4 days of little/no voice, this is the quietest I have been, like EVER


Most of you who know me, know that I can ramble for Britain. Sober, hyper, calm, dizzy, ditzy, tipsy, drunk, mad or whichever, I can talk. Most of the time it either makes perfect sense or no sense at all. But this is shocking to most of my friends, that I haven’t even been out since last Friday, I haven’t smoked, I haven’t drunk anything apart from squash, not even tea (dear God there is something definitely wrong here), I detest the smell of wine too (WTF IS GOING ON?!) and haven’t left my house since Sunday, to sneak to the shop, to get pasta, that I ended up throwing out anyway, but that technically doesn’t count being 2 minutes from my house, oh whatever.

Since a bad migraine on Saturday, a rather off feeling on Sunday and now no voice, swollen glands, a puffy face and no energy to move, I can’t talk, I have literally been the quietest I HAVE BEEN, LIKE EVER. My mum, for starters, is astounded. She’s the type of person who hears me talking on the phone, puts it to one side, whilst I chit chat away and she gets on with her life, then when she’s had enough, doesn’t even bother to say goodbye, then hangs up. A trait, I’ve noticed with all my family members. Maybe it’s because of me, or maybe they’re all just too busy in their lives to hear what’s going on.

Anyway, what’s the magic cure to get my voice back? I would like to get it back to a sound that is normal, my normal sounding voice, not like that bloke from that God-awful movie John Cleese and Rowan Atkinson was in, Rat Race, or whatever. You know the bloke, Vince Vieluf‘s character who has the very unpleasant infection to go with the tongue piercing he gets…

The piercing bit on his tongue, not the other piercings they all have.

Anyway, my face shape has changed, gone is the normal, I look half decent, now I just look puffy. Like bloated puffy. It’s not even a nice look. My housemates tell me, I look fine, I don’t feel fine. I feel horrible. I feel sore, painful, achy, puffy, swollen and just nasty. If I could sound a little more awesome than this, that would be great.

My bedroom is now my haven of all things ill-related. The curtains are drawn, I don’t even want to embrace the beauty that is the sun, because I can’t enjoy it, so why be part of it? That’s my dumb philosophy anyway.

So, here’s hoping before the bank holiday weekend comes, before my friend Rho has her baby and before the end of the week (come on – only a day to go), I get some part of my voice part, I turn back to normal and this, whatever this is, can fuck off forever and ever and ever and ever and EVER.

The end.

 

Late night rant: This weather


So, I haven’t ranted in a while, I apologise, I’ve been busy, trying to scale mountains and shit (not literally) but in a professional sense of the term, yeah, kinda. So I haven’t really had the time to sit here and puke up the words to rant on here, for a while, something I’m sure most of you are surely grateful for. But, after spending most of today working my ass off, I sat down, had some dinner and thought, I haven’t blogged for a while, let’s write up some stuff and see what comes out. Earlier was a happier post, a much needed joy-fest of writing about my love for my iPhone and I do love you my iPhone, mwah mwah mwah. I won’t be ranting about you my little silver bundle of joy.

What I will be ranting about is the weather. All Londoners, actually Britons will know the frustration that is this fucking weather. Is this fun to Mother Nature to piss (literally) on our parade when we’re really getting into the sunshine spirit?

For 3 days this week the weather was actually kinda awesome, with yesterday being fucking cool, not cool as in ice cool but fucking awesome cool. Hot, delicious glorious weather, sunning me whilst I sat outside in the garden, doing emails, for work, with a cold iced soda, lapping up the sun to try and give me that most desperately needed sun kissed glow just about everyone else in the world is loving, yet we’re being deprived of.

Then today happened. I mean, what was it? Look you can have fun, but we’re actually gonna take it away with you because you Britons deserve crap for moaning about the weather, so that sun was a bit of a tease and now here’s some rain. Fuck you. Total bullshit.

Why? What have we done to actually gain more rain and depression and puddles and shit? What? Can we not just have our summer now please? BBQ’s, picnics, shorts, tops, sunglasses, anything that is far more fun than this cold depression in MAY, MAY.

Google and my iPhone says it’s going to be sunny tomorrow, you better be. I don’t need to spend another day in twenty jumpers, a hat, thick socks and a dressing gown to prove a point to my housemates we don’t need the heating on this month.

 

My phone is like a limb, it’s part of who I am.


