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Like Poetry to my Ears

7 May

I have blogged before about how often I hear a song and wonder about the point of the lyrics, but I swear to whomever it’s politically correct to swear to these days that the world of music is headed sharply for the bottom of the pond.

At work, we have a carefully selected music system, where we all submit an eight-hour playlist, and these playlists are rotated so that there is harmony on the songs that are played and the regularity in which we hear them. You would think that given this system, there would be relative calm and a happy work environment, but there is not. I’m not sure what possesses some people to select songs that feature on their playlist, but I can assure you this; they never admit to it. I personally love a good selection of Wham!, but I wouldn’t actually go as far as to opt for it as part of my eight hours, for fear of becoming a social pariah in the office. It was bad enough when the Beach Boys came on and when the moaning started I stood up and hotly claimed ownership, arguing that I defied anyone to not feel happy when the Beach Boys were playing. They couldn’t. Win.

So far we have had all sorts. The office is a melting pot of ages, sexes and upbringings, so there is of course a wide variety of songs, from The Eagles to Daft Punk, Rihanna to Bob Marley. What you can guarantee, and is as certain as death is to life, that at least once a week we will get Imogen Heap, and also a song that sounds like a smurf has been carefully fed into the paper shredder, with someone drilling behind it.

And the lyrics! Some rap songs, for example, make it really hard for me to understand what the hell is going on, and the motivation for this particular lyrical avenue. It’s almost like the dictionary had a lobotomy, and I just know Bob Marley is turning in his grave, alarmed at the amount of overshare that we get as an insight into these people’s lives.

Historically, rap (I use this in the loosest terms so I don’t get abuse) hasn’t had much to look up to. Lets take the unique Vanilla Ice

“cooking MC’s like a pound of bacon / Take heed cos I’m a lyrical poet (that’s opinion) / if there was a problem, yo ill solve it / check out the hook while my DJ revolves it”

And then, years later, graduates from the Vanilla Ice school of lyric writing, LFO:

New kids on the block had a bunch of hits / Chinese food makes me sick… when you take a sip you buzz like a hornet / Billy Shakespeare wrote a whole bunch of sonnets

Apparently, if it rhymes, you’re good to go. I hear these boys also wear a badge stating they are poets but they just don’t know it.

And even today, they are still at it, with Kanye West leading the pack

You should make your own toilet roll, cos you the s**t”

Compliments a plenty with that one, hey? Obviously, this is a cultural pandemic and not just specific to rappers. The worst ones have quite a catchy tune so you find yourself humming along, but then you clock the words and have to head off to the loo to apply some brain bleach to the affected areas.

And here are my top 5 terrible song lyrics, as chosen by me:

5) Hanson – Mmbop

Plant a seed, plant a flower, plant a rose/ You can plant any one of those / Keep planting to find out which one grows / It’s a secret no one knows.

Lets be sure of this people, it is a secret we know. You plant a seed, and the majority of the time, it will grow. Sure, if you find the seed on the street it will be a surprise as to what actually grows out of it, but chances are, the majority of seeds will grow.

4) Black Eyed Peas – My Humps

So don’t pull on my hand boy / You ain’t my man, boy / I’m just tryn’a dance boy / And move my hump.

This upsets me as Will.I.Am wrote the lyrics to Ordinary People, a song that I absolutely adore. And then this. How. HOW?!

3) Vanilla – No Way No Way

Ah, if you got the genes and think / Ah, you can buy me with one drink / Ah, come we’re livin’ in a dreamworld, boy / Ah, no no no no no way, no way, man-ah man-ah man-ah

Is a highlight. Lyrical genius.

2) Vengaboys – Boom Boom

Boom, boom, boom, boom / I want you in my room / Let’s spend the night together / from now until forever / Boom, boom, boom, boom / I wanna double boom / Let’s spend the night together / together in my room

What a double boom is ‘bear thinking about.

1) Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney

Because she’s mine  /The doggone girl is mine / Don’t waste your time / Because the doggone girl is mine

I can’t help but think that this trend for terrible lyrics comes from looking up to Michael Jackson and Sir Paul McCartney. I just cant fathom how two of the greatest songwriters ever were put in a room together and the only word they could think of to describe the girl they were fighting over was doggone.

I rest my case.

Know any ridiculous ones?

Calendar Wars

21 Dec

The calendar is a modern tool designed to plan our lives, and organise our families. It lets you input social events and schedule engagements so that family life runs smoothly with little disruption.

Or so you think.
I overheard a discussion in the office this week between two of the men folk that I share an office with about plans for the weekend. The point of discussion was the calendar. One was commenting to the other how he couldn’t do something or other because his other half was busy, and although he knew nothing about it, it was legal and binding, as it was ON THE CALENDAR.
Ex-boyfriend and I used to have the same arguments. No, we didn’t have children, but we did have two constantly ravenous kittens that destroyed the house room by room if left alone for more than a few hours. Therefore at the weekends, one person was required to look after them, or at least ensure they were fed so they didn’t bring offerings of wildlife into my clean house. We couldn’t ask the neighbours to pop in and feed them you see, as these two had evil personalities and resorted to pooing on the laminate if they knew that one of us wasn’t going to be back. It was like they felt in the air that their rightful owners were abandoning them, and decided to repay us by defecating on the floor. Luckily we didn’t have carpets I suppose. So inviting someone else around to feed them was like asking them to muck out the horses; something no one will willingly agree to, and that you wouldn’t want to put anyone through anyway. The other issue was that we only had one car (my car) and that was also a bone of contention. If ex-boyfriend wanted to borrow said car, he had to consult the calendar to see if I was doing anything that would mean he would have to get the train. Being trapped in the middle of nowhere was just about bearable if there was food and I had no plans, but if nicking the car for football and leaving me stranded with somewhere to go was afoot, I would not be best pleased.
The rules of the calendar are this:
The calendar has the final word. If plans are not written on the calendar and another person writes plans on the calendar, the latter wins the battle and the former must assume all duties like feeding the cats / babysitting the children etc.
The calendar can be written on as far in advance as the writer likes, and must be consulted before any plans are made.
Any attempts of crossing out an opponent on the calendar game is seen as grave cheating, and is punishable by death (or the cancelling of their plans).
So the calendar becomes the Holy Grail and the law of the land. I know I’ve had the conversation before when planning a weekend away without the ex-boyfriend, where he had informed me he was away, using the car and not able to feed the terror squad and I responded “is it on the calendar?” in that really irritating voice, knowing full well that my plans were not on the calendar and having to rush home to update it and therefore win the calendar name.


Do you have calendar war in your house?

For the Tenth Day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Ten Lords a Leaping. I was unsure who to bestow my ten lords a leaping award on, and then I remembered someone who has been an avid supporter of my writing since day one. She reads, comments and emails me telling me how much she likes my writing, and I have become quite fond of her. Oh, and she’s another thing I love from Canada… they are coming out of my ears. Maybe I should just move there! Sandra Bell Kirchman – you are my Ten Lords a Leaping!

My Ten Lords a Leaping isn’t actually a post today, but a ‘good things come in threes’.  My blog went live on the Huffington Post yesterday (good thing 1), I got featured in the homepage of as an editor’s pick (yay!! Good thing 2) which I only realised when my inbox was flooded with notifications of people adding me as friends and voting for me ( a thought crossed my mind.. who’s entered me for idiot of the year??!) and last night I got a text saying “What are you doing tomorrow night?” I responded with the standard, “Not a lot, prepping for Christmas” and got a message back informing me that I now had 2 tickets to see Rihanna. Tonight! Emma and I are very excited, and I am very very grateful and feel totally spoilt. Christmas has come early for me, and I feel lucky to have been given such a generous gift. And so does Emma :).

