5 DAYS TILL THE 500FT ZIPLINE! :-s

I only have five days to go until the 500ft zipline across the Oval Cricket Ground that I’m doing to raise money for the Stroke association. It’s one of the three charity events I’m completing for my “Things to do” list for 2015 . I’ll be doing a 5k run for charity, a half-marathon midnight walk – and something crazy. This is the crazy thing.

Mr Maybe will be there on the day armed (a little too enthusiastically) with his camera phone, ready to tape the whole terrifying ordeal. I’d like to say I’m not scared and be all blasé about ziplining 500ft off the ground across an iconic cricket ground… But I can’t. I’m not James Bond. I’m not even JI Jane. I’m more like Calamity Jane.

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This could get ugly.

One of the charity event organisers called me at work the other day and said all casually “I just have to let people know that we have a very strict 17 stone weight limit. You don’t exceed that, do you?” I laughed a happy tinkley laugh. But then I stopped when a brief voice of doubt whispered “what if I am?”

I’m not in case you were wondering.

So far I’ve managed to raise £100! Which is pretty cool.

I wouldn’t mind raising some more though. You know, considering I will almost certainly be soiling myself in the pursuit of charitable donations for a worthy cause. That’s worth at least £101 surely? Not to mention the only donations received so far have been from my Mum.

I mean. Seriously. My Mum.

I had asked her to send the donation link to the girls in her office, to see if anyone might pop a few 50p’s in the bucket – and then I received an incredibly suspicious donation for £100 in the space of ten minutes. Which is why Mothership is my hero, always. I had sent a donation link around my own office, which is full of bankers who have just received their ridiculously huge bonuses for the year. And despite the fact that I run errands, answer emails, send the post, organise couriers, meet and greet clients, swirl plates of biscuits for their fancy-schmancy meetings and file and organise the office for them – not a single person has donated a single penny for the Stroke Association.

Which is pretty shitty if you ask me. I mean, seriously guys.

Not a single penny.

Not one.

So please, please, please internet friends. If you have some spare change rattling around – beer money, copper coins that keep weighing down your change purse (am I the only one that even has one of these?!) or maybe you’re trying to cut back on a Starbucks / nicotine addiction! Donate the money via this link.

It’s going to a brilliant cause, I promise you.

Relationship tip: Sexting (with Mr Maybe)

When you’ve been in a relationship as long as I have (two years one month thanks for asking), there will come a point where you need to inject a little mystery and titillation back into your love life.

Allow me to share with you a fail-safe romance tip. I love sending Mr Maybe inappropriate sexts to keep the old home fires burning. Now, anyone can send a picture of themselves wearing nothing but a smile – but it takes a really romantic and imaginative individual to take the time to send something out of the ordinary to show how much they really care.

Allow me to demonstrate.

I sent Mr Maybe the following sexts the other day:

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And occasionally I also like to taunt him with food to ring the changes a bit.

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And in one fell swoop? Mission accomplished. You’ll be fighting your loved one off with a stick come sundown.

Is Ewan McGregor really Rufus Hound?!

I was going through some old photos the other day when I made a startling discovery. I think Ewan McGregor might be have briefly been hiding out in the West end last year disguised as a shaved Rufus Hound…
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Fun thing of the week – go to the Roxy bar and screen

For my ‘fun thing of the week’ this week, I booked a couple of meal deal tickets for ‘Imitation game‘ at the Roxy bar and screen for a date night with Mr Maybe. I was pretty pissed off at having discovered this place the moment I moved away from London Bridge, because it was only a short walk from my old flat and getting rave reviews online.

For those of you who haven’t heard of the Roxy bar and screen, this is a secret cinema in London near Borough tube. I was really excited about going. If you asked for a meal deal ticket to see a movie (£12) you got a main dish included.

Score! Food and entertainment?! Mr Maybe was going to love this.

The day of the movie rolled around. As this place sounded so amazing I had been keeping the details and location of our date night a secret to surprise Mr Maybe. Only sending the following invitation via text message:
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I know what you’re thinking. Pretty mysterious. I could totally have been a spy in a past life.

On the night, I texted Mr Maybe the postcode for the venue and met him outside the entrance.

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Granted – It didn’t look like a cinema, just a bar. But, I thought, that’s probably where the “secret” part of the venue came in.

We were forty-five minutes early but the place was already packed! This probably had something to do with happy hour. Which sounded brilliant but had finished fifteen minutes ago.

Bugger.