My smartphone could be passed off as my other half, if you want, or like  a limb. I’m addicted to his presence and without him, I’m sodding useless. He’s the first thing I turn to in the morning to check the time or turn off my alarm and the last thing to see at night.  That’s pretty sad isn’t it? But, in this day and age, it seems like I’m not alone. Unless you count half my family, my younger sister, one or two cousins and a few of my friends, who I’m pretty sure they think their mobile devices are just some decorative piece of art, flung to the side in all it’s glory, of glass, weird things called apps and noise.
I don’t have a boyfriend, so it’s safe to say, this is really my one true hubba hubba, all time love right here. I love my laptop, I love my office, I love my business, obviously I love my family and friends, but without my communication device that is my phone, I would be hard to reach.
When did my love affair with the magical phone begin?
I’m  not really sure when our true love first started. My first ever mobile phone was a brick. My uncle took me to the Phones4U store in Hounslow with my very much saved up £180 to buy a Philips Orange Savvy, a blue brick that looked more like a house phone than something you would actually be seen dead with in public. It didn’t really do much, I mean, look at the picture below, it hardly jumps out to you, as fuck yeah, I would totally use this in a public place, but I thought I was so cool, I mean that was 14 years ago, so do excuse me for my stupidness.
It was announced to the world by Philips in 1999. It had Monophonic ringtones, weighed 135 g, the battery lasted a blooming lifetime (in comparison to my stupid iPhone – damn you Apple), you could call 8 different numbers by clicking one button, sending a picture message was almost guaranteed to eat up all your PAYG credit and fellow savvy users could be in on the coolness that was the picture icons – you snoozed and lost if you didn’t have access to this bad boy. This phone really was invincible. I thought I was some sort of cool kid with this phone popping out of my pocket (it was a little on the large side to stay hidden) and to this day, it still sits in a box at home, with part of me hoping that an antiques phone dealer will see it and turn me into a multi-millionaire. What? It happened to Del and Rodney.
Throughout the years, I’ve had dozens of different phones, whether on PAYG or contract. Some I have loved, others, I have wanted to murder, with a pure hatred for their very existence. Phones from the very beginning of when LG thought it was a great idea to create a phone that had the same battery strength to one of their fridge freezers, or a Motorola Razr, because it had that flippy screen thing (think I have that somewhere too aswell – God I’m gonna be rich!), before moving onto the Blackberry. Ah, the Blackberry. A good curvalicious lover of mine. A whole shimmy sahroo of pretty business stuff, that just rocked the email world. God how I missed you, till it all went pear-shaped.
Roll on a good 4 years later and I’m here with my lover. My sweet lovely jubbly iPhone. After a terrible relationship with my ex- iPhone 4s, my iPhone 5s, is like a hunk. All touch sensitive and ready to rumble across colour, screen, camera, social, everything, even with the little emoticons. He lasts longer, which is brilliant, in comparison to the ex-phone. Even with all my social channels, apps and that, this iPhone is a winner.
So yes, I have a great relationship with my phone. He’s pretty awesome and super fab. I think I’ve charged him once today and he’s just so damn cool with chilling out and doing what he’s supposed to be doing. Calling, texting, playing music, being active in social, notifying me when he should and just being fucking great.
So when people say, why do I spend my time looking longingly at my phone, here are my top reasons for loving my iPhone:
  1. If, like me, popping in your password when someone is standing at all close to you, gives you the shivers (they are looking for a reason – I know which ones of my mates know my password – not pointing fingers, you know who you are), I hate putting in passwords on majority of things, so a 4 numbered pin to add to the billions of numbers and passwords stored in my brain, the enterprise friendly-fingerprint sensor is AMAZING! Without my fingerprint, no one can get into my phone.
  2. Lights, camera, action – those who know me and my penchant for selfie pout time, will know I love to take a picture and either share it on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram or just take a million of them, because why the fuck not, the new-improved lighting feature is great for indoor and outdoor lighting and really highlights all of my face when capturing the much needed selfie, for everyone or no one to see.
  3. It’s lighter – sometimes it’s so light, I forget it’s in my pocket. Which can be disaster zone, when I get home and take my jeans off and fling them across the room, narrowing missing the laundry basket and it smacking off the TV, but thankfully it’s little teal case protects it’s body from such disasters.
  4. It’s great for social and email integration – it actually allows me to have this super non-complicated love affair with my social channels and it just works, I don’t know how it does it, but it does.
  5. I can’t live without it – in this day and age, it seems everyone has some form of technology stuck to their hip and in my case, it’s my phone.

I’ve only had the iPhone 5s, for 4 months and love it. Will have to see where this love affair will end up next.

I salute you awesome phone.

x

 

Insomnia sucks ass


Anyone who has a normal routine of the 9-5 working day or knows to turn off technology when they can, wouldn’t know the pain in the ass sleeping disorder that is insomnia. I’ve had it over the past 3 weeks and can honestly say it can fucking do one.

When I was a kid, my mum thought there was something wrong with me because I slept so much. Up to about 3 months ago I slept like a baby. Having 8 hours a night wasn’t unusual for me. I liked to get into my bed, read the daily mail app and fall asleep into a deep slumber, dreaming of anything and everything, magical and fun dreams or nothing, it didn’t matter, I woke up in the morning happy about the day ahead.

