You used to live with who???

My friend is a teacher and there is a rumour going around her school which is potentially the most awesome thing that I have ever heard.

All of her students believe that for a while, she lived with bears.

Now is that not just the coolest thing that you have ever heard?

Unfortunately, there is absolutely no truth in the rumour but imagine everyone thinking that of you.

From what I have heard from her, the school that she teaches in is pretty much like hell on earth and the kids sound like mixtures of Stewie Griffin and Chuckie. Not somewhere that I would want to be - I've got a lot of admiration for her.

Another friend and I have been trying to encourage this friend to use this rumour to her advantage in order to freak out the kids and really put the fear of God into them.

We have suggested that she could make a real show of doing a bit of howling at home time. Picture the scene, the kids are all flooding out of the school gates, it's getting dark because it's winter and suddenly they hear a strange noise. They glance to the open window of her classroom and there she is, framed by the moonlight, howling. That would freak them out and no doubt make them behave a little better in class.

Please ignore the fact that bears don't really howl. I don't think that that really matters. The kids wont know that and a good howl really lets off some steam.

We also suggested that she should strategically place some framed photos of her hanging out with some bears on her desk, courtesy of Photoshop of course. She should make sure that the kids see them but if they ask any questions, she should just slowly remove the framed picture from her desk and slide it into her drawer and tell the class that she can't talk about it because the memories are just 'too painful'.

This tactic adds a 'tortured soul' vibe to the rumour. As though she wishes that she could still be hanging out in her cave with her bear family but instead she is there teaching them, meaning that she is doing them a favour and that there is a distinct chance that she could leave (or flip out) at any minute.

The way we see it, teenagers might be pretty gullible so surely playing with them a little bit would be lots of fun.

Other ideas that we had to mess with their heads were to be spotted chewing on raw meat as the kids enter the class or staring thoughtfully into the distance and when interrupted, answering them in bear speak. Some poetic license would be allowed here as i'm pretty sure that my friend doesn't know what bear speak is. I could be wrong though. Come to think of it, she does slightly resemble a bear.

I think of all the rumours that you could have going around about you, there is no doubt that this is the coolest that I have ever heard. If it's possible, it makes my friend even cooler than she is at the moment, which is ridiculously cool anyway. I kinda want to believe the rumours myself. In fact, I think that I might start trying to spread it myself.

Hey, by the way, did you know that my friend used to live with bears. Yeah....she's a total bad ass. I wouldn't recommend making her angry.

The advantages of being old....

The other day I had to take on the Post Office. It's not a fun experience at the best of times but on Thursday last week, it was particularly joyless.

Basically the queue was a good 40 ft long and was going to take about an hour. Not my favourite activity but a necessary evil. Anyway, this cute little old lady wandered in, took a look at the line and obviously decided that it just wasn't for her. She walked to the front of the queue and was served immediately. No-one batted an eyelid.

I just kind of stared at her, as did a few others, but none of us spoke up. I mean, would you want to be the person that shouts at a frail old lady to join the back of the queue? I certainly wouldn't. Imagine if your raised voice played havoc with her nerves and affected her adversely. What would happen if your outrage at her actions triggered some kind of heart attack? Would you want that on your shoulders? I didn't and clearly, neither did anyone else.

Now this lady was savvy, she knew this was the case and this got me thinking about all the other stuff that you can get away with when you are old. I had to think of something to kill the queuing time. I am now quite looking forward to being old and I'm sure that you will too.

Here is my Top 5 Reason Why Being Old is Awesome!

1 - I figure that once you reach a certain age, you can totally get away with a spot of shoplifting. Like I said, no-one is going to accuse you of anything so you can pretty much get away with anything. In addition to this, when you are old (sorry for the sweeping generalisation) you often have one of those little trolleys which help you carry things - these would be perfect for hiding those bits and bobs that you may no longer want to pay for.

