Weekly review: The Musketeers. Completely Spoiler Free!

No Spoilers are used within this post... You are welcome.

Sorry for lack of postage yesterday. Was ill and bed ridden.

I'm much better now though, so thought I'd pick up on what I was planning to write.

I'm very aware that I've started some different series of things on my blog this year. Most have been conscious decisions; Wind Back Wednesdays and Fancy Things Fridays. There is one though that seems to just simply have happened, mainly due to my obsession for all things Sherlock. And that is I appear to be writing weekly reviews on stuff. I'm not too sure if this is going to become a regular thing at the moment, because there might be a week when I don't watch anything to review... unlikely, but it may happen.

However, this week, I still find myself with things to review on as, now that Sherlock has ended, I have had to desperately find something new on the BBC to sink my teeth into/become obsessed about. Not unlike a drug addict finding her next fix. This is the reason I don't touch drugs... If I am able to get this obsessed with fictional fantasy places, living in my TV screen, I dread to think what would happen should I take something that actually has addictive qualities.

The BBC, being clever and knowing that there would be a lot of people feeling the same way after Sherlock was taken away, has been sneakily feeding in trailers for a new BBC drama called The Musketeers, which was scheduled to start (surprise, surprise) the week after Sherlock had ended. This was very good advertising which I fell for completely and wholeheartedly.

The premise of this TV show appeared to be telling the classic Musketeers story and making it hella sexy with good looking men wearing leather and fighting other men, whilst having sexy times with women and, basically, just throwing testosterone around the screen for 60 minutes. Naturally, I was intrigued.

I would say, at this point, that it didn't disappoint. I mean, we all knew what we were getting ourselves into upon turning on our TV screens, with trailers like below:

It delivered exactly what was advertised... although whether it delivered much else aside from this, is still left to be seen.

I want to be clear, I did enjoy the episode. I might even attempt watching it again tonight to see if this enjoyment is increased further. However, in terms of whether it will be winning any awards for being amazing? Not too sure. It also was just the pilot episode. And there were introductions to storylines that could go places. So I guess I won't be able to fully tell until I have seen more.

Also... Peter Capaldi (AKA: Our new Doctor) is in this series. He plays the classic bad guy, and has already succeeded in making me not like his character, although I don't know if this is a good thing. I'm pretty sure I don't want to associate the image of this man with that of the Doctor. I might get confused when Doctor Who begins later in the year and my already conflicting emotions on losing Matt Smith will just get worse and then I won't be able to love the Doctor anymore... who am I kidding? I will always love the Doctor... but I'm just saying, there might be conflict involved.

I wanted this review to be more detailed, especially for those of my overseas Internetual friends who may not have heard of it yet, and want to know more. However, the fact of the matter is, there's just not that much to talk about with it yet. I am definitely intrigued enough to watch again next week. And hopefully there'll be more to say, but until then... there really is nothing to add that isn't already portrayed in the trailer.

There is one character I really like so far. One of the women called Constance, who has had a few good funny lines in the first episode and an instant likeability to her. Other than that, not many attachments have been formed... apart from the general enjoyment of the good looking men and their testosterone. That was nice, but then that's a given.

The writer and creator of the series is Adrian Hodges, who wrote the screenplay for My Week With Marilyn, which I remember enjoying... vaguely... I think. He's written a lot of other TV dramas, none of which I've ever seen so it's fair to say I'm not really a follower of his work. But, in case you might be interested and recognise some of it; the big ones seem to be: Survivors and Primeval... so there you go. You're welcome.

That's about as much as I have to say for the time being. Overall, the opinion seems to be I didn't hate it, but it didn't exactly blow me away either. It was... fun. That's the word. Fun. And I'm also willing to watch more, which is definitely a good sign. I'll keep you posted.

Peace out my lovelies.

Fancy Things Friday: The awesomeness that is Tumblr and Fandom

**SNEAKY SPOILER ALERT!! Although the content of this post is completely spoiler free, all links within will go to spoilers for Sherlock: Season 3. You have been warned.**

Welcome to Fancy Things Friday, where I find something I find fancy and cool and talk about it. 

This week's Fancy Thing is something new to me, but probably not to anyone else who uses the Internet. Today, I would like to talk about Tumblr. 

Now, up until a couple of weeks ago, I was incredibly reluctant to sign up for any other social networking site than the multitude I already had become a member of. Mainly because my tendency towards procrastination at the hands of the Internet is already to an obsessive level, I don't need any other reason to drop off the edge of the real life world. 

However, after the first episode of this series of Sherlock aired, a friend uploaded the top Tumblr Fandom reaction posts onto Facebook, and I laughed so hard that all breath left me. It was at this point that I realised I would not be able to fully experience the joy of Sherlock unless I had thousands of other fans to enjoy it with. So, I finally gave into the pull of Tumblr, not really sure what it was that I was letting myself into, and created an account. 

