, either" I grinned, assuming he was just trying to be funny.

"Just kidding, large it is. Wait, what did you order? Oh, a flat white. That'd be regular then."

I smiled and handed the change over, while the barista got to work.

"You look kind of stressed, you having a bad day?"

I blinked. (Here we go, I thought, we have a conversation artist... alright, just be polite, Tash). "No..? I'm quite happy, actually."

"It's just that you look sort of tired."

(Wait a minute, I thought, is he trying to 'neg'* me??)

"Then I've come to the right place," I laughed, brushing it off.

"So, do you work around here?"

"Oh... no. Just passing through the area."

"Don't you have work today?" He asked.

"No, no work for me on Sundays. I'm just on my way to dance class."

"Oh, what kind of dance do you do?"

"K-Pop. Korean pop, that is."

 And then he said it.

"So do you dance like black women, then?"

Honestly my brain just switched off when I asked him to repeat what he'd just said. It was clear he didn't have a clue what K-pop was (which is fair enough), but that statement literally just came out of the blue. It was a particularly random statement to make– especially since I'm as pale as milk. The worst thing about it was the appraising up-and-down look he was giving me. I pretended not to notice.

"I'm not sure what you mean. Um, it's more street-style?" I added, helpfully.

"Right, right," he said. He then proceeded to hand me my coffee, holding it out of my reach for a few seconds while asking me to try the coffee there and then on the spot. He tried to make me promise that if he'd made a bad coffee he'd make me another one for free.

I made a wild grab at the hovering coffee cup. "I'm sure it'll be fine, thank you!" I more or less ran off.

The coffee was terrible: I threw it away. I didn't go back.




*Negging: the practice of giving someone a very mild insult while acting friendly, sometimes in the hope that they'll subconsciously want your approval.

The Christmas Cake Conundrum

In Japan, there's a rather cruel term for single girls over the age of 25: Christmas cakes.

Why?

Because nobody wants Christmas cake after the 25th of December. But wait, it gets even better: beyond the 25th, those leftover Christmas cakes are left on the shelf, slowly rotting and becoming more undesirable by the minute.

Yeesh...

I quietly turned 27 in October 2014. I say quietly: there was a lot of cake and lots of friends and foam bananas (I can't believe I didn't write about that: long story short, my amazing colleagues bought me a kilo of giant foam banana sweets). I didn't really acknowledge my birthday on this blog though, even though I did document the birthday cake I made on Tashcakes! When I turned 25 I had a mild panic about my existence on this planet and basically had a short existential crisis, and at 26 I legally became a Lady of the Highlands (sort of). 27? A mild bit of panic again, although not as much as when I turned 25- only because it feels like I truly am on the wrong side of 25, now. No going back, of course. Only forwards, forwards, forwards.

I certainly don't feel 27 though, and apparently I don't like it either. I constantly get mistaken for a university student. Or, in the case of two weeks ago at the supermarket, even younger.

I help my mum do the food shop on most Saturday mornings, so the regular checkout ladies and gents will often recognise me with her and say hi. Two weekends ago, however, we were served by a kindly lady we'd never met before. All three of us were chatting about the Christmas and New Year period, when the checkout lady suddenly turned to me and said:

"And what about you, when do you go back to school?"

I blinked, not sure if she was joking.

"Or, er- college, is it?" She ventured. I laughed.

"Actually, I work now- but thank you for thinking I'm young enough to pass as a student!"

This made me feel at least a little better about myself (and also confirmed that people's reactions are of genuine surprise when they find out my age). My slightly inflated ego certainly had a pin put to it this evening though: I visited my regular bubble tea shop after dance class, and chatted a bit to the (cute) guy behind the counter. He handed me my bubble tea- I said thanks and have a nice evening- and then it happened.

"You too, ma'am."

... Ma'am?

Of course it didn't mean anything- what else should he have called me? (Except for nothing at all, grrr...) Alas, my overactive brain was thinking about it all the way down the road to the station. I thought, 'I know I look a bit tired from a long day of work and a bit worn out from dancing for two hours, but I don't look that bad, do I? Oh no, do I actually look older this evening? Have I finally passed my "sell by" date??' I drowned my sorrows in sweet tea and tapioca.