In addition to this, if you do get caught then you can just say that you forgot to pay - no one is going to say that you are lying. Also, the way I see it, the older you are, the more likely you are to have one of those mobility vehicles which help you get around - perfect getaway vehicle right there.

2 - We all like to have a little look (sometimes for too long) at people that we find attractive and there is no way that this is going to stop happening just because you have celebrated more birthdays than most. I for one will be using my age as a shield to act particularly pervy. For one, no one is going to accuse you of being sleazy and if they do, you can feign ignorance or maybe just say that you thought that you recognised them. They'll believe you. Who wouldn't believe a cute old lady?

3 - People are more than willing to do things for you. Fancy a drink? Just ask someone and they'll grab it for you. Could murder a sandwich or a nice little glass of sherry? Just click your fingers and sure enough it'll be brought to you in the blink of an eye. It's like the whole world is your slave and that you are no longer expected to do anything for yourself. Awesome.

You won't even have to get yourself across the road because people will be constantly offering to help you. Maybe, if you ask nicely enough - they will carry you across. It will be your chance to feel like royalty.

4 - No-one expects you to work and this means that you are free to while away your days as you please. As someone who isn't a massive fan of a hard days work, I think that this would be particularly enjoyable.

5 - You can be as inappropriate as you want and no-one will judge you. It will all be based on the fact that you are old. Feel like copping a cheeky feel of that plumber who's come round to fix your sink? Do it. Feel like getting 23 cats? Once again, no problem. No longer wish to conform to societies norms and decide that it might be nice to ditch the cardigan and wear a spiderman costume instead? Cool. It will instantly make you the coolest old person in your area and potentially the whole world. It may even bring you a spot of fame.

I reckon the whackier the better. I hereby solemnly swear that should I be lucky enough to get to a ripe old age, I will use this as my excuse to fulfill all my slightly 'out there' ideas about what I would like to do.

So far, I plan to drink as much as I want, get myself a mobility vehicle with a suped-up engine so that I can flee from the scene of the crime after I decide that that pack of Doritos is just way to expensive, I will hire hot young work men to do stuff for me and wear as little clothing as possible and I will never, ever queue in a post office again.

Bliss.

Monday's really suck

It's that time of the week again. Monday. Even the word fills me with dread and makes me feel slightly nauseous.

The feeling starts creeping up on me around 7.30 pm on a Sunday. Everyone can feel it, the end of the weekend of fun, friends and frivolity-you can't help but get a little glum. Another week is upon us, another 5 days where it's slightly frowned upon to drink excessively and go out dancing.

No matter what I have been up to over the weekend, Monday's always suck. This is for a multitude of reasons, allow me to elaborate.

Firstly, it's Monday which means that as a woman, this is the day that the diet officially starts again. It's no longer justifiable to eat a whole pot of ice cream, drink one too many sugary cocktails or eat a meal that weighs more than you do. Or in fact eat 46 chicken nuggets between three of you at the 24 hour McDonalds round the corner at 5am. Sadly, this is what I did this weekend. Classy. Ah well, as I said - the diet starts today. Bring on the lentils.

Somehow at the weekend, despite knowing that you shouldn't eat something - you use the fact that from Monday onwards you will be good, as an excuse. And, it's the perfect excuse. I feel that this demonstrates very aptly why weekends are so enjoyable. Anything can be justified.

Monday also signifies the day that you have to exercise. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy exercising as much as it's possible to enjoy exercising but when Monday comes around, I always feel pressure to do it and if you're anything like me, you'll also feel that pressure sucks.

I find that because everyone has the same idea, the gym is a flamin' nightmare. It's a battle for a machine. It becomes an out and out war to reach that treadmill before the next person hops on and if you dare to stay on the machine longer then the recommended '15 minutes at busy times' then you can feel the angry eyes staring at you and can hear the 'tap, tap, tap' of unhappy feet as they look at the clock and back at you and then to the clock again before emitting steam from their ears.