4 more sleeps till the big day. Merry Christmas, one and all!

My Onesie War

9 Dec

The onesie is an item of clothing that really bothers me. Maybe it’s because I am simply not fashionable enough to understand why you would want to leave the house in what is essentially an adult babygro, but I just don’t get it.

The Positives.

I suppose there are positives and negatives to everything, so I’m sure it’s really nice to go out and not have to worry about the wind lifting up your skirt or your top popping up and your kidneys getting cold.

I literally cannot think of anything else positive to say about them. Unless of course you have a small child and your dream in life is to go out matching, in which case this craze was invented for you!

The Negatives

Other than you are in a giant babygro, right? Sure, we have covered that one. The thing that always gets me is people who wear onesies that actually look like dresses. When going to the loo you essentially have to take all your clothes off to actually get to that point, as its all one piece. The ones with straps are OK, you could wear a bra, but the strapless ones take you right down to your undies in one fell swoop.  Knowing my luck, this would be when I fell over, knocked myself out cold and had to be rescued, for all to see. So the strappy ones would be preferable, no? Actually, the answer is no. Its ok for all the svelte little minxes with neat handful boobs, but for anyone with anything more than a B cup, it puts a strain on these, as they tend to have buttons. You inevitably end up looking like you are trying to squeeze yourself into something three sizes too small, with bad consequences. The other sizing issue with the strappy ones is that if you choose one that fits the figure and in which the straps don’t fall off your shoulders, you ALWAYS end up with a camel toe. Which is a horrific concern to ladies up and down the country.

( Image courtesy of Seems that men are in on it too!)

I was brought up to be frugal with electricity and prevent myself from any shocking bills in adulthood, so for this reason I wait toil my washing bin is full to put a load on. That way the machine is full and my Mum doesn’t panic about my bank balance come pay day, so we all end up happier. The onesie would throw this into disrepute though. You would technically have fewer clothes as you would be wearing one garment instead of two or three, so the bin would take longer to fill and actually when you put the wash on you would have nothing else to wear. Except pyjamas, and I guess no one would notice as you look like you are wearing them out anyway…

How do you feel about the onesie? Girls, do you rock them? Guys, do you love or hate them on girls?

Debunking The Urban Legend

9 Nov

I love a good horror film. I’m the sort of person that will hide behind a pillow, scaring myself to death with that little bubble of anticipation in my throat when I know someone is going to get murdered terribly. I will put all the lights on in the flat to ensure I am safe (makes sense) and recently after I watched the terrible Insidious, I still checked in my shower for any dead kids that might be lurking there, looking a bit peaky. When I am alone in the house I shut all doors on the understanding that I won’t freak myself out wondering why the bathroom door is open when I can’t remember if I left it ajar or totally shut it or….. This way, there is no concern. Door shut means I am sane, door open means some dude with a fish hook has snuck in and is now lying in the bath awaiting my need for a wee. But I sometimes feel that some of the urban legends that these films are based on are slightly farfetched. So I thought that I would have a go at debunking some of the popular ones, so that you all sleep better at night. Please send me cake by way of thanks.

The killer in the backseat

 I’m sad to say that the urban myth of the killer in the back seat is something that I am guilty of being slightly freaked out by when driving late at night on my own. The myth states that a girl drives home, being flashed by the car behind her all the way. She doesn’t stop, as she is scared that she might be attacked (those police emails really make you worry) so she carries on driving. When she gets home, she realises too late that the person behind was trying to make her aware of the knife wielding maniac crouching in her boot ready to fillet her like a fish. Or something.

So this one has its flaws, doesn’t it? A sensible girl like me can realise that if you make sure that your car is tidy (no coats or other hiding materials on the back seat) then the only place the killer would be able to lurk is the boot. Problem solved! By ensuring your parcel shelf is always in your vehicle, you remove the element of surprise. By the time Norman Bates has worked his way out of the boot, you will be firmly in your house and the kettle will have boiled. Magic.