Most of my friends are married or about to be married, and some even have children now. All met their Significant Others at university or just after. The closest I've come to romance after university was being stalked by someone who I thought was a friend and grabbed at by a rickshaw driver. As for online dating, forget it, I'm nowhere near ready for that level of crazy: I have my few single friends to keep me entertained with their horrifying stories for the time being. To be honest though, when I ask myself if I actually need to be in a relationship and it if would improve my life, I have to answer: nah, not really. It's just a bit disorientating when old friends reach new milestones in life and you're, well, not. Then again, one person's progress is another person's stumbling block.

It's not really fair to put a "sell by" date on people, in any case. We are people, after all, not cake. Then again, think about Christmas cakes a little harder: they're steadily fed with alcohol to mature over years, so they just get better and better over time. Perhaps we should be taking this second metaphor a little more seriously than the initial one.

(Possibly including the part about the alcohol.)

Red Lipstick

"Hey, you're beautiful! Gorgeous!"

I didn't realise the rickshaw driver was hollering at me until he cycled past, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair: I had become the unwitting victim of a cycle-by petting. What surprised me more than the unsolicited contact, however, was my instant, knee-jerk reaction as I recoiled away from his touch.

"Eww..!" I said, laughing and scrunching my nose up like I was in primary school and the rickshaw driver was a little boy with cooties. I didn't notice his reaction as I was too busy laughing at the ridiculousness of the driver's grabbiness and the childishness of my reaction.

I hadn't noticed that the driver had been catcalling me because I wasn't expecting it. I usually dress smartly enough when out and about, but I happened to be going to a 1940's style event with a few friends- so my long hair, usually tied back in a braid, was curled in Hollywood-style waves, and I wore a striking red lipstick. The rest of me was pretty much the same- a smart black dress I often wear to work and ankle boots with sensible-ish heels. I don't tend to get catcalled or chatted up, and I didn't think that a bit of red lippy would be enough to turn me from Everyday Tash to someone to be grabbed at like a can of beans at the supermarket.

What makes guys think they can act like that, though? What happened to just saying hello, or chatting? I'm lucky that I haven't had to experience this too often, but I have other friends that get this kind of treatment all the time. And even I have, although not too often- the last time anyone showed any interest in me in that way ended in almost two years of persistent harassment and borderline stalking which has only just recently stopped (I hope). I think if it weren't for my male friends and family I'd have long ago lost faith in men. Thankfully all I have to do is think of them and I realise that there are just quite a few weirdos, creeps and socially awkward people out there- but of course, not everyone is. Saying that all guys are creeps is like saying all women are crazy. This is wrong, of course: everyone is crazy. I suppose life is all about finding the people that are your special brand of crazy to get along with.

All the same, guys- if you're ever riding a rickshaw and pass a pretty girl you don't know, reaching out to stroke their hair as you cycle by is very unlikely to get a positive response.

Surrounded by Weirdos

On the train. Where else?

Reading quietly in my carriage, on my way back home from my Wednesday evening Mandarin class, I distantly noticed that a man had gotten up from his seat opposite me to sit next to me. I didn't really question why he had decided to switch seats mid-journey, engrossed in my book as I was. What I did question though was the increasing cramped conditions due to his arm sneaking further and further from the arm rest (which he had taken firm command of), and over into my space. I kept shifting sideways, hoping he'd just stop, but he kept shifting even more so our bare arms were touching (being a hot summer's day, everyone was wearing short sleeves).

I considered asking him to budge up- I'm not usually one for demurring- but since incidences of violence from such 'challenges' as that have been on the up and this guy looked like the type to look for a challenge, I decided just to hold firm. It's not fair to judge on appearances, I know, but I wasn't feeling lucky.

As I became increasingly irritated at someone else's (very hairy) arm trying to get to know mine better and venturing into my ribs, the train stopped to let on another flow of people. In the now empty spot opposite me now sat a wiry, twitchy guy with very curly hair, who promptly got out an entire pre-packed pasta salad and a bottle of Mountain Dew and proceeded to have his dinner on the train.

I didn't really mind too much: perhaps it had been a long day at work and this was his only chance to grab a bite. What did start to become a bother though was when he started belching loudly and wiping his mouth ostentatiously. Bother became slight worry when he put his now-empty salad pack back in his rucksack, chucked the bottle behind his seat and began to sway a little. Was he feeling unwell?

I considered asking if he was alright, but suddenly he began to twitch and shake ever so slightly, like he was trying to shake off invisible flies. I decided to stay put. I became very glad for my decision not to interfere, because soon every so often he'd bend over, head between knees, shake his head and mumble something, before emerging with wild eyes.

