Socks appeal

I've got a problem. I can never throw anything away. It doesn't matter how old and rubbish it's got, I always think that I can get a couple more wears out of it.

Normally I can't.

This affliction of mine comes to light when I'm running out of the house in the morning and I am delayed to the point of lateness by my inability to find a pair of socks without a hole in.

I don't know about you, but I hate spending money on socks. It just feels wasted. And the idea of sewing them up is just plain laughable. In my eyes, it's an inconvenience that I won't address until I absolutely have to.

We've all been there. You find, what appears to be your only clean pair of socks (never a matching pair) and annoyingly they have holes in them. I particularly hate it when the holes are located in just the right spot so that your poor toe spends the entirety of its day being cold and rubbing on the inside of your shoe.

The problem is that as socks are inevitably the last thing that you put on, you're in a rush so you have zero time to faff around trying to find another pair so you try and twist the sock where the hole is and tuck it in between your toes. It's as if you think that you can trick the sock into not knowing that it has the potential to aggravate you for the whole day.

This is not a solution and it just plain uncomfortable. I always find that the time that the makeshift solution takes to unravel is just about the amount of time it takes you to get far enough away from your house that you can't face going back.

This results in a day spent taking your socks off and trying to reposition them. It never works, no matter how you twist them and it's seriously irritating.

The strange thing is that i will spend the whole day being annoyed at the failure of my socks to do their one and only job and spend the whole day planning how i will remove them and burn them at the first opportunity because they have been so annoying. Instead, i get home, peel them off and think 'Oh, they'll do for one more wear'.

It's like i enjoy playing the 'find a hole free sock' game with myself and i don't even realise it. It's like my own, way more tame and much less risky version of Russian Roulette.

Living on the edge.

It doesn't end there...

Sadly for me, my humiliation in front of celebrities doesn't end with Jason Orange. I appear to have a unique ability to do the exact opposite of what I should actually do in the situations that I find myself in. Let me explain....

I write a bit of showbiz news in the mornings. I love it. It means that I can unashamedly read all the gossip sites and not feel guilty because it's my job. You name it, I read it. My general rule is the trashier, the better. All hail Perez Hilton, now that dudes one hell of a bitch.

Anyway, as well as writing gossip I have to attend the odd party to weasel some info out of celebs direct from the horses mouth. I am not very good at this. I'm just not comfortable with asking celebs that I've only just met about their love lives. It's none of my business. This clearly isn't the right attitude for an aspiring showbiz journalist-hence why I'm not doing it full time!

I prefer to engage the celebs in a bit of banter to see what they are like. This can often result in me coming across as a little bit weird but hey, I'd rather be weird
than nosey. Unfortunately for me, this seriously lowers my prospects of finding a rich and famous husband.

One day I was at a launch of something or other in the penthouse of a swanky hotel in Mayfair and I had been sent there with the task of interviewing the Hollywood actor who was the face of the launch.

When my time came to snag him for a couple of questions I was already a few glasses of free champers in and was slightly overwhelmed by his floppy hair and posh accent, plus I hadn't really prepared any questions as, in my typical style, I was just planning on winging it. In hindsight, probably a mistake.

So I was ushered over to where he was standing and like I said he was VERY dashing. He proved his smooth superstarness by taking me by the hand and kissing it. At this stage, I truly understood the meaning of going weak at the knees. I know, so lame. I'm pathetic.

What happened next is up there with the most embarrassing moments of my life. When said Hollywood actor kissed my hand, I was so taken aback that some part of my brain took over and decided it was a good idea to kiss his hand in return.

God, it's even embarrassing to write it.

He looked at me in shock and said 'well that's certainly the first time any journalist has done that.'

I responded with 'I just wanted to make you to feel special' which, luckily for me, he found hilarious.

Despite kissing his hand, I kind of managed to salvage the situation. I was red faced throughout the interview and there was bemused crowd of fellow journalists standing around eagerly awaiting what i would attempt at the end of my interview, perhaps a curtsey...

The interview was pretty much a write off, he spent the whole time teasing me about my odd behaviour and we just discussed the weirdest things that journalists had done when meeting him. I was top of that leaderboard.

At least that's something to be proud of....

Drunk eating...

It's no secret that a few bevvies make you hungry but why is it that after putting even a couple of drinks away that you can eat your body weight in under 0.2 seconds.

When sober, I would never dream of eating a whole deep fried chicken but give me 4 or 5 vodkas and I find myself capable of consuming 4 peoples normal amount of food in record time.