The Hook

The hook is a slightly ridiculous one. Picture the scene, young couple making out in car with the radio on. Which announces a serial killer on the loose that has a hook in place of a hand. They decide to go home, and the legend ends with the killer on the roof pretending they are a tin of sardines, and eventually the couple are dead.

This one is so simple. Don’t park up and have a romp in the car. Its frowned upon, and I think the police might assume that you are dogging. If you feel that you must, don’t put the radio on. What you don’t know won’t hurt you. (When researching this post, I love how Wikipedia informed me that interpretations are that there is ‘a depiction of danger from a rampaging antisocial person’! that’s me  most mornings).

Aka Manto

This one is a Japanese one, and makes me laugh because whoever dreamt it up covered all bases. Basically it’s a ghost that haunts bathrooms (As if you would. You would haunt somewhere a bit better than the loo, wouldn’t you?!) And is most commonly found in the end stall in the girl’s loos. When the victim is going about their ablutions, they hear a voice asking if they want red paper or blue paper (brilliant. I imagine this voice to be Billy Connolly, but insert comedy voice as needed). If the toilet user opts for red they are killed violently and drenched in blood (I assume their own) but if they choose blue they are strangled and bled dry, causing you to go blue. If they have any questions, or would prefer a different shade of loo roll, hands come out of the toilet and drag them to hell. Via the U-bend.

The licked hand

Aother simply solved urban legend. The myth is that a girl is home alone and hears on the radio that a serial killer is on the loose. She takes her dog and hides in her room, with the dog under the bed. In the night, she hears dripping and is freaked out when the light won’t turn on, so she puts her hand under the bed and when the dog licks it, she is reassured that everything is OK (because obviously this is a measure of how OK the situation is). When she wakes up in the morning she finds her dog hanging from the ceiling dripping blood, and in blood on the wall are the words “humans can lick too”. Goodness me. This one has always puzzled me. Why do people get so worried? If the killer was in your room with the light off you would surely hear something. If you had been eating your carrots like a good girl you might even see a shape. Best way to avoid this one? Don’t get a dog. That way if something licks your hand from under the bed in the night, you know to grab your baseball bat and get the hell out of there. But whatever you do, don’t head to the basement by yourself. That’s just asking for trouble.

What urban legends do you find the most unbelievable? And for a bonus point, what celebrity voice would your Japanese loo killer have?

Funny Friday ~ Hallowe’en Freaky Fun

28 Oct

What with Hallowe’en being on Monday, I thought it would be fun to make a little mischief and get you all giggling. So without further ado, please prep your sides for four of the funniest and most interesting blog writing women I know (plus moi). This had me in stitches, and I hope you all agree!

(Disclaimer… Although fabulous, we are not available for shows unless you are paying at least a million each. And then we will consider it).

Pay them a visit!

The Redneck Princess (@DoMaH64) aka Franken-rapper
Jules (@Julie_Davidoski) also known as Dracu-MC
Maggie Mae (@maggiemaesdays) – The Rappin’ Mummy
Karyn (@ KarynAPyle) also known as MC Wicked Witch.

Happy Hallowe’en everyone!

Animal Arch Nemesis

27 Oct

I read a post a few days ago over at I Drew My Life and it really made me chuckle as it reminded me of my parents. You may have read the story of my father’s most hated animal, the squirrel, but my mum also has a bit of an aversion to the cat from next door. She squirts it with water to make it leave. It ignores her and carries on defecating in her garden. She hasn’t been deterred however, and now has a catapult and some small stones that she keeps in a handy grabbing place, so that if she sees her arch nemesis, Nemesis Cat, from her vantage point at the kitchen window, she can hot foot it in a James Bond way and grab the catapult as she goes. A little much I feel, but I am a massive cat lady. When I had black one and white one (now sadly lost to ex-boyfriend in vicious word battle) she looked at them suspiciously, as they were the kin of Nemesis Cat from her garden. The neighbours feel the same way about my Dad’s cat.