Now I would like to point out at this time that I am pretty much a newbie when it comes to Tumblr. I was shamed more than I can say when I had to learn new Internetual lingo. I had thought I was pretty up to date with what I knew, but it would appear I was not. So, if you are interested in discovering the world of Sherlock on Tumblr, or other fandom worlds, let me introduce you to one word in particular that you will need to be able to understand in order to get the full experience.

To "Ship"
I was first introduced to this word the day after Sherlock Season 3, Episode 1 was aired. I was looking for a video clip on YouTube of the famous sexy kiss for my blog. Once found, I thought I might check through the comments made on this video. A lot of it involved comments I totally understood and completely agreed with, like: 

" 

How the hell will any kiss match up to that ever again? I've watched it 25 times now and my stomach still drops like a roller coaster every single time."

"DAMN SON."

"Jawline of D E A T H"

"REPEAT. REPEAT. REPEAT. DIE INSIDE A THOUSAND TIMES."

And then this comment came along: 

"SOMEONE PLS HELP ME I CAN'T BREATHE THIS IS MY SHIP SAILING OMGGGGGGGG"

I won't lie. I sat there, read that, and thought "Where's she travelling to?" And then "Ship" arrived all over the comments and, after the 15th or 16th time of seeing this word, I realised there was probably some other meaning to it than actually a mode of transport for the open seas. 

After being on Tumblr for a couple of hours I soon became aware now of the true Internetual meaning of the word "Ship."

To ship is to take two people and basically want them to be together. It happens everywhere apparently. 

An example of this in a sentence would be: "OMG, I totally Ship Sherlock and Moriarty". 

In terms of Sherlock, the Fandom "Ship" pretty much every possible pair, although the top people are: 

Sherlolly: Sherlock and Molly

Johnlock: John and Sherlock

Sherliarty??: I'm not too sure how to join together that one, but Sherlock and Moriarty

And my personal favourite: 

Mystrade: Mycroft and Lestrade. This is my favourite as the fans who "Ship" this really don't have much to go on, due to there being no scenes of them both together. To the point that, in the last episode of the series, there was a 3 second clip of them both in one shot, and the Fandom jumped on it unlike anything I've ever seen. It was copied all over Tumblr, even though it consisted of them both just sitting down on either side of a desk. It was the only thing they had, guys! I applaud their devotion. 

Once I had that definition down, I was all over Tumblr 24/7. I'll admit, I've only really used it for Sherlock posts and blogs but I'm sure, once a new obsession begins on TV I'll have something new to use it for. But I will take this moment to thoroughly encourage you all to check the blogs out on there. Only if you've seen it though, of course. This will be no fun to you if you haven't and don't want to know what happens. 

If you just want to read everything possible, then simply type in "Sherlock" in your Tumblr Search. However, I can recommend some highly satisfying Fandom blogs which have never failed to disappoint in the past couple of weeks: 

bbcsherlockftw

bbcsherlock

sherlockspeare

You follow those three and you'll be laughing.. literally. 

Also, feel free to follow me, although I'm not quite sure how to properly post on it yet, I've done it at least twice and I'm up for learning. I'm (surprise surprise) on there as Plumsauce10.

Also, I appreciate that this has been a crash course on Tumblr, written by a woman who has about 2% knowledge on the subject, so feel free to add any additional comments on what makes it so cool in the comments below, I'm always happy to learn and fall in love with new stuff.

Peace out my lovelies.

I appear to have developed an allergy to myself

As most of the regular readers of this blog will have become aware, I am a lady who likes her TV programmes. If I'm not lost in a boxset of some kind, it's like I'm dead inside... true story.

Anywho, I've recently decided to go all retro on my bad self and work my way back through the full workings of a particularly famous vampire slayer we all know and love. I am of course referring to Buffy. Man, every time I watch that programme, it's like I'm falling in love with it all over again. It's pretty much the reaction I have for anything Joss Whedon puts out in the world, slotting him in nicely with the group of Writer besties I plan to make this year: In case you haven't been paying attention, this solid group of people now consist of: 

Steven Moffat

Mark Gatiss

Joss Whedon

Neil Gaiman

There are others, but I thought I'd take my family's advice and stop dreaming too big. These four are plenty enough for me to be getting on with for 2014. The others can join the flock afterwards. And I also promise not to talk with them about the upcoming project I'm planning (involving my books, Joss Whedon and Steven Moffat) until a proper friendship is formed. I'm just looking to bond with them tbh... whatever happens after that will just be a beautiful development of epic proportions. 

Back to watching Buffy... There I was last night, making my way through the collection, of which I am up to Season 5, and two very monumental and sad things happen. I don't really want to give away spoilers but I will say Joyce and Tara both broke my heart. 

Now, thanks to a best friend who lived and breathed Buffy growing up, there really isn't an episode of this programme that I don't know off by heart. Seriously... there was absolutely nothing else we would both do with our teenage years, other than watch this programme... and we spent a lot of time together. There is a video somewhere within her keeping where we both sing and act out the entire musical episode of Buffy, accents and all... we were so cool. 

Due to this, I knew exactly what was going to happen within this series, so the particular above mentioned sad moments came as no surprise to me. However, this did not stop me from crying on and off for about four hours as I made my way through these episodes. 