For example, the other night, me and 4 mates had drunk 3 or 4 bottles of red over some scintillating conversation and on the way home I was inexplicably drawn to brixton kfc, normally a place that I would avoid at all costs.

My only concern whilst ordering my meal which consisted of a chicken burger, 2 individual pieces of chicken and a corn on the cob, was that it also came with chips! Like I needed chips! It seemed vital at the time.

I persuaded myself that I wouldn't eat it all but to my sheer horror I managed to inhale it in 2 minutes. I even adopted a 2 handed eating style to ensure maximum paw to mouth speed-something that I would never dream of doing whilst entirely compus mentus.

Also, due to my unnatural obsession with my teeth (I won't be friends with you unless your gnashers are perfect) I never drink soft drinks, but when inebriated, the sugary goodness that comes from a litre of sprite is like some kind of herbal nectar sent to soothe my soul.

I don't expect to ever be able to explain it. All I know is that when stumbling home on a Friday night, it's of vital importance to do so with my eyes closed. There is just way too much temptation and I have way too little will power.

It proves tricky at 5 in the morning I tell you!

Way to act cool Amy ....

Recently I was lucky enough to encounter one of my childhood crushes in person and to say that I acted uncool would be the biggest understatement of the decade. I was embarrassing on a whole different level. I was so embarrassing that even he was embarrassed and that just embarrassed me even further. You could say that it was a vicious cycle of embarrassment.

Let me start from the beginning. I was working at an exhibition in London launching a new product for my company. I wasn't happy about the situation, no one likes to work on the weekend and despite the fact that I was working early every day, I didn't let it interrupt my social life and proceeded to get drunk most nights meaning that I wasn't necessarily 'all there' when this incident happened. At least, that's my excuse for acting like such a massive loser. That or the 5 coffees I'd had by lunchtime.

Anyway, it was my job to chat to the public about our product, encourage people to try it etc. Well, whilst taking a break from having the same conversation about the product that I had been having for the last 4 days, I looked up and spotted Jason Orange! That's right, the break-dancing, bad boy from Take That and more importantly, the only member of the band still single.

This was serious business. The way I saw it, this was my opportunity to marry someone from Take That which had always been a dream of mine. When Robbie got married I cried genuine tears because I had grown up convinced that me and him were mean't for each other. I was adamant I had to utilise this opportunity to the fullest.

27 year old Amy told me to flirt with him and lure him in. Unfortunately for me 11 year old Amy was in control of this situation and as soon as we made eye contact I took a massive deep breath which slowly but surely turned into a kind of scream/excited gasp and my hands immediately flew up to my mouth to stop me from screaming 'I love you Jason' and then undoubtedly bursting into tears like any self-respecting Take That fan would.

I'm sad to say that he clocked me doing this. He obviously identified that I was on the brink of an outburst so he added fuel to the fire by winking at me. At this stage, I went bright red and had to walk away. I'm such a loser.

After he had left the stand, I ran to my co-workers jumping up and down screeching at, what I had previously believed, was an impossibly high pitched level, shook them and said 'oh my god, oh my god, that was Jason Orange' while I just kind of shook with the sheer overwhelmingness of it. I kid you not, it took me well over 10 minutes to calm down. Just imagine if it had been Robbie? I probably would have passed out.

I wish that could tell you that that is where my humiliation ended. I can't. He obviously identified the entertainment value in me and decided to come back for more.

I was determined to redeem myself so as he came back round I took a deep breath and launched my attack. I asked him if he would like to try out my chair. He didn't want to. So then....sigh....I tried to lure him by informing him that if he so wished he could 'get one in orange'.

That's right, I made an orange themed joke to a man named Orange. Not cool. To top it all off, I coupled my lame ass joke with a hand gesture which involved waggling my fingers at him whilst moving my arms in a circular motion. Think lame relative making a lane joke and having to identify that it is in fact a joke by making that gesture or by saying 'boom boom'.

Now it wasn't all bad. He did laugh but I would hazard a guess that it was more out of sympathy than actually being amused. At least that's one thing you can say for Jase, he was nice. I on the other hand should have been immediately escorted from the building by 'the cool police' who had clearly identified that I was an outsider.

The thing that disturbs me most is that I wasn't even aware that I still harboured insane fan tendencies towards them. I thought I had grown up. I was wrong.

Hopefully for his sake, I won't bump into Phillip Schofield, he wouldn't stand a chance.