So the question idrewmylife asked was what is your most hated animal?

I have two.

The Horse

I’m really sorry to all of you who like horses (particularly Sam) but I just don’t like them. I am quite possibly the only person in the world who doesn’t find them majestic and gorgeous; I think they are the devils pet, put on this earth to make me a little uneasy when in the countryside. Yes, they have nice eyelashes, but the look at you funny and it gives me the heebie jeebies. Despite this, and because I felt like I was being a little silly (very silly) I went on one. It lasted about two minutes before I accepted the fact that it wanted me dead and disembarked, never to ride a horse again.

A friend of mine used to live in a converted barn that had horses, and he would wake some mornings to find a horse poo in the centre of his doormat. This was a direct message “get out of my zone, dude” and only further reinforced my belief that a group of horses are a bit like the mafia. It did make me lighter on my feet and more able to avoid stepping in things.

I think my fear of horses comes a bit from a camping trip in the New Forest where horses and cows roam free, and in the night I got up to go to the loo block and walked straight into the side of one. It’s funny because it’s true, but It carries on, well over a decade later.

Recently I was driving to my mum’s house which is a built up area. You drive past this small piece of green on the left that is fenced in, never with anything going on there, just a fenced in piece of grass. I’d had a really stressful day, and as I glanced up to my left, I saw a horse. It was like something out of Omen. In a split second I had passed the area, but in that time had managed to convince myself I was seeing horses and needed a lie down. Thank God my sister was there to inform me that some gypsies had cut the fence and were using said area to keep their pony.

However, stick a horn on its head and it becomes a Unicorn. I love the idea of Unicorns. No one said it had to make sense!


They just look evil. They look like they are just passing the time of day, but actually when your back is turned they plan to stage a coup and peck your eyes out. They just have this “I may look dumb, but its all a front” thing going on.

How about you?


20 Oct


The art of singing to music, generally in a crowded room, and often out of tune.

In Japanese the word means ‘empty orchestra’. In western civilisation it normally means ‘had too many drinks, got false sense of confidence, cleared bar’. Everyone has done a little bit of karaoke at some point in their life; at their mums wedding, or at someone’s eighteenth, or even just in the pub on a Tuesday night when they went for ‘one’.

The advent of games such as ‘Rock Band’ and ‘Singstar’ have brought the idea of being too embarrassed to sing in public to a different audience; the shyer ones amongst us are now able to gather with a small posse of their nearest and dearest and belt out their favourites. Sing Alannah Miles in the shower as if you were at Wembley? No problem, you can now indulge in this in your front room, complete with microphone.

(I am aware I am slightly lobster. I had flown back in from Portugal for my friend’s birthday (la-di-dah!) and burnt on the last day!)

The girls and I went through a stage of absolutely loving both Singstar and Rock Band. I personally can’t keep up, and am only allowed to do the guitar bit on ‘Eye of The Tiger’ as it’s fairly simple. Anything else is my round to sit out due to a severe lapse in concentration, and when my turn to do the drums comes I am duly banned due to a lack of being able to drum my hands and tap my feet at the same time. It basically means that the whole team loses because one person can’t do it (Not naming any names, team effort, big foam finger being pointed in my general direction).

At least with Rock Band there is a certain skill involved. I cannot sing, but on the same note I’m not totally tone deaf. When I warble in the shower people don’t clap, but they also don’t call the vets out as a matter of emergency, thinking there are feral cats in the garden. Singstar is however, flawed. It matters not whether you are singing in tune, but gauges the pitch of your voice. So if you are a rugby boy singing ABBA perfectly in key you are likely to time out due to the depth of your voice and if you are trying to hit the right notes of Barry White in a falsetto then frankly you are screwed.