It was after the initial cry however, that I began to notice something was wrong. As I started to create tears, my eyes seemed to get quite irate about the whole thing. They seemed to be reacting badly to my bodily eye fluids and started to become inflamed, itchy and irritable. I know there does consist a slight amount of rubbing of eyes when crying, so I didn't think much of it. However, once I stopped crying, I noticed that the itchiness didn't wear off for a while. I finally managed to get my eyes under control, mainly by dunking my face in a sink full of water. I returned to the programme and low and behold, someone else had a breakdown, began to cry, and I joined in with their pain. My eyes erupted. It was like my tears were some form of acid and they were not happy to be in contact with it. 

This continued until I finally decided to turn off the most depressing episodes of Buffy yet and try and get some sleep. Although, by this time my eyes had become swollen and red, not unlike how they get any time I come into contact with anything feline. I could not work it out. So, instead of spending time thinking things, I decided to just sleep because, let's face it, that's a hell of a lot more fun. 

This morning I woke up with normal eyes again and spent the majority of my day, leading up to this point, trying to work out the bizarre allergic reaction I had been subject to. The only conclusion I could come up with? I'm allergic to my tears. 

Yes, ladies and gents, I appear to have found a way to become allergic to myself. Because apparently, after this and this  happened, my body didn't already hate me enough, and has decided to come up with a new and fun way to torment me. 

After thinking about this for a while, I realised that I shouldn't be really all that surprised, given that I had already identified that I have acidic armpits, and so the fact that I am now excreting acid from my eyes as well, makes perfect sense. What I do have a problem with, however, is that, if part of my body has decided to become slightly toxic, I fully expect the rest of my body to adopt, adapt and improve. By not doing so, it is proving that there appears to be some rivalry going on, and I really don't want to have to have yet another conversation with my organs, flesh and body fluid about getting along again. That last time was just painful, none of them would speak and then they all just started shouting at once and I was all "Calm down!" And then the people at Starbucks started suggesting that I took this conversation elsewhere, and I just hate creating a public scene, so I was hella embarrassed about the whole thing. 

The problem is, I haven't even finished with all the sad Tara bits in this series (I'm not even going to mention the Big Sad in the next series), so I know there will be future crying involved and, if my body doesn't start behaving itself, I'm going to come in tomorrow looking like I've been punched in both eyes (true story, my eyes look like that after an allergic reaction, I'll take a picture next time to prove it... (just don't wait around for that picture. It's not like I'm going to go and find a cat, then rub it all over my face, for the purpose of creating photographic evidence. I love you guys, but it hasn't quite developed into a "I'm willing to die for a photo" kind of love (yet))). This will mean that an intervention will probably have to be scheduled for soonish. But don't worry, I've learnt from my mistakes, all conversations had with myself are now made strictly within the comfort of my own room so as to avoid any inevitable committing to a mental health hospital. 

I may be crazy, but I'm also clever about it. 

Peace out my lovelies.

Wind Back Wednesdays: My Childhood Super Power

Welcome to my second episode in Wind Back Wednesdays. The fact that I'm writing this means that this has already lasted a whole week longer than I thought it would! Hurrah!!

In case you missed it last week, Wind Back Wednesdays is when I look back on the memories of my life, find one worth talking about, and write it down! Today, I'm going back in time to my life in Primary School when I was about 8 years old. Similar age to last week. Apparently this is when I blossomed in my anecdotal experiences. So without further ado, I give you this week's story.

When at school, we were given a project. Our teacher asked us to come up with either an example of when we were really naughty, or when we did a good deed. We had a school assembly coming up and the idea was that we were going to tell our stories on this day.

When I was asked to do this, I couldn't think of anything for either story. So, as a result, I figured the best thing was to make something up, naturally. There was a certain degree of competition involved in this project. We all wanted to have the best story. I needed it to be good. As such, I came up with this story about how I had been really naughty one day when I had taken talcum powder and covered my entire room with it. If I still had the original version now, I would have been able to upload it and show you the awesomeness of this story. However, as I don't, you will have to take my word for it. It had plot twists and a protaganist and deep relationship dramas that made for an amazing and enthralling story... all of that, and it lasted about half a page in my exercise book... sure the twists and drama involved probably weren't that obvious, but if you read in between the lines, you would have found it.

Anywho, I wrote this story and presented it to my teacher with a flourish and pride that had me certain I had the best story yet. This pride and excitement was incredibly short-lived however, when my Teacher announced that these stories would all be going back home with us, so our parents could read them. Suddenly I was filled with dread; knowing full well that, if Marmie read this, I would be caught in the act of lying, and I knew she wouldn't be happy with that.

However, it was all too late and, as I hadn't developed the ability to cover my tracks when being naughty yet, I had no choice but to let the exercise book go home with me. All that evening, I was terrified for Marmie's reaction to what she had read in my book. I heard nothing from her for a while, which just served as a further catalyst to increasing my fear. When Marmie eventually did address the story with me however, her reaction was not that of disappointment or anger, but rather surprise.