Save me a seat ....

We've all been there. You have had the day from hell, your boss spoke to you like you're stupid and to top it all off you were weak and ended up glancing sideways at the salad that you had so lovingly prepared before pushing it aside and reaching for that bag of crisps. The naughty kind. None of this snack-a-jack malarkey.

Just when you think that things can't get worse, you manage to force yourself into a seat on the tube and then you find yourself sat next to 'that person'. The one who seems hell bent on making your journey home as unpleasant as humanly possible.

You know the kind, music too loud and more often than not, offensively rubbish. On more than one occasion I have found my self seated next to someone who seems to enjoy Eminem shouting at him and the whole carriage for the duration of the journey. Just what I want to listen to after a day of staring at a computer screen; tales of domestic violence and plots to kill your mum or the mother of your child. Easy listening indeed.

These passengers can normally be identified by their liking for stinky fast food, the need to carry what no human would consider a normal amount of bags and a voice so loud that people on the street can hear them and even they are thinking 'jeez-can we just bring it down a notch'.

They can also be identified by their tendency to sit with their legs as far apart as possible. It just can't be comfortable or good for your hips. Listen men, we are fully aware that you have something in between your legs that we lack but is it entirely necessary to keep your knees so far apart? It's not like if you bring them an inch closer together that the world will end or that they will wage holy war on one another.

Well it dawned on me the other day that I am in fact that person. I am the one that you would no doubt like to elbow in the face when no one is watching.

The realisation hit me when I noticed a middle aged lady looking at me in disgust. I immediately saw the look and checked myself to ensure that everything was buttoned as it should be and that nothing was on display that wouldn't be appropriate for a rush hour journey but everything appeared to be in order. That 's when it hit me this woman wasn't disgusted by my appearance she was extremely irritated by my music.

Let me explain. Recently, I have developed a bit of a weird obsession with Aerosmith. I firmly believe that they are the greatest band of all time and until the moment when I saw this ladies eyes bulging dangerously whilst she glared at me and tried to keep her breathing steady, I couldn't comprehend that not everyone wants to listen to Steven Tyler screaming at 8 in the morning. She definitely made that point clear with her crazy eyes and sweaty brow. I have no doubt that if she had a weapon she would have happily used it on me...repeatedly.

My aggravating behavior doesn't end there I'm afraid. I'm often in a rush and to ensure that I stick to my life rule of never missing a meal, sometimes I have to grab a bite on the tube. I don't know what it us but whenever I'm about to indulge in some tube eating all I crave is spicy or stinky stuff. Think samosa or tuna. I can't fight it, it must be proven that whilst indulging in some sub-terranean snacking it is necessary for it to have more stench than when above ground.

I've also got a tendency to carry way too many bags. Maybe it's a comfort thing, maybe it spawns from the fact that I can pretty much guarantee that I will get a seat as I live at the start of the tube line. It's not my fault other passengers don't make as sensible location choices. No doubt a few of my fellow passengers become enraged when they manage to crowbar themselves into the tube carriage only to discover that some inconsiderate chick playing her music way too loud has all her bags on the floor in front of her. Well, I'm not going to put them all on my lap am I? How would I read Stylist then?

Sometimes I like to mix things up and carry something overly large and inappropriate during rush hour. The other day it was a cake. A giant cheesecake which unsurprisingly I was prepared to protect with my life and I made this clear. I had an awkward exchange with a lady who wanted to get by me and I had no objection to this but we both kept moving in the same direction trying to get out of each others way and then she decided to take matters into her own hands and came straight at me. She was attacking me and my cheesecake. Fortunately i managed to duck away from her lunge protecting my prize but blocking her from getting on to the train.

The carriage door closed and she gave me a death stare and stormed off. Oops. Another nemesis to add to my collection.

Don't get me wrong, I do feel guilty about my behavior and no one likes making enemies but the way I see it, if we all blasted our music and ate chicken tikka sandwiches then I'm pretty sure rush hour would be way more fun. Think about it.

Apologies...

For any of you out there who still bother to check this site from time to time, i apologise from the bottom of my heart for being absolutely shit and not writing anything for months. What can i say? I'm lazy and job hunting just got in the way. Don't you just hate it when that happens?

From now on, i will be writing regular posts and will endeavour to make you laugh any chance i get.

In the meantime, here is a picture of me being wowed by a stripper to make you smile and so you can understand what i have been up to. Now we're even!

The lengths i go to....