My friend summed it up perfectly when her and another friend were doing the duet on Super Trouper. Friend one was in charge of the lyrics and the friend two the ‘oopahpah’ in the background. Turns out that’s quite a long one, and friend two soon realised that as long as she sung in the right pitch, she could sing whatever she liked. So it turned into her singing “super, troup-ah-pah, i hate this song –pah-pah, oh will it end pah – pah, feeling like a number ONE!”


In London they have this fantastic idea where you can rent a booth to sing karaoke. You are locked in with your nearest and dearest and have a waitress bring your drinks, so you never have to open the door and risk being seen by actual civilised people while you are belting out Chesney Hawkes with the rest of them. And everyone has their favourite karaoke song, even if they aren’t brave enough to sing it anywhere else than in the comfort of your own home. One of my friends proudly warbled Lionel Ritchie “All Night Long” and informed me once that he knew the entire African bit in the middle. He wasn’t joking, I realised after her serenaded me with it.


Mine is Cher, Just Like Jesse James. And I don’t care who knows it!

What’s your karaoke track? And could your friends tell me what it is, or is it a guilty pleasure?

Here Little Fishy ~ Part 2

18 Oct

Thanks to the success of my Here Little Fishy post, I have decided to write a bit more. Like a child who gets a clap from their mother and then carries on performing, despite annoying the rest of the room? Yep, that’s me! To give you a bit of background, I signed up to a free dating site to see what all the fuss is about. I have dabbled in internet dating before but always been a bit half-hearted, and always used the sites that you pay for on the premise that you have to at least have a job to pay for a dating site. But anyway, if you want to know more about the history of this post, then go back and read Here Little Fishy. Apparently I’m funny sometimes 🙂

My bugbear is this. A picture says a thousand words, and first impressions are everything, right? So I’m pretty sure that however glowing your bio, the photo is important, and this is backed by statistics online that say a great deal (vague, can’t actually find the thing I am referring to!) of people will not click on a profile that doesn’t have a picture. Because however charming and dashing you sound, you could be Jabba the Hut or look like you haven’t washed in months. Let’s gloss over the fact that it doesn’t take the next Steven Hawking to work out that you could post a picture of someone else.

OK, so…. Photos. I really wish I could use the ACTUAL photos that were the muses for this post, as then you would really understand, but as Elton would say “my gift is my song, and this one’s for you”. I’ll use my words.

Example A: Man in Room.

Let’s call him Man in Room (because I don’t know what his name is, mainly). Man in Room was clearly on holiday.. I can see the thought process behind this. Relaxed, in the sun, having a laugh, good idea! Man in Room had failed to tidy up however, and therefore made himself look like he was living in a travel lodge with an entire week’s charity bag collection that he had pillaged from the locals.

Example B: Sunny Delight.

Sunny Delight had about eight pictures, all with himself in various states of undress, in aviators. For those of you who have lived under a rock since Top Gun, aviators cover most of your face and can make anyone with dark hair look like Tom Cruise. I think that could be considered false advertising.

Example C: Example.

I think I will refer to this specimen as Example because he thought he was a DJ and all his pictures were taken under strobe light. Again, not a good way to gauge whether he had two eyes, for a start.

I like to surround myself with funny people, so if the pictures and captions make me laugh I’m onto a winner. Johnny Vegas? Ideal man. Well…

One guy had a picture of him standing in front of a waterfall so he looked like he was being sick. My kind of humour! Another had sarcastic captions like “Me, running.” “Me, standing still”. Again, it doesn’t take much to make me laugh.

My favourite of this week had to be the guy who emailed me to ask what SEO was, citing that he felt it was Safe Elephant Operation. Hahah!

I do have to say however I am losing attention with this particular line of interest and may give up soon. Characters are amusing for a time, but if I hear that goddamn polar bear joke one more time I will kill.

I got an email yesterday which I had to share, mainly for my die hard Blog Brigade… “Hey dere (for real) me and my mate have a bet, what colours your fong?”