Two stops later and the hairy-armed guy, to my vast relief, got off. I wasn't completely at ease though: twitchy guy was still opposite me. At least there was only one strange person to worry about, though.

That is, until a lady on her mobile phone took the place of hairy-armed guy by my side.

I didn't really pay attention to her at first. Slowly, however, I began to pick up patterns in whatever she was saying over the phone. I couldn't understand the language, but whatever she was saying sounded a little like "I'll make you soup." Slowly, I realised that she was saying this over and over again. "I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup."

And then I realised we were still underground, with no possible phone signal.

"I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup."

Twitchy guy strode jerkily off the train a few stops after, but I was alone with the lady on her phone next to me for the remainder of the journey.

I had 15 minutes of "I'll make you soup." before my final stop at the end of the line. As the train pulled into my station, I got up, and so did the lady on her phone.

"I'll make you soup. Okay, bye."

I stared after her in disbelief as she strode off.

~End~

The Tsundere Drawback

'Tsundere (ツンデレ^?, pronounced [tsɯndeɽe]) is a Japanese character development process that describes a person who is initially cold and even hostile towards another person before gradually showing his or her warm side over time. The word is derived from the terms tsun tsun (ツンツン^?), meaning to turn away in disgust, and dere dere (デレデレ^?) meaning to become 'lovey dovey'.' - Wikipedia

Not necessarily in a romantic way, and not necessarily gradually warming up over time- it can come out in dribs and drabs, almost like a very mild and very annoying but possibly endearing personality disorder that only manifests itself around specific people, or a specific person.

You probably know a tsundere character, even if you don't watch anime. Helga from the cartoon Hey Arnold!, who acts downright abusive and cantankerous towards her secret crush; Sherlock Homes from the TV series Sherlock who needles his long-suffering friend John with smug superior sarcasm; even Grumpy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, who's generally bad tempered about everything but has plenty of 'aww, so you do care!' moments.

My name is Tash, and I'm tsundere.

So is it as cute and funny in real life as it is in popular culture?

No.

Real life doesn't happen like that. Being tsundere is in fact very, very inconvenient, and in more than one way.

There's the first, obvious way: people (okay, guys in particular) that I take a liking to make my brain go weird. I go from being easy to talk to, fun, friendly and intelligent to not being able to make eye contact, aloof, even prickly. At best I'll be giving the silent treatment- not because I'm bored of someone, but because my brain inexplicably draws a complete blank- and at worst I'll come off as polite but frosty. Again, not because I want to be, but because my whole system goes into default defence mode.

It takes a long time for me to properly warm up to guys, even just as friends. I'm naturally guarded. Hell, it took me a whole year to fall for my now-ex (who was a close friend for a long time before we started a relationship, and who subsequently got bored of me after three years of  being in a relationship). But once I eventually warm up, I'm the most loyal and caring person ever. See? Tsundere. Of course, however, this doesn't go down very well as a first impression.

Which leads me to the second downside. Making an effort to be warm from the outset in social situations that make me uncomfortable actually makes me come across as unnatural or just plain weird. Here was my internal monologue today (I was in a queue in one of my favourite geeky shops, and there was a guy with a pretty awesome Nintendo bag in the queue next to me):

'Wow, that's a cool bag. Maybe I should compliment him on it? Uh-oh, he spotted me looking, abort, abort! No, I should make eye contact. Don't forget to smile! Yay, he smiled back! You should look away now. I said look away! TOO MUCH EYE CONTACT!! Great, now he looks weirded out and is looking in the other direction. Way to go, dumbass.'

So training myself to be warm to everyone equally isn't going so well. Which brings me to the third and final downside.

Being friendly to guys and male friends who I'm not romantically interested in and them getting the wrong idea.

Before you cry 'bitch!' let me explain: I don't flirt, I don't tease, I just smile, listen, chat- you know, all of the normal friendly things- because I don't feel like I'm in an awkward situation. Unfortunately, it seems like merely being kind is a sort of green light to guys. I can count four guys in the past singular year who have taken my natural non-tsundere nature as a 'green light'- three of which I only met once! One is a little more unfortunate because he has been a friend for a few years and it's horrible to have to hurt his feelings, but what all four have (or had) in common is that fact that they don't seem to take 'no' for an answer.

'I don't see you in that way' seems to morph in their minds into 'I don't see you in that way yet.'

'I'm not interested in a relationship' becomes 'I'm not interested unless you change yourself.'

'You're like my brother' becomes 'If you show me a different side of you maybe I'll feel differently.'