But since I’ve started running my own business, sleeping has stuck 2 fingers up to me and gone on holiday. Don’t get me wrong, I love love love doing what I do and wouldn’t trade it for the world, my sleeping pattern has slowly but surely deteriorated. I’ve gone from the standard 8 hours sleep to barely 1 a night – if that. I know what my problem is, I work both UK hours and work with a client who happens to be based in NYC and I’m a fecker with technology – never knowing when to actually turn it off and throw it under the bed, on silent, no where near me, but I’m addicted to my phone.

I lay here, staring at the ceiling, thinking, over thinking about the most random shit, ticking shit off my to-do list etc. No matter how tired I am during the day, even 5 hours ago I was feeling mega sleepy but as soon as I got into bed, my brain’s alarm clock snapped into gear and I thought, I might as well do emails because there’s no chance I’ll be sleeping tonight.
The funny thing is, I went to my doctor as a few friends mentioned I’ve not been myself, pushing myself at work a little too hard, losing weight and not eating properly or sleeping and she said “Danielle, I’m writing you a sick note and you need to take a few days off work for the next 7 days.” Erm, ok, that doesn’t make sod all sense, I RUN MY OWN BUSINESS, who the fuck is going to do the work?

 

 

I hope this has just been a few weeks of me not used to my new timetable, but at this point, at 4 nearing 5 in the morning, I don’t think I will get out of it, unless checked into some sleep clinic or given the strongest sleeping tablets possible. Kalms don’t work, whoever invented those for people to try and relax before sleeping, need a slap, herbal teas taste fowl, hot milk or hot chocolate make me feel sick a few hours later and building a bed fort with a teddy for extra measure does nothing either.
Maybe I my anxiety is playing up way more that normal and that’s the reason for my incapability to drift off or the fear about something happening that I’m yet to be aware of.
My mum says it’s better to read a book or paper before bed, but I find reading those addictive. If I read a really good book, I can get so involved with it, I will want to read it to the very end.
Sometimes I like the idea of having a TV show, movie or program from on demand or iPlayer on so I have something in the background as a comfort. It’s weird. I love my peace and quiet but sometimes having some noise in the background makes me feel safe.
I think tomorrow I may go to the doctor’s to get some sleeping pills but would be keen to hear other people’s suggestions on how to try and get some sleep. I don’t want to intentionally make myself sick but I know working too much and sleeping little/none doesn’t help and this could do more harm than good the way I’m going at the moment.
Any suggestions, would be much appreciated. x

Yet another rant about Travel in London


I apologise to everyone who reads my posts and quite possibly, think ‘Oh Dannii, just shut the f*ck up,’ but, if like me you live in West London and get a train that normally shoots its way to Reading & Windsor or to London Waterloo, you’ll understand my frustration. Two weeks on from the TFL tube strikes and since the flooding has got worse, my commute to work has been a total pain in the backside.

I live in Twickenham,  just 10 miles (16 km) southwest of the centre of London, home of England rugby, lush little eateries, boutique shops and a 10 minute walk to Marble Hill house by the river or 15 minutes walk to Richmond Deer park. Us Twickers have been lucky enough not to experience the awful events that have occurred in recent weeks with this horrendous weather that has terrorised our neighbouring towns but the effects can be seen throughout our commutes. Friends, colleagues and fellow passengers have all seen the effects, some way or another getting to and from work, from all parts of the country, so this little rant, doesn’t just put us South Westies on the map.

Last week, I was late if not by 1 minute, definitely more than 15 on a few occasions. Trains were packed, squashing even the likes of local MP, Vince Cable on the train, like tinned sardines, all desperate to get to work on time for the week ahead. Yesterday, however, not so much as to a squashed sardine. Cancellations, delays and what not have caused a little fury bouncing off a few fellow commuters.

image

image (1)It’s sad news that even with the weather possibly clearing up that everyone who has been affected by the horror that is the floods, that it all wont be sorted for quite a few months but delays, delays, delays on all the trains. Really? Unless the weather is swishing around the station, do we really need to have to wait 27 minutes for a delayed or cancelled train? Where does it say that everyone has to turn into a ninny, as soon as a little trickle of delays are floated about?

Mind seriously does boggle, when this shit happens. Some people are just twats.