"You have some memory on you," She said.

I looked at her, confused, but too paralysed to speak.

"That incident with the talcum powder happened when you were really young." She continued. "I can't believe you remember that."

My mouth dropped open in amazement, not quite sure how to deal with the information that I was being given. Marmie was telling me that not only was I not in trouble, but that I hadn't even done anything wrong in the first place. My completely fabricated story of my Talcum Powder mayhem appeared to be 100% true.

"That actually happened?" I asked.

Marmie laughed at this. "Well of course it did, why else would you have written it?"

"Yeah." I said. "I was really naughty that day, huh?"

Marmie smiled at this, and continued with whatever she was doing, blissfully unaware of the full out explosions occurring within me. I remember clearly leaving Marmie and going back to my bedroom in a daze. There was no part of my story that I had thought was true. I had no memory of doing what I had written I'd done, nor did I have any memory of being told that I had. And yet, here I was having made something up, and later discovering that it had, in fact, come true.

Naturally, my 8 year old brain then made the only conclusion that seemed possible. I somehow had developed magic powers. When I wrote stories, they came true. I felt 100% certain of my new found special abilities and was suddenly overcome and drunk with the power of it. I immediately thought of all the things that I wanted to come true, knowing, without a doubt, that all I had to do was write them down and they would happen.

Now, usually, I suppose a person might try and exploit this power by writing a story about how they are a millionaire or famous or something, but this wasn't my plan in the slightest. As soon as I realised my power, I also realised the responsibility that was tied to it. And what was amazing was that this was years before the Spiderman movies had come out. I had always been slightly ahead of my time...

Due to this revelation, I decided that I would use my new found power carefully and with caution. Apart from anything, I was afraid that people would discover my talent and then want to experiment on me and things. So I didn't write anything else for a couple of days, careful to ensure that my previous accidental magic had gone unnoticed by any Scientists.

However, as the date of the School Assembly began to draw near, my Teacher appeared to begin to get a little distraught over the material we had to offer. Apparently, so many of us had chosen to write about the naughty story, there were barely any stories about us being good. She asked if anyone would consider writing one for the other column. She had no takers. All of us apparently prefered to be seen as naughty than good... or we simply just didn't have any examples to give.

The day prior to the Assembly, our Teacher offered the class an ultimatum. If we all insisted on doing naughty stories, we wouldn't be guaranteed a spot to read it out in front of the school and family visitors. However, anyone who was willing to write a good story, would have a definite place in the Assembly.

Now, for all my good intentions on not exploiting my power up until this point, there was one form of Kryptonite that I had growing up... that was the need for attention. There was nothing more satisfying to me than to perform and have a whole room of people watch me... Yes, I was that girl. Due to this, the possibility that I might not be able to have that attention on me scared me silly. Also, by sacrificing my story when no one else wanted to, effectively taking the bullet for the class, I was showing myself to be a shining example of selflessness and would be praised by everyone else around me. That prospect played to my drama queen inner self so much, I knew I had no other choice but to volunteer. And so, like the martyr I was, I raised my hand and humbly offered my services in writing another story last minute for the sake of a well balanced Assembly and, in turn, to uphold the reputation of this school.

Of course, there was still the issue of my not having any valid memory of doing a good deed. But, due to my new found powers, I knew this not to be a problem. The moment I wrote it, it would become true. I was certain of it.

So I spent the rest of the afternoon writing my next story. This time, I went all out; knowing that the longer I made it, the more time I would have in the lime light. I didn't hold back at all, knowing that there was no story I could make up that would be too big for my super powers.

Due to the short notice, there wasn't enough time for the Teacher to show this story to my parents, and so took the story as gospel. I had had the sense to make the story at least possible, so as to not attract suspicion. There was no flying or world peace involved, I kept it classy; involving myself and Marmie alone.

Assembly day arrived. The school piled into the hall, taking their seats on the floor in front of the chairs, which were organised at the back for the parents to sit. I held onto my piece of paper and waited in anticipation for my turn to tell my story. Eventually it came, and I made my way to the front, throwing Marmie a wave as I spotted her at the back. She waved back, smiling. As far as she was concerned, I was going to be telling my naughty story. I hadn't told her I'd changed it, I wanted it to be a surprise. Once centre stage, I began my story.

"One day, I came home and couldn't find anyone in the house, so I shouted "Mummy" and didn't hear anything at first, but then I heard her. Mummy shouted from the bathroom, but when I got there, the bathroom was locked. Mummy said that she was locked in the bathroom and she was stuck on the toilet, doing a poo. She asked me to help her, and so I tried to open the door but couldn't, so I got a chair and stood on it so I was closer to the door handle, but I still couldn't open it. Mummy was crying now and said she was really stuck on the toilet, so I got a 50p and used it to open the door. It worked and I went in, but Mummy was still stuck on the toilet so I got the neighbours to come round and we all pulled really hard and then Mummy wasn't stuck anymore."