The upshot was, they still did 2 for 1 mojitos at any time in the evening. The problem with that? There were only four staff members, a HUGE que at the bar and it seemed to be everyone’s first night on the job because nobody knew what they were doing and there was no manager in sight. It was like being on the tube, because none of the bar staff made eye contact. At all. Meaning it took about twenty five minutes to get noticed, served and seated. As this was the case Mr Maybe and I decided to hedge our bets and hoard our drinks, coming away with a bottle of wine (that had doubled in price over the last fifteen minutes thanks to happy hour being over), and two mojitos.

It was immediately obvious that the only place to sit was a sofa. Unfortunately they were all reserved and our seats were at a tiny table in a sea of other tiny (and suspiciously sticky) tables littered everywhere. The tables were so close together that we had to crawl over the laps of other people in order to contort / shimmy ourselves to our seats.
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We had a good view of the screen, but (sadly) everyone was so closely packed together that merely sitting down meant Mr Maybe blocked the view of the table immediately behind us. This didn’t make them happy.

The food came about fifteen minutes later.
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I ordered the seak burger and Mr Maybe went for the chicken breast burger. They were… Fine. Like something you might get at school on a Friday. You can’t expect Michelin star food at a venue like this. Which is a good thing because you won’t get it.

The movie started. We settled down to watch it, but as we were at an uncomfortable table shoved in the corner it was really hard to get cozy. Then some guy in the middle of the room wouldn’t stop talking. Until another man told him to please shut up. To be honest, it was a good thing we had alcohol and Benedict Cumberbatch because that was all that was keeping us going.

Then it was over, the credits rolled and there were aggressive little ushers making sure you left the premises.

All in all I felt let down by the Roxy. It’s great for a cheap night out as long as:
1) You reserve a sofa
2) You’re happy sticking to eating chips / bar snacks
3) You get there early so you don’t have to fight off a sea of people at the bar
4) You don’t expect all that much

I think because there are so many genuinely brilliant secret cinemas / cheap nights out in London I was expecting a bit more. The staff seem to enjoy their jobs everywhere else I’ve been and their enthusiasm really adds to the night. Take the PCC (Prince Charles Cinema) for example. None of this would never have happened there because the staff are total movie buffs and you get the impression they really want people to have a good night out.
All that’s probably needed for the Roxy is an experienced manager with a vested interest in making the place a success who can whip the venue (and bar staff) into shape.

Boom.
Blair. Out.

Random acts of kindness Friday- scaring (I mean, SAVING) a little old lady

I did my first ever ‘Random act of kindness Friday’ of the year today. I felt very proud of myself. Kind of. I mean, the deed itself was good… but admittedly the delivery could have done with a bit of work.

I had better start from the beginning.

You see – I was walking home, trying to think of something to do as a good deed… when I saw it up ahead.

The mothership of good deeds.

An old lady in distress.

An elderly woman had been locking up the local branch of Oxfam, but while she was attempting to lock the door she had to keep herself upright with two walking canes. Only – one of them had dropped to the floor. I could tell she wasn’t happy about this because I heard her say “Oooo, bugger” in a croaky little-old-lady voice.

NEVER FEAR OLD LADY” I inwardly yelled, “Random acts of kindness Friday to the rescue!”

I hadn’t taken into account two crucial things:
1. What I was wearing. Which was a mishmash of workwear, a faux-fur-trimmed coat, a pair of Uggs with pavement-sludge splattered up them and crazy hair. Which probably made me look like a homeless person.
2. The fact it was around eight o’clock and still dark. So I came out of the shadows like this towards her

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Being an eternal optimist, I didn’t think jumping out at an old granny might come across as a little threatening. I just surged forward feeling like the Patron Saint of old women – and she recoiled! She actually recoiled! It was only when I grabbed her cane that she visibly relaxed and let out a relieved little-old-lady sigh of “Oh, thank goodness… How kind, how kind.”

Which is when it dawned on me that she probably thought I was a mugger about ten seconds ago.

I was going to go back and ask her if I could take a picture with her to prove that I had completed my act of kindness for the day, but I didn’t think she would go for it.

I still ended up walking away with a sense of accomplishment though.

I mean, fuck it. That definitely counts.

Is it something I said?

Usually I have to fight tooth and nail to get on the tube. It’s like The Hunger Games – only more violent. But today not ONLY was able to get a seat without pretending to be pregnant, I was also treated to the rest of the carriage disembarking at the very next stop. Instead of revelling in my newfound freedom these were my following thoughts.

Hey… Guys… is it something I said?…

Guys?!

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Is it the zombie apocalypse?!… Is it here?!

*whisper*

Guys?..

Which is probably why I will never be an adult.

Who knew the Illuminati had a day-spa in Mayfair?

I was walking along the street, minding my own business when BAM!

Guess what I saw?

The Illuminati’s super-secret day spa!

The one I was CONVINCED existed.

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Well, haters – I hate to say I told you so…. but

I totally told you so.