No, no and no. And yes, as ball-crushingly soulless as it might seem, I have tried the 'brother' line in sheer desperation.

Tell them to their faces in cold, callous terms (or in some cases again)? Well the problem is, none of them have actually told me in plain terms to my face what their agenda is, and have therefore not given me the opportunity of doing so without making a fool of myself and them denying everything (despite two mutual friends clue-ing me up on two separate situations, which reassures me that it's not all in my head). Instead they (well, three out of four now that one seems to have finally given up) text endlessly, or message endlessly on social media.

Of course this can only end with hurt feelings. I've been on the other end myself, so I truly empathise (although I was much better at the whole giving up thing...) My empathy and sympathy won't help me or these guys- who really don't deserve this- though.

What do you mean, 'stop being so picky?' Isn't it even worse to humour someone when your heart's just not in it? Life isn't about taking anything and everything you can get at the expense of others- at least, it isn't to me.

So what should I do? Set my tsundere side as a default and freeze out everyone without discrimination at first? Stop being nice to my male friends and become a total biatch towards them (except for the friends who are already spoken for- funnily enough and thankfully I don't have this problem with them)? Try to be equally warm and friendly to everyone?

Probably the latter, I suppose. Easier said then done though: you saw the awkward-salad that was my non-encounter in the shop today.

I'll try to be more open with everyone, then. But only because I want to!! Got it? [/tsundere]

Public Transport: Stuck in the Air

Next weekend I'm going to Berlin to visit my friend Vicky, and it'll be the first time ever I've travelled by plane all by myself.

I'm not scared at all- I'm rather excited actually. However there is just one small matter that concerns me, and it's the same with any form of public transport:

What the random stranger sitting next to me is going to be like.

Or even if I'm going to be stuck with a few choice weirdos, never mind if they're right next to me or not. Some of my best stories and strangest memories comes from tales of the general public whilst on a train or bus: from stoners performing magic tricks to get out of paying a fare, to stoners metaphorically crying on my shoulder about their life (I really wish I could remember enough of that bus journey to do it justice here), to massive guys stinking of rotten cheese and literally falling asleep on my shoulder and squashing me to being on a train full of drunken football supporters and dog show competitors (at the same time). Only this time I'm going to be stuck in a tin can thousands of miles up in the air with them.

Of course I've been on flights where there have been irritating people on board, from the classic screaming child and back-of-seat-kicker to, most recently on the way back from Australia, a guy who took his shoes off and put his bare (and smelly and quite dirty) feet up when food was being served. It's always different when you're by yourself though, as there's nobody to go 'Get a load of this guy!' to.

Maybe I'll come back and absolutely nothing wacky will have happened to me, which will go towards confirming my theory that weird stuff only happens to me in Britain. We shall see. To be honest, if the last time Vicky and I met up is anything to go by, anything crazy that happens will most likely be self-inflicted. In fact, my German doppelgänger out there is probably about to write a blog entry about two mad British girls...

Freaky Telecults

This evening's late-night telesales call was a bit weird. I swear I didn't mishear her.

*Ring ring*

Telesales lady: "Hello good evening I'm Rachel calling from Inland Revenue and Customs *breath* thank you for your time it won't take a few moments *breath* I'm just calling to ask you to complete a short survey about the demons people carry around with them-"

Me: "-You know what... I really don't have time for this. Goodbye." I put the phone down very quickly.

'The demons people carry around with them'? Seriously? Either that was a bogus call, or Inland Revenue and Customs have fallen in with a dodgy crowd.

Eternal Weirdo Magnet

Have I ever told you about the guy who called himself 'Ace'?

In my first year and a half of university I worked part time as a silver service waitress (you might think that this would be a potentially disastrous job for someone with such an artful knack of knocking things over but I was actually pretty decent at it). I got to work at some cool events, like at Twickenham rugby stadium during a big England-vs-Somebody match, the Cheltenham races and the like- I can't remember everything I went to, this being seven odd years ago. Neither can I remember particularly enjoying the events because when you work in catering you're so rushed off your feet you can only concentrate on your job and nothing else.

One particular event that still stands out in my mind though was when I served in a box at the Tottenham Hotspur football grounds. I barely noticed the match because I was so busy looking after the family in the box (no big loss though, I don't even like football), I only vaguely took note of the slightly rude nature of the family (again no big deal- you get a lot of that when you're a waitress, silver service or not), but I did notice this one guy following me around- a fellow waiter.