There were giggles throughout the story. The kids especially liked the bit about the poo. When I finished the story, people applauded and I looked up and smiled. It had been a success! I searched for Marmie in the audience and found her. She was staring at me in complete confusion. She didn't look like she remembered the story at all.

I was confused. Why didn't she remember this? I'd written it, so it had to be true. I'd already proved that I was able to do this... however, she almost seemed embarrassed by the whole thing. Why would she be embarrassed?

After the assembly, I found her and asked what she thought of the story.

"What happened to your talcum powder story?" She asked.

"The teacher wanted more good stories instead." I said.

"I wish you had shown it to me first, it was a little embarrassing." Marmie said.

"There wasn't time."

"I thought you were only meant to tell true stories." Marmie said.

I looked at her confused. Why wasn't she remembering this yet? What was wrong?

"That didn't happen, Lisa." Marmie said.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I'm pretty certain I'd remember something like that."

And then my world fell apart around me. The amazing gift I had been certain I had, was ripped from my hands and all I had was a story I had made up without any truth involved. I had never been so devastated.

Of course, I didn't totally stop believing I was able to do it... I mean, it had worked once, so maybe it was only on certain stories that it would happen...

... I can't remember the point in which I stopped believing this. But I'm pretty certain I don't believe it now... at least I hope it's not true, given that I've published a novel where the entire world is destroyed... I will not cope with the guilt if that one came true...

Peace out my lovelies.

Socialising with an old Film-Buddy

I socialised this weekend. I actually spent an entire night in a friend's house and talked with her and stuff. Can I just take a moment to say how absolutely amazing some of those conversations were.

For the really old readers of this blog (in terms of the period you've been reading this, not your actual age), you might just about remember when I was trying to balance three different blogs at once. There was this one, my creative writing blog, and then there was my film review blog. After Randomthoughts began to take over my life, I chose to stop the other two blogs, otherwise there would be no sleep for me. Ever.

Anywho, my film review blog tended to feature one particular lady. I dubbed her Film-Buddy-Kezia, and she would usually be the one who attended all the films with me. She then went off to Uni to get an education or something, and I was then left bereft of a film buddy. It was a sad time in my life. I decided that I could get myself a new friend to attend films with, or I could just stop attending films in the Cinema way. I chose the latter. Quite clearly I was in mourning.

But there is good news to all this. Film-Buddy Kezia has been back from Uni for the Christmas period and, after a couple of false starts in trying to meet up, we finally managed to get together at hers on Saturday. Naturally, the plan was for a monstrous film fest of all the films that we had missed out on, in the past three years... I honestly didn't expect there to be so many of them! As such, we had to economise and pick some favourites instead. Apparently, otherwise it would have been a marathon spanning over several months at least, and she has to go back to Uni before then...

So, Saturday night we ate Fajitas, drank Rose, and spent a silly amount of time pouring over her DVD collection... I'm not going to lie, she doesn't nearly have the extensive collection I have (apparently this has something to do with her actually having a life), but she had created a pretty impressive collection and, in a moment that made me so proud, I realised she had alphabetised the collection. I had taught her well.

To say that the actual film watching in this night became a little bit of a bust is an understatement. You see, we decided to opt for series watching instead, as there was this little TV series called Girls that she wanted me to watch... I genuinely have not laughed so hard at a show in my life.

We got through the entire season 1 and I am now hooked. As great as this show was, it isn't what I want to talk about today. No, I would like to talk about the awesomeness of Film-Buddy-Kezia once a little bit of alcohol is in her system and conversation takes place.

I do remember laughing a hell of a lot throughout the night at the things that she had to say. However, at this moment, the memories of the particular conversations seem to have, for some reason, escaped my mind into a blur... No idea how that happened... There was one that I remember though. Mainly because it was so awesome.

On the topic of drinking alcohol:

Film-Buddy-Kezia has been shortened to FBK

Me: I've gotten quite old when it comes to drinking nowadays.
FBK: How?
Me: I don't so much as make a fool of myself when drunk anymore. More like, just begin to snooze. I've napped at many a dinner party/house party. I think people just expect it from me now. Where's Lisa? Oh she's curled up on the sofa napping? Okay. She'll be up in a minute.
FBK: Nice to know you're living it up.
Me: I try... How about you? Uni life must get pretty wild and shizzle.
FBK: Thinks about this for a moment When I drink, I've never murdered anyone, but I do get quite drunk.
Me: Crickets chirping as I just stare at her
FBK: I mean it, I haven't killed anyone. But I do like a drink every now and again.
Me: You know those two things are exclusive to each other, right?
FBK: I know
Me: And yet you still feel you had to justify this?
FBK: I just wanted to clarify it. Get it out there.
Me: Because you worried I might have suspected you did kill someone?
FBK: Not really. Why? Do you suspect I have?
Me: I didn't before, but honestly? Now I'm wondering.

I would like to clarify that Film-Buddy-Kezia most certainly hasn't killed anyone. This is confirmed by the fact that I asked her if I might be able to blog this conversation and she gave me her blessing. If she had killed someone, it wouldn't be very clever to agree to let me put it on here now, would it? And she is clever. She's actually doing Maths in Uni... I know, I don't understand that either.