I've tried to beat the nightmare of the Monday evening gym by going swimming. Big Mistake. Unless you like being kicked in the head and ribs and having the person behind you's head way too close to your crotch for comfort then I would advise avoiding this too. Unless of course, you like that kind of thing.

No-one ever does anything fun on Monday's. It's the day of the week that all you want to do is come home and sit in front of the TV (after you've exercised and had a healthy dinner that is). If anyone even dreams of suggesting doing something they are always met with the same answer. A resounding 'No'. I like to be left to wallow in my Monday misery on my own with only the company of rubbish TV.

Another reason to hate Monday's is the fact that it's the day that you finally have to address that 'To-Do List'. Admit it, by Thursday and Friday your drive to cross things off the list has lessened and you just think 'Bugger it, i'll do it Monday'. Hence, Monday becomes the day that you put everything off until.

Basically, Monday is the day that you have to be sensible and that is why it sucks. I suppose that when it draws around, every week without fail, you will have to take joy from the simple things like crossing off your 'To-Do List' with multi-coloured pens. That's how I get myself through.

Worst Sunday EVER!!

Picture the scene. You've spent Saturday celebrating a friends birthday until the wee hours, drunk way too much whiskey, crashed out on your friends sofa at god knows what time and been woken by the light streaming through the window and directly into your hungover eyes. It's way too early to be awake and you are badly in need of a cup of tea.

You brave the walk home and the disapproving looks from those who think, wrongly, that you have been up to no good which isn't a good start to any Sunday. Take a couple of headache tablets, change out of last nights clothes into your way more comfy pyjamas and drink that cup of tea that you had been fantasising about. Thank god that you have the whole day to sit on the sofa, not wash, watch rubbish TV and eat bad food.

Well what happened next really put a spanner in the works of my perfect Sunday plan.

Just as I was teetering on the cusp of a nice little nap my mate calls and says she's on her way over. Fine. Everyone likes some company. Especially when they are in the same hungover state as you. Maybe she would even cook for me or bring me a nice greasy treat like she normally did- lovely.

Now I live in the top floor flat and more often than not my paranoid neighbours downstairs like to double lock the front door. In the event of this, which happens way too much for my liking, whoever is unfortunate enough to answer the buzzer has to leave the comfort and warmth of the flat and go downstairs to let the caller in. It's an inconvenience.

Well, on this fateful Sunday, I was distracted by way too many things going on at once. I was hungover, had just kind of been dreaming (about food unsurprisingly), my friend was on the phone to me for last nights gossip and my other mate was at the door. Even for a highly capable woman - that is some serious multi-tasking.

I ran down the stairs to let her in and predictably, I forgot to put the door on the latch. As I was just out of reaching distance to stop the door closing, I realised my fatal error and flung my whole body back up the stairs and in the direction of the door. I was too late, the door clicked shut. Hitting the door at that speed really hurt.

I was locked out. In my pyjamas. And no shoes. Brilliant.

Needless to say what followed was a series of expletives that even I didn't know existed in my vocabulary and which, I can assure you, were not appropriate for God's day or for the neighbours in the next door flat who have a little baby. At that stage though, I didn't care.

Annoyingly, both my flat mates were out for the duration of the day doing some annoying male activity which involved going to Surrey and hitting balls around a field for an amount of hours that I just can't comprehend. Basically, I was not getting let in for a while.

Did I mention that I was in pyjamas.

We contemplated scaling the wall outside and breaking in to my flat mates room but the expense of repairing the damage was a concern. Apparently my other housemate had once shimmied up the drain pipe to the third floor window to gain entry but there was no way I was doing that. It would have ended in tears.

I instructed my mate to go back to her flat, pick me up some clothes and shoes and then come back and get me. She refused as she clearly found it amusing and thought that no-one in Brixton would care if I walked the street in PJ's and bare feet. It's a very valid point. I've seen much weirder.