I'll never know why he fixed his scarily determined sights on me. At first I thought it was just a coincidence that he went into the kitchens and came out at the exact same time as me, every time. I continued to think this right up until the second half of the match, when 'my family' had settled down and I went to stand outside- and he was there, waiting for me, having apparently followed me all the way to my box.

I can't for the life of me remember how the conversation began, but it was only a few pleasantries into the conversation until we introduced ourselves. This was how he introduced himself:

"You can call me Ace."

Not 'My name is Ace'. Not even 'My name's ___ but my friends call me Ace'. Just 'You can call me Ace.'

A few more pleasantries, and suddenly it became Speed Dating 101. The creepy version. Here are a few questions that he literally rattled off in quick succession at me that I can remember:

"How old are you?" (I'm not even kidding you, this was his very first question).

"Are you from around here?"

"Where do you live?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

"What's your number?"

I considered giving him a fake number, until he told me he'd ring it then and there so my phone would have his number on record- so if I'd given him a fake one, he'd know right away as we both stood there.

Touché, 'Ace', touché.

He was also really tall, and really broad. Just slightly on the intimidating side. So when he said he'd come find me after our shifts to chat more, and I said thanks for the offer but I needed to get home quick, and he said not to worry and he'd be there to meet me in a flash, and I said firmly that I'd be going straight home, and he said he insisted and would be there waiting for me, I got a little nervous.

I made sure I'd cleaned up in record-fast time, and was eternally grateful that 'my family' hadn't made a mess of the box so there wasn't much for me to do, so I was able to dash out before 'Ace' got to my box. Once I was out, I checked my phone, marked his number as 'DO NOT PICK UP' (because if I'd merely deleted it I'd forget it was him and pick up if he ever called), had a laugh with my friends about it and promptly forgot about it.

A few months later I was in my student house with my two housemates and a friend (in fact one housemate and the friend were Lucia and Peter who got married recently), I got a call from the catering agency. Or so I thought.

"Hello, Natasha? This is Ace! How are you?"

"..."

After a pause that lasted for what seemed like forever, I hung up. At first I panicked and thought he'd contacted me through the agency- but the most likely situation is that my phone, an ancient Sony Ericsson, had switched the numbers. It had erased names from my phone while leaving the numbers behind before, so it's possible. In any case, I never heard from him again after that.

It's funny if you've read my blog up until this post, because you'll know that my luck with these sorts of encounters has not changed in the past seven years.

~Fin~

Crouching Tasha, Hidden Panda

This is my hat.

Marvel at its panda-ness.

Last week I got to don it when we had a sudden cold snap. Everything froze overnight, and since it had been a bit damp the day before all the trees and plants appeared to turn into beautiful crystalline structure. When I parked in my office car park and got out I noticed that the weeds on the grassy bank behind my car had developed some fun-looking ice prickles, so I decided to snap them. I crouched down with my little compact camera into the foliage to attempt to get a clean, car-less shot.

After a while my legs fell asleep, so I had to get up really slowly to stop myself from falling over. Little did I know there had been someone curiously (and slightly nervously) waiting the other side of my car, probably having heard me scuffling about in the grass and wanting to make sure everything was alright. She stared at me, partially curious, partially a little bit scared, and possibly with a hint of pity. When I thought back about it later, I realised this is what she must have seen:

A pair of black bear ears, slowly rising from behind a car, followed by a pair of panda eyes, a panda nose, my eyebrows, and gradually the rest of my face and body, looking guilty (because it's my default expression) and poised with a camera, standing in the middle of the grassy bank.

I can't read minds, but her thoughts might have had something to do with spies, sneaks and weirdos.

Oh, and here are the photos I took, by the way. I'm not sure they were worth it.

~Fin~

My First Metal Concert/ People-Sniffing

I have been listening to Nightwish since I was about fifteen years old- so ten years, then. Not only have I never seen them live before, but I've never seen any band live, so I was pretty damn excited for my first one to be Nightwish.

I queued up outside the Birmingham O2 Academy with my friend Lucia in my black skinny jeans, burgundy biker-style jacket and great big boots just in case anyone would be treading on anyone else's feet (I figured I'd go for the 'crush or be crushed' approach), brimming with anticipation and yes, a little bit of fear too- another friend had warned me about things like walls of death and circle pits (both forms of extreme moshing- look them up on YouTube for an idea of the carnage that can occur), and I was warned to avoid the front and stay towards the back.