Also, she clearly said that she hadn't killed anyone, and she's a very honest person. So relax! She's perfectly safe. Maybe I've just given off the vibe of being a naturally suspicious woman, and she felt that she had no choice but to defend herself... I do have slightly shifty eyes.

Also, just so you all know, I did in fact fall asleep nice and early that night. I also kicked Film-Buddy-Kezia in the face. Which she has said was her fault as she had chosen to stick her head at my feet. I suppose that was her asking for it.

Anywho, that was my weekend. That's all.

Peace out my lovelies.

**SPOILER POST** Sherlock: And now we wait.

Two years we waited patiently for this series. Two years of only being able to receive our fixes from the previous 6 90 minute episodes. We endured, we struggled through, knowing that the pay off would be worth it because we believed in the Gatiss/Moffat/Cumberbatch/Freeman team so much.

And then it arrived. The long awaited series, after years of predictions and wonders over how it was that Sherlock Holmes cheated death. For my review of the first two episodes, please do check out what I said last week. This post will predominantly be about the third and final episode. An episode that had me worked up into such a state all week, for fear that Moffat would almost certainly be killing off someone and leaving me in a state of snot and tears. Thankfully this wasn't the case.

The anticipation and lead up for me, over the past week, entered into non-healthy levels as I started to feel the familiar pangs of obsession take over my mind. If I wasn't already convinced on my own that I was probably too fixated on the upcoming episode, the concerned facebook messages and glazed over looks on work colleagues eyes confirmed that my conversation topic needed to drastically change if I wanted to keep the friends I had... I knew all this, but still couldn't stop myself. I watched The Sign of Three at least once a day, to the point that, by Saturday, I was happily mouthing along with the lines, having learnt the entire script by heart.

When not watching the programme, I thought about it... I spent an unhealthy amount of time on Tumblr, until I accidentally fell on what I thought was a Spoiler of epic proportions (a very realistic seeming post about Lestrade being killed). This was the only thing that caused me to stop getting wrapped up in the fandom. I am so glad that this spoiler did not happen.

...There is also a chance that I may, just slightly have delved into a little dabbage of photoshop...

I challenge anyone to say that wasn't exactly what they were thinking when watching this scene...

Anywho. His Last Vow... What did I think? I think that I love Moffat more now than I have ever done. To properly discuss this episode though, we really need to begin with Charles Augustus Magnussen. Freaking hell, did I want to slap that man. It irked me that someone was on my favourite show who I hated with such a passion. It felt weird and alien, and it took me a while to realise why it was that it did...

Truth is, up until this point, each and every one of the people who have come up against Sherlock, I have kinda loved as well. They've been likeable in this really weird way that makes the viewer question their sanity,as well as their moral compass. Case and point being the unusual but undeniable attraction I have had and always will have for Moriarty... yes, just like Molly, I'm beginning to think that my type of guy is a sociopath.

But Magnussen? I hated him so much, I wanted to reach into my screen and strangle him throughout the episode. Having had a while to think about what it was that made me hate him, I realised that it was simply because he belittled Sherlock and Watson every moment he had. From peeing in their fireplace to flicking.John's.face. I got violent at that scene... I'd like to flick him until he bleeds. Sorry... taking a deep breath... and I'll continue.

I can't fault Lars Mikkelsen, he was so chillingly calm in his interpretation of this villain. When he licked the face of Lady Smallwood, I realised then that this man was going to turn my skin... I'm not going to lie, it had a lot to do with him then wiping his tongue on a cloth serviette, which the thought of alone makes me clench my teeth in discomfort... but I probably would have hated him equal amounts had he not licked something that really shouldn't be licked... *takes a moment to gag a little*

For all his chilling performance however, the arch enemy who still managed to steal the show, mainly on account of him being so very awesome, even when he's just in Sherlock's head, was of course Moriarty.

The moment Sherlock runs into the padded room and caught sight of the chained up crazy person in the corner, I crossed my fingers, said a little prayer, and hoped against all hope that it was Moriarty. And of course it was. Now, upon having this confirmed, I am already in a state of elation and pure joy. However, the moment he comes charging at the camera and starts spitting... I actually applauded. I'm not ashamed to say it. I gave him a nice large clap and congratulated Andrew Scott for once again being so awesome.

...

I did also then have to deal with the worrying residual feelings after the scene however, whereby I came to terms with the fact that even though the man was crazed, tied up, spouting out stuff that didn't make much sense, and was clearly out of his mind, I still found it hella sexy. I'm really not that sure what that says about me, and if I'm honest, I'm not in a rush to find out... pretty certain the answer isn't going to be a good one, so what's the point?

And then there was Mary... I was confused with this. Don't get me wrong, I did like the whole explanation, and it was completely different to what I had going on in my head. Not to mention, the line "The problems of your past are your business, the problems of your future are my privilege" actually had me scooping my heart off the bed, where it had melted right out of my body. And of course, for him to then follow this up with:

Mary: You don't even know my name.
Watson: Is Mary Watson good enough for you?
Mary: Yes, oh my God yes
Watson: It's good enough for me too.