So that's how I came to be walking down Brixton's busiest street in my bright green leopard print pyjama bottoms, bare feet, a vest top that is old and too big and my mates ultra stylish leather jacket. Not a look I hope to repeat again in the near future.

For those of you who care. I finally got back into my house at 10pm. Not ideal.

My new husband...

Ladies and Gentleman... i would like to introduce you to my latest obsession. I'm concerned for my health and i am sure that you can see why.

This dude is Jon Kortajarena and if you hadn't guessed it, he's a male model...ranked number 8 in the World don't you know. I think that i love him.

You may have seen him gracing the walls of H & M and i heard rumours that he dated Madonna. Seriously, say what you will about Mads. She may have creepy veiny arms and be slightly frightening but she has AMAZING taste in men and if i was in her shoes, i too would abuse my status to date young, impressionable, male models. Who wouldn't?

Anyway, let me explain to you just how far my little obsession has gone...

I live by a H & M shop where there are lifesized posters of Mr Kortajarena. That's right - lifesized. If i stand close enough, it's like he's actually there. Only problem is that i have to spend a lot of time hanging out in the male section and seeing as i'm there without a man, i just look suspicious. I have tried standing in the womans section and just peering round to take a peek but that just makes me look even weirder. Also, taking photos of photos of men isn't exactly normal behaviour and when i asked the assistant what they do with the posters after they are done, she just looked at me like i was mental. I just think that she wants them for herself.

Up until about a month ago, i had never heard of this guy and then i was walking along and he was there, 10ft tall on the back of a bus. That's the day my life changed forever.... well maybe that's a bit over the top.

Now, i'm not fooling myself. I know that it will never happen but just in case, i have popped a picture of him looking as dashing as ever on my fridge so that every time i feel a bit peckish and head for the fridge. I look at him and think 'maybe you shouldn't eat that Amy' and then he smiles at me and the world is right again.

Don't worry too much, it hasn't quite reached the stage of me doctoring photos of him so that i can be in them too but i assure you that this is not because i don't want to, it's because i lack the technical know-how. Sad, i know.

I don't know what it is about him that i like so much, maybe its the chiselled jaw, or the big brown eyes, the fact that he is Spanish or maybe its because he describes himself on his website as 'the ultimate romantic' (that's right, i went on the website) or maybe it's because he is the exact polar opposite of my rubbish ex-boyfriend but whatever it is, it's working.

Now i just need to hatch some world-class plan to get him to fall in love with me.... any suggestions? Maybe step one would be to stop being so creepy. I can't make any promises.

Dancing when we're old...

One thing that always makes me think when I'm out and about on an evening is how we, as a generation, dance on a night out.

I've been known to pull out a lunge or two and occasionally I like to revert to an old favorite,the robot,I'm surprisingly good. It seems nowadays that the more ridiculous a dance move the better.

This got me thinking, how are we going to dance when we're old? I love seeing older people take to the floor and actually dance to choreographed steps-it looks so classy.

What are we going to do when we're older? Bump and grind? It would be seriously dangerous to try and pull out 'the worm' at 70 and let's be honest, we're not exactly going to have the stamina for the running man.

If you take a step back from the dancefloor when you are out next and observe the kind of moves people pull out, I'm positive it will get you thinking too. Imagine all those people being in their 70's!

Gone are the romantic days when a gentleman would try and woo a potential love interest by showing off his cha cha cha or his foxtrot. Now guys think that all they have to do is stand way too close behind a girl and try and grind with her and they are in. Seems a bit lazy to me.

Imagine if guys are still trying this when we're old-think how embarrassed our kids will be.

I know that people of our era are good at breakdancing and hip hop but I doubt that even the most athletic members of 'Diversity' will still be able to perform backflips and spin on their heads when they're rocking a walking stick.

We're doomed. Dancefloors everywhere in 50 years time will feature a bunch of lunging, grinding, breakdancing pensioners. Now in my opinion that beats Streetdance 3D.