So, of course, you can guess where I ended up being chivvied.

I needn't have worried though- although there was the odd bit of pushing and shoving up at front, the crowd was quite diverse in age and nature and, for the most part, surprisingly courteous to each other. At one point a quad of loudmouthed yobs tried to start a wall of death by bodyslamming around, but to my amusement were met with very icy and very British glares all round from long-haired young metalheads to more mature-looking revellers alike. It was a real mix of real people- mostly of student stock, of course, but plenty of people in the next tier of age like myself, and quite a few more seasoned concert goers, too. I even saw an old boy in a wheelchair up in the circle.

However, I happened to have two freaking weird people behind me for a large portion of the concert. The guy, who I shall refer to as Curlybonce for his mop of corkscrew hair, was as dull as a marshmallow spoon, and the girl- possibly his girlfriend- who I shall refer to as Rainbowhead for her admittedly awesome rainbow-striped hair, was, well... anyway, Curleybonce's eyes looked like this: =_= and Rainbowhead's eyes looked like this: O_O, so they were both at very least thoroughly marinated. Throughout the supporting band Pain's performance I was vaguely aware of someone pressing up right against my back and almost in the crook of my neck, but hey, I was more or less in a mosh pit (although people were only really lightly moshing at the best of times), so it didn't really bother me much (and certainly not as much as later on when a big guy was flush against me and there was something not-quite-right digging into my back... again, I chalked that up to a hazard of being in the stalls).

I think it was when the supporting band Pain went offstage that I felt a small hand on my shoulder. I turned around to find Rainbowhead's nose about two inches from mine, her wide eyes staring into my soul. She said to me in hushed tones,

"Excuse me, but you smell absolutely incredible."

Er.

"I do?" My super-friendly defence mechanism kick-started itself and I grinned like a maniac. "Haha, aww, thank you!"

"Yes, you smell amazing." She edged closer and I tried and failed to take a step back, having nowhere to go in the sardine can that was the front of the stalls. "Tell me, what do you use?"

"It's this new oil perfume from Lush- do you know Lush?" I said, feeling more like I was in my element now (being a Lush fan for many years and having worked for them at one point). "It's called Sikkim Girls." I smiled and turned around, thinking I'd done my job and been helpful. I felt the small hand on my shoulder again and turned around, Rainbowhead's face still occupying the same amount of my personal space as it had before.

"Is it Vanillary?"

"Er... no it's... it's Sikkim Girls. It's more of a-"

"Hey guys you really need to check this out, come over and smell her she smells amazing!" Rainbowhead had whipped around to address Curlybonce and a few others apparently from their group, and she whipped back round at me. "Come back here so everyone can smell you!"

Feeling quite like I was quite back out of my element again, I faltered. "I'm really quite happy right here where I am, thank you..."

"Aww, but I want everyone to check your perfume out, come on!"

"Um, no?"

Lucia (keeping in mind this is the same friend who I mentioned a while back got married in June), who had been previously jostled relentlessly by Rainbowhead's erratic 'dancing' and was watching in disbelief, rounded on Rainbowhead and told her to cut it out.

"Oh," Said Rainbowhead in a mock-conspiratory tone to me, "I'd better leave you alone, I don't think your friend- or girlfriend, whichever- likes me."

"Just friend", I laughed, just as Lucia snapped "Her friend, actually."

Rainbowhead shrugged and smiled dreamily. "Friend, girlfriend, who knows?"

"I know, and I'm telling you." Lucia retorted (as I tried not to laugh even harder at my friend's loyal outrage on my behalf and at this girl's obliviousness). Lucia gritted her teeth as Rainbowhead imitated her voice and turned her back to her.

As for Curlybonce, he kept shoving into me and elbowing me in the head for most of the supporting act until I yelled 'Oi' and Lucia poked him and told him to back off (met only with this face: =_= and without a word). Then, later on when marshals were getting us to pass cups of water down to the rest of the crowd, he wouldn't take it.

'=_=', He gazed at me.

"Please pass this on," I politely requested, feeling that it should have been plainly obvious to him that this was the general idea of passing water back but trying to remain gracious.

His gormless gaze took on a slightly annoyed look, and he didn't budge an inch.

And very suddenly, I lost my patience.

"At-least-pass-the-damned-thing-on," I snarled at him, shoving the cup closer to his face. His face took on a slightly more affronted look, and he slowly and wordlessly took the cup of water from me and passed it behind him.