I love living in London and living in Brixton in particular. There is always something to look at, be it that crazy person attacking the bus with his walking stick (more common in Brixton than you might imagine) or a couple of cyclists having a fight with a van driver over his erratic driving technique. It's the spice of life.

One MAJOR problem about living here is the stupid amounts of charity workers prowling the High Street trying to get you to sign up to donate money to various worthy causes.

Being unemployed, i am not exactly their prime target but i'm there and that's all that matters to these blood suckers! There is no way of avoiding them, they line both sides of the road, and wait for you to make a mistake so that they can pounce.

I have developed a vareity of techniques for avoiding them and thus not having to make up some useless excuse which makes me look like a cheap skate and thus a bad person. Of course i care about the starving children in Africa and yes, yes - that puppy does indeed look terribly skinny but i just can't be giving away money seeing as i have absolutely none of my own.

I don't want them to know this though.

In my opinion, they make one fundamental error. Bright clothing. A true professional can spot them a mile off and formulate exactly the right method of counter attack.

Here are a few of my faves:

1 - The "I'm in the middle of a telephone conversation"

This is the best and by far my most used method of avoiding them. I spot their brightly coloured t-shirt and smiling face and pull out my phone and pretend that i am answering potentially the most important phone call of my life.

They must see people pretend to do this all the time but i've become a master. The conversations that i have with the pretend caller on the other line are oscar worthy. Depending on my mood and how much energy i have, sometimes i argue with the person on the other end;

"NO - OF COURSE I'M NOT DOING THAT! ARE YOU MAD? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

Sometimes i even brazenly make eye contact with the charity worker and raise my eyebrows indicating that this telephone conversation is a serious inconvenience to me and that i would much rather be talking to them and of course donating at least a fiver a week to whatever charity they are touting.

I usually shrug apologetically and carry on shouting at my imaginary enemy whilst gesticulating wildly with my free hand to indicate just how completely out of order they are being thus completing the lie adequately.

I should really consider a career in acting.

Other times - i keep it really low key and just mutter into the phone, sheepish of the fact that i am pretending to be speaking to someone and nervous that one of my mates will choose that fateful moment to call me and embarass me beyond belief. It hasn't happened yet.

Sometimes i just laugh because i haven't the energy to think of anything to say so i act as though the person on the other line said something highly amusing and i can't stop laughing. Lazy i know...and slightly creepy when you think about it.

The problem is with fake conversations is that you have to ensure that they come to a logical conclusion. You cant just walk past and immediately pop your phone back in your pocket. That would be a school boy error. They would see that the telephone call was a farce and follow you down the street and expose you for being a liar. Therefore i find myself continuing the fake phone malarkey until i am well out of earshot. Sometimes i continue it all the way home just to make sure.

Not really...

Another problem arises when you can't locate your phone quick enough or you have left it at home. In this case i have developed another foolproof tactic which works but again makes you look slighty weird.

2 - The "Look at anything but them"

I find that looking at the sky is good. It not only makes you appear dreamy and thoughtful but there is also lots of cool stuff up there. There's always some building you havent noticed or a pair of disguarded trainers hanging off an electricity line.

I do warn you though - it can result in injuries and angering of fellow pedestrians.

I also like to pretend that i am particuarly interested in that approaching bus or a fellow pedestrian - sometimes i even wave to an imaginary companion as if i am just about to begin a conversation thus making me too busy to stop and chat.

I didn't claim that any of these tactics made you look cool and it can result in some awkward exchanges with people who think you are waving at them but it's a price that i am willing to pay.

3 - The "Handbag Rummage"

Another tried and tested method is losing that tiny thing that you urgently need to locate at precisely the moment that the waterproof coat wearing student lunges at you holding a handful of brochures.

I like to get my head as close to inside the bag as possible and have a real rummage like i have lost something very dear to me.

This diversionary tactic is very useful and if they try and stop you despite this they are clearly being rude because you are in the middle of something and you can just say no and continue foraging.

4 - The "Crossover"

Simple. You spot them and you cross the road. Only problem with this is that there are usually rival charity workers working the other side of the street so it can get pretty dangerous.

I wouldn't recommend this one.

The fact that i have given this so much thought is clearly an indicator that i have too much time on my hands and fake phone calls should surely be one of the first signs of madness after hairy palms.

BUT, i guarantee you they all work like a charm and if you live in London or have ever visited our fair city - you know that it is entirely necessary.

You could of course just politiely decline...but where's the fun in that!