I had to laugh. It did baffle me for a bit. What the hell is a fong? Emma wasn’t in at the time so I couldn’t get a guest opinion. There’s me thinking of vampire teeth (I know right. Fang. I was tired) until the penny dropped like Hiroshima and I realised he was referring to my thong. Of which I don’t own, because it’s like wearing undies constructed of floss. Not pleasant, and I don’t believe a single one of you girls who say “Oooh they are soooooo comfy. You almost don’t realise you have them on”. Sure thing, because YOU ALMOST DON’T HAVE THEM ON.

Internet Dating Update: Of the two original guys that had my number, one has been deleted due to infinite boredom. One remains. He has been joined by a bloke that told me he woke up one morning and went into his kitchen to find Tom Jones playing and his mate asleep on the floor. The word bromance got me. I’m easily pleased.

Laughter is Catching Factoid #1

17 Oct

Hi guys,

Sorry for such a quick post tonight, I promise I will do better tomorrow. I thought I would try to make you chuckle in the shortest possible time as I am tired, so here goes…..

Milli Vanillia ‘Girl You Know Its True’ used to be my favourite song. I used to watch it on VH1 (I was young when it came out) and me and my friend Row used to sing along. I loved the fact that they looked like the human verison of a Dairylea triangle with legs, yet with beautiful skin and super long dreads.

Don’t ask me to quantify this. I’ve been trying for a decade. Its just one of those embarrassing truths.

Night peoples xx

PS Before some wise guy cracks it, I KNOW ABOUT THE SCANDAL.

“I’m Sorry Love. Your Knickers Don’t Match Your Bra”

23 Sep

I read a blog last night about a conversation that they were having on radio one that morning, discussing how many women wear matching bras and knickers, and the conundrum of washing knickers more often than bras, and therefore knickers wearing out and losing colour quicker. It made me smile that a bunch of men were spending the time to moot this point so I read through to the blog, where the guy is actually holding a poll. Read here.

It really made me giggle. I do not have Bridget Jones pants. This is simply because I have an overactive imagination and have the fear that one day I will have to get my clothes cut off by paramedics and be wearing appalling knickers. So I don’t have any. A girl has to take her Prince Charming from wherever he may come in these modern times (long gone is the idea of being in your ivory tower and letting down your hair! Especially as I have a bob shorter than many boys) and if mine is a smokin’ paramedic I don’t want to ruin my chances of happily ever after with glitter and sprinkles by wearing great big beige pants.

This fear was partially realised when I showered at my sisters and borrowed some clean clothes (sisters do this) and never gave the pants back. They just became part of my collection. Until I ended up in hospital last November. I was so sick, but the first thing I said to my mum when she rounded the corner of the ward was “this is what happens when you wear bad underwear!!!” She just laughed. All my family think my knicker fear is ridiculous. As usual, I know better.

Although my mum did put a pair in my stocking last Christmas that had little snowmen on, and you know I haven’t done any washing for a while when I am down to my Christmas pants in June.  It’s like eating an Easter egg in November. Just. Not. done.

But it’s true! You have certain bras for certain outfits, but knickers just get worn under stuff, so you can wear them whenever. Therefore they go through the wash more often and start to mismatch their intended bra partner. It’s like underwear divorce!

I have enough trouble in the morning getting up, brushing my teeth and ensuring that I have my t-shirt on the right way that matching bra and knickers do not enter into my mental equation. I envy those women who always match, but I think it’s totally unreasonable to expect.

And I honestly don’t think men care either. Or notice for that matter. So the part of the poll that says ‘should women mix and match their underwear’ and one of the answers is ‘never it doesn’t do it for me’ really made me laugh. I had visions of some poor girl getting her fella home for some one on one action and him turning round and saying “I’m sorry, I just cant. You don’t have matching underwear on!”

Thanks for the chuckle Frugal Daddy!

What are your thoughts on matching underwear? Not fussed, or total shudder?