Thankfully the two of them moved on shortly after. The concert itself was amazing though, with a lot of my favourites played- and I got to see the keyboardist/ main composer Tuomas in the flesh, whom I used to have a bit of a thing for when I first got into Nightwish (I mentally high-fived my past teenage self when he settled on the same side of the stage as where I was facing). Also, for the few annoying sods that there were, the presence of a few nice one made all the difference- we got talking a bit to a guy called Kevin from Devon, who seemed like a genuinely nice dude and we thought looked a bit like Peeta Mellark from the Hunger Games (Kevin, if you ever stumble across this blog, you're mad for going back to work in Devon literally the day after and I hope you got home alright), and there was another girl just in front of us who was quite friendly too.

All in all, I felt it was quite genteel for a metal concert- certainly it was good fun. I'm glad no circle pits or anything happened, despite a handful of idiots' best efforts. Now if only I could get a hold of some infamously illusive tickets to see Muse (which usually sell out in minutes and are subsequently found on eBay for a shocking amount)... it certainly won't be my last band concert, that's for sure.

~Fin~

Short Stories: Weird Taxi Drivers

A few years ago in my last job in Birmingham, before I had a car handy, I would sometimes share a taxi with my colleague Warren instead of walking to the train station after work. On one occasion, I made the mistake of going ahead and getting into the taxi whilst my colleague finished locking up.

"Aaaah, you must be a friend of Warren!" Chirped the driver (who I shall call Mr. Taxi Man) as I closed the door after me.

"Yes- I work with him. He's just locking up, he'll be here in a bit."

"Riiiight, riiiiight," he drawled, "Good man, that Warren, good man. Do you have a boyfriend?"

What.

"Er- yes?" I replied warily, a bit thrown by the sudden direct question.

"Riiiight, riiiight, nice girl like you should have a boyfriend. Is he good-looking?"

I adopted my best poker face, sensing there'd be more personal questions to follow.

"I'd say so."

"And he looks after you, yes? A man should always look after his woman."

For some reason I bristled at this. "Well, yes, but we both look after each other, really."

"Such a nice pretty girl. What does he do for you?" Mr Taxi Man persisted.

Not liking where this was going, I decided not to hear and peered out of the window. "Oh look, Warren's just coming over- he heads off to Harborne, but if you could drop me off at the station first I'd be grateful."

"Where do you live?"

At this point Warren got in the car, saving me of having to give an evasive answer. Warren peered at the driver, a spark of recognition on his face, smiled politely and said to the driver "I see you've been talking to my friend here?"

And in the creepiest voice I've ever heard, Mr Taxi Man said:

"She's my friend too, now."

~Fin~

Afterword: I learned the next day, once Warren and I had stopped laughing about it and out of earshot of Mr Taxi Man, that Warren has had dealings with this driver before, and he's not really a creepy taxi driver in the sense that he's dangerous but always a bit, well, weird. I hope this is true, anyway. In any case, if ever I noticed him behind the wheel after that, I'd politely decline a lift and walk.

Also, if you're a fan of the BBC series the League of Gentleman, you'll appreciate why "She's my friend too, now" was both hilarious and terrifying at the same time. If not, watch this and skip to 2:40: You're My Wife Now...

Fearing For The General Public's Health/ How Not To Poison Someone

As some of my friends know, I went on a course yesterday to learn about food hygiene and take the Level 2 Food Safety and Hygiene exam (I won't know if I've passed for some weeks to come, but I'm pretty sure I did). This is so that, in the near-but-not-too-near future, I can sell officially (at least, it's a step- and it's going to be a while before I do). I wondered at first if I should do it since I'm entering the GBBO (see my previous post... I reiterate: Ohmygodwhathaveidoneaaaaargh), but I looked at the rules and I don't think it counts as a professional catering qualification. At least I don't think so- you don't get taught how to cook at all, only how not to poison people.

Now, a lot of this course was common sense, like not putting something warm in the fridge or freezer, not storing raw meat above cooked meat in the fridge in case it drips, not picking your nose and then go back to kneading the dough without washing your hands first... all that sort of stuff. There were also more specific things that you would have to be told or read up on to know, like clostridium botulinum bacteria (commonly found on grains like rice) can survive in their spores at water's boiling point and need to be superheated to over 122 degrees C (usually with steam and pressure- which is the process canned foods go through for this purpose) to kill them.

The toxins from clostridium botulinum are also actually used for botox- I knew this already, but then again I am a nerd.