At this point, I had my bowl of popcorn hovering below my mouth, my hands shoving down mouthful after mouthful as I exclaimed to the empty room "this is damn good telly."

...

Reading back over those last two points, I'm beginning to wonder if my housemates ever get worried about the noises that leave my room when I'm watching Sherlock. I think I applauded yesterday's episode about five times... I definitely whooted a couple of times and wasn't exactly quiet in my opinions during any Magnussen scene on that day. I might ask them one day... I might not. I haven't decided.

My concern with the Mary twist isn't even something I can put my finger on. There are holes in the reasons for why she had to shoot Sherlock. I get that she did it in a way that he would survive, although barely, but why shoot him at all? Why not just knock Magnussen out and bolt it? I couldn't understand the reasoning behind it.

The reveal of Mary to John however, was chilling and, once again, I had to give Martin Freeman top marks for being able to convey a world of hurt in just one look. How does he do that???? Not to mention the "You're the client" speech was amazeballs. Well done Moffat, excellent piece of writing. I can't wait until we're best friends.

That aside though, I just can't work Mary out now. I know she's meant to be this once assassin who is now reformed and in love and trying to leave her old world behind. But I wonder if they tried too hard to make the world love her in the first two episodes, and now it's compromised who she's meant to be. She could be that good at giving off these two personalities but to what extent? I'm now perplexed by her. I don't know if it's necessarily a bad thing, as I'm sure the next series will be full of answers in this regard, but still... I want to know now.

Which brings me onto my last point. 2 years we waited for this series. It was over in 1 and a half weeks. Now who knows when we get the next lot? I suppose we should be used to the feeling of waiting around for more episodes... goodness knows, we spend more time doing that than actually watching them, but still... the thought of another 2 year wait?

I'm going to need to find a new obsession... otherwise there'll be no living with me.

Peace out my lovelies.

Welcome to Fancy Things Friday! The Popcorn Machine.

Hey my lovelies!!

So I'm developing this idea that I might devote certain days to certain things throughout the week. Partly to give this blog some structure, but mainly so that I'm motivated to actually write things on it.

So far, I have two days paved out...

Wind Back Wednesdays:
This is where I delve into my memory bank and find a story from my past to regale you with... I have a lot of material to go on, trust me.

Fancy Things Friday:
This is where I bring to light something that has caught my attention during the week. It could be in the form of a website I liked, a new blogger/youtube account/twitter/other internet thing I've discovered, a thing I've bought or been given/a place I've been... basically, anything that I've seen and gone "Ooooh, that's fancy and fun, I like that." Then I decide to advertise the hell out of it, on this blog.

Once again, I would like to throw in a disclaimer that this is all an idea at the moment. I'm not promising that I will deliver every week, but at the moment, I'm going through this whole kick of being pro-active and shizzle, and so feel highly motivated to see this through. We'll see how well I go though... It is the beginning of the year and all that, mostly running off the adrenalin of wanting to actually give my life some form of meaning... I don't know how long that will last.

So, as it's Friday. I thought I'd start up this series with a Christmas present that I received from Marmie and Father this year. Younger-Brother-Daniel gave Marmie a massive lecture about how he wanted her to give us all presents that involved thinking out of the box this year. Something which we have all since laid into him for, as it required the demand for us to do the same as well. Younger-Brother-Daniel, himself, has also regretted this speech as present giving was a lot more effort when we realised that we wouldn't be able to get away with the standard TV boxset of something or other, like we normally divert to.

Anywho, as a result of this, Marmie and Father went to great lengths to find me a present that was thoughtful and unique. They found a theme based on my current lifestyle, which was a way to aid my quiet nights in, watching movies. Somehow they got it into their heads that of anything they had to give, this would be the most useful... they weren't wrong.

So, Christmas day rocked up, and I received from them an awesome series of presents. One snuggly and very comfortable Minnie Mouse Onesie, four packets of Popcorn Kernels, a misjudged DVD of a collection of films... (Marmie had bought me a collection of films starring Selina Gomez, not really knowing who Selina Gomez was, and not realising that her films don't usually get enjoyed by anyone over the age of 11 years old), and then the biggest present under the tree, which pleased me to no end, in the form of my very own Popcorn Machine.

Now, it might be something that a lot of you already have... I don't know the type of lifestyles you live, you may very well be a popcorn crazed family/individual who makes popcorn on a nightly basis and never watches a movie without it. But for me, this is a new and novel thing. Especially as I like my popcorn plain/salty, which rules out my buying any of the packeted stuff you get in shops. Also, my parents have stocked me up with enough corn kernels to last me until I'm 80, so the cost saved in this present is immense.

If you guys don't have this particular machine, or one like it, I'm sure there are many good brands available, then I do recommend you get one. Since receiving this wonderful gift, my endless nights in by myself have seemed that little less mundane and soul destroying. I have an excuse to bring a little bit of fun into my nights in alone... at least until the novelty of it wears off, that is.