Today’s Rant: London Transport in the weather


What is it with London Transport when it’s raining, snowing, icy, sunny or just normal? This morning I walked to Twickenham rail station to get my normal weekday train at 7.53 and whilst waiting patiently listening to my morning iTube playlist, sipping a cup of hot tea in my sippy cup, a few people with agitated faces stomped off towards the exit. The faces that require little emotion but pure ‘oh, for fuck sakes,’ gave the slight hint, there may indeed be something wrong.
I have a pretty chilled route to work. There’s no running for a bus, sitting in God-awful traffic, being squashed under someone’s sweaty armpit on the underground or have to endure a journey longer than an hour. I just walk the 10 minutes to Twickenham station, get the semi-fast train to London Waterloo and then get the non-bendy 521 bus to Chancery Lane, take a little walk and I’m here at work in Farringdon. Not bad for a 50 minute all in all journey. But when there are delays, it’s like panic central all round. No one can cope, there’s no normality, just plenty of pissed off commuters, unforgiving bosses and a load of staff complaining that next week, they’re going on strike.
This morning, I could have strangled the staff member on the speaker.
We’re sorry to announce there is a delay on the 7.48 train to London Waterloo….

This was swiftly followed by another announcement 5 minutes later saying the same thing and again at 8.03, this time mentioning they weren’t really sure how long this train or trains would be delayed but if we went to Richmond, we sure could be luckier getting the District Line and change at any of the interchangeable stops.

How thoughtful of you. Thanks, I now shall be later for that meeting I had booked in, by walking breathlessly up the A316 before staggering up a hill or getting a bus at this time of the morning with the rugrats of West London, in a hot steamy bus to be sat in the traffic.

I asked a member of staff what the delay was, they couldn’t answer. Shouldn’t staff know what these problems are? I can understand if 4ft of snow corrupted a line or there was severe flooding and a train couldn’t leave its station because of safety issues or there had been a fatality but a delay for no reason? Why, what’s the excuse? Did someone not get out of the right side of their bed and just couldn’t be arsed? WTF, we pay enough for our commutes into London, that we shouldn’t have to put up with this shit, unless it’s a complete tragedy. It’s complete nonsense, when no one can give a logical explanation.

How on earth are they going to cope when the snow comes? Apparently we’re waiting for snow, what the fuck are they going to do then?

I’m babbling now, makes sense in my head.

Stupid trains and their stupid people who are lazy.

Hope tonight is better.

 

 

 

The ‘Other’ Inbox – the portal to the underground


My ‘other’ inbox in Facebook is full of some random things. Spam, messages of love, invitations for marriage, dates, prize messages, ‘You’ve won the lottery’ and special discounts on the latest Viagra tablets and so forth. It’s all a little strange. Digital Trends, a digital and technology reviews website, posted an article by Katie Knibbs, a writer from Chicago, last week about Facebook’s feature, the ‘other’ inbox. It’s seriously a portal of weird beings who just exist to irritate. Knibbs identified the main categories of the weird aliens who contact you.

They are:

  • The ‘confused friends who don’t know how to add you’
  • Event updates
  • Page updates
  • The creepers
  • The spammers

I honestly never had taken a notice until a notification pinged up onto my iPhone that I had a message from John Clive.  A 50 something year old dude who clearly hasn’t heard the word ‘perv.’ John Clive messaged me this:

prettty

 

There are a few things wrong with this.

First off, my name is not pretty, therefore you won’t find it under the English Dictionary with my picture attached. I have a name for a reason. Please do your research John, before you contact me.

Secondly, ‘I feel so good and secured after going through your profile’ – that’s not stalkerish AT ALL. I know for a fact my profile isn’t available to the masses. I know I have a public profile but only so much can be viewed across it. It freaks me out that there is a right weirdo out there getting off on my profile, if he’s even doing that. Still freaky though.

Thirdly, ‘can we get to know each other?’ No, is the answer to that. I really don’t want to know anymore about you.

I checked out his profile and it confirms it. He’s a bit of a loser. He’s from America, wouldn’t at all be bad looking if I passed him in the street, has a few photo’s of him larking around or posing by a lamp post but has a rather proud ‘look at me’ moment, kneeling next to a rather large, I’m pretty sure it’s dead, turkey, smiling proudly into the camera with his prize.

I don’t know about you, but generally when random stuff is posted to you online, you tend to either ignore it or throw it to the sheep end into the trash/spam folder. This, I’m just amazed it has the response to it, like it has.

I asked the guys in my office and they were generally surprised they even had a ‘other’ inbox and the rest were amused by the message John had sent me. My colleague Olly, jumped through the air when he found 89 messages within his ‘other’ folder, where most of the messages consisted of spam and he won something on a caption contest back in December and he’s missing out on his £10 Amazon voucher. How exciting.

To access your “hidden” inbox, click on the “Messages” link on the left-hand side of your Facebook home page. From there, you should see a sub-option—called “Other“—pop up under Messages or situated next to your “inbox” option. Click that to see your other messages.

Have you had a weird experience with your ‘other’ inbox? I’m interested to hear your responses.