However, regrettably, some people do not seem to posses common sense. A small handful of the people in my 'class' did not.

Bullet point time.

-The instructor asked us 'what does freezing do to bacteria?' One of the men behind me answered 'Ummm... minus twenty-two.'

- The instructor asked the class if anyone present was a first-aider. The guy behind me put his hand up and said 'yeah, yeah, I'm a first-aider.' 'Excellent, you have a certificate?' Asked the instructor. 'Oh, no... I have a first aid box,' he replied.

- Whenever the instructor asked a question in general, a couple of the guys, including these two, were always a few seconds away with their answers (ie, a few seconds after I or someone else had given the correct answer). When 'why do you have to decant food from a tin immediately?' was asked, the guy behind me answered 'because it'll go bad.' When the instructor asked for anyone else to elaborate, I answered 'the air will oxidise the metal and contaminate the food.' A few seconds after I had the first words out, the guy behind me was parroting 'yeah, air... oxidise... contaminate...'

- One guy's phone kept going off (in the stereotypical Nokia theme tune, too). This is a pet peeve of mine, and I really wanted to turn around and hiss at him how rude he was when the instructor was trying to speak to us and to turn his damned phone off, but of course I'm far too British and awkward for that...

-The guy behind me and his friend kept talking to each other whilst the instructor was talking. See above.

- The guy behind me also clicked his pen, tapped his pen, tapped his foot (in fact he had a whole body drum kit thing going on), and ate biscuits abnormally loudly. It was just a jammy dodger, but he made it sound like wet leather slapping on tiles in an echoing cavern dripping with bat guano. Okay, so this doesn't directly relate to someone not having common sense, but it really got my goat

- When asked why blue plasters are used in the kitchen, one guy replied 'So  you can see it and pick it out of the food.' No, my good sir. It's so you can see it and throw the contaminated food away, not serve it to your customers.

- When it was time to do the exam, one guy asked the instructor 'Can we ask you questions?' He was being serious.

You know what though- the thing that really worries me is that people like this pass these exams all the time, and set up food businesses all the time. I can't say I'm that surprised- I have, after all, worked as a silver service waitress part time during uni and I've seen some things go on behind the scenes- but it still makes me quite sad. And more than a little grossed out.

~Fin~

Of Entertaining Train Journeys and Stoners...

I can almost never have a normal train journey. Every time I'm on a train, I'm pretty much guaranteed a show of some kind, from having to sit next to a weirdo (and I mean weirdo as in unpleasantly strange this time, not endearingly strange), to witnessing something amazing. This by far is one of my favourites so far.

I was on my way back from visiting Birmingham, in which a good percentage of my friends live (I studied at university there and lived there for five years in total). I had a double seat to myself, there were no screaming children or people playing music loudly on their mobile phones, and all was well.

About an hour into the journey, a huge towering guy with a thick Jamaican accent and rastacap hat (and clearly stoned legless by the smell of him) came slowly staggering down the aisle, laboriously grabbing the backs of the seats as he went along to keep himself upright. This is it, I thought, this is going to be one of my moments, I know it- he's going to come over and talk to me, and probably sit next to me. However although this sort of thing does happen to me, I was wrong this time- because just as this guy reached my row of seats, the ticket inspector came.

The ticket inspector gave a polite 'excuse me' to the stoner, but it was no use: he wouldn't budge. Now a little annoyed, the inspector asked to see his ticket. This is where it gets good.

Stoner dude nodded and loudly slurred 'I will do magic for you'. He procured what looked like a bingo scoresheet from his back pocket, did a few grand hand gestures, made it disappear, and made it reappear under his hat (to his credit, it was a good trick). The conductor made him buy a real ticket after some argument from stoner dude, who clearly regarded his bingo sheet as a proper ticket. The inspector, his job now done as far as he was concerned, tried to move on- it was then that stoner dude grabbed his arm in an affectionate bear hug and declared 'I'm never letting go!'

When the inspector managed to shake himself free, he quite speedily retreated backwards, to which stoner dude called after him with genuine concern: 'Hey mister ticket man, you're going the wrong way!' He then laughed himself silly for a full minute, stared silently at something on the ceiling for another, then made his way back down the train, all the while clinging for dear life onto the seats to stay upright.

It was brilliant, my face was red from trying not to laugh, especially at the Britishness of the people around in the carriage trying to pretend that the whole thing just wasn't happening!

I doubt this will be the only weird train story I post here- but it's certainly going to be hard to beat.