You see, now when I pick a movie to watch, it's not just that sad act of putting it into my computer and nestling in with my standard Hanjie puzzle book (I'll save the explanation of that one for another week on Fancy Thing Friday), but it's the fun of preparing a bowl of pretty low fat goodness, and hugging the bowl of popcorn to me, while I close my eyes and imagine I'm actually in a cinema somewhere, socialising with people. Guys, it's almost like the real thing.

Also, due to it being so low in the calorie take, I can treat myself to more than one go of making popcorn on the machine. In fact, just this Sunday gone, I made myself a bowl to rewatch Sherlock: The Empty Hearse, and then made another one just in time for Sherlock: The Sign of Three! Look at me go! I am living the life!!

But my plug of this machine isn't all perfect and sunshine. There are a few warnings that I feel I should get out there, should you decide to purchase one for yourself.

1. Only put in the amount of kernels that the instruction leaflet suggests... it may not seem like much, but trust me, it will be enough. Any more, and... well... just trust me on this one.

2. The smell when you initially turn the machine on, coupled with the sound that it makes, may send you into a little panic attack over the fear that you might be close to blowing up the house. Do not worry, it's meant to smell and sound like that... the burning/overheated smell just means that it's working... Of course, if there are sparks and smoke, I'd suggest just turning it off for a few minutes, to let it cool down. Not that this has happened to me yet, but it just seems like common sense, really.

3. Beware of stray kernels whilst the Popcorn machine is in cooking mode. They will escape from the machine in a desperate attempt at saving their lives and burn a hole into your skin if they come into contact with you. Do not attempt to pick these kernels up. It's like placing your hands round actual burning coals. Also, if you have a daughter who is really excited about her present, don't pick one up, realise it's hot and then throw it at her. She will most certainly get burnt as well as you, and will not take any joy in being able to say that she had joined you in your pain. *cough* Father *cough*.

Other than that, you are golden. Keep the three rules in your head and you are good to go. I know that this advert for the popcorn machine has now made you desperate to go out and purchase it... you are welcome. It is worth the minor burns and fear that a stray hot kernel will land on something flammable and burn the house down... I think.

Happy Popping!

Until next time.

Peace out my lovelies.

The tales of Younger-Brother-Daniel and I: Our trip to Ireland

I'm usually a fairly chipper and optimistic lady nowadays, not to the point where you want to throw things at me, but more that I don't fall into a pit of despair anytime any bad things come my way. I like to think that this is the impression I give off to most people, and for the most part, I would say that others agree with this opinion.

There is one exception to this however, and that is in the form of Younger-Brother-Daniel.

Case and point: Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve, myself and Younger-Brother-Daniel had to get a plane to Belfast, as Father and Marmie had moved there from Scotland, where they had previously lived.

I don't know why Younger-Brother-Daniel brings out the pessimistic in me. I don't think he's overly chipper himself, more like just in a constant state of "I can't be bothered to be bothered about stuff." He doesn't get angry often, in fact I'm struggling to remember the last time, outside of our teens, that I've actually seen him angry. He just tends to go with the flow... as such, any worry I might have about things, tends to be turned into a complaint from his end that I am far too pessimistic for his liking.

Of course, this leaves me confused as I'm not usually interpreted this way. But then, instead of arguing this, I find myself thinking it would be far more fun to play to this and irritate him... we've grown up and moved on with our lives, but the sibling desire to mildly annoy each other is still so deeply engraved in us that we sometimes just can't help ourselves.

Anywho, Christmas Eve was when this familiar correspondence seemed to appear again. You see, we had to get on a plane to Ireland. I was already in a state of panic regarding this, as my passport had expired and, although I didn't need a passport to get to Ireland, I needed some form of ID to get there. I didn't drive so I had no driver's license to speak of and nothing else to use. As such, I had applied for a Citizencard, which would apparently work as a form of ID. However, due to being slightly fond of the procrastination and thinking I had more time than I actually had, I had been late with applying for this card. This, coupled with the fact that my lovely friend, who had agreed to be my verifier (proof that I was who I said I was and not someone pretending to be me...) was on maternity leave so couldn't prove she was who she said she was, I was approaching the Thursday before Christmas Eve with no ID to speak of and a series of emails coming my way from the Citizencard people, telling me that I would have to restart the process again with a new verifier, in order to get the card I needed.

I kept my calm in this. In fact, I was pretty impressed with how I dealt with the whole thing on this day. As the Citizencard people refused to have a way of being contactable via phone (they said it was to "improve customer service by not wasting money on a call service"(??????!!!!!)), I had to resort to conversing with them by email. To say they were sparse with details in these emails would be a slight understatement. The overall gist of our correspondence was:

Me: I have a few questions for you; Is there any other way you can contact my verifier outside of her workplace? Can you contact her HR and verify it with them instead? Once verified, how long will it take for the card to get to me? Will I be able to get it by Christmas Eve? Is there any extra charge I can pay to ensure it gets to me in time? What other way can we go about ensuring you get the information you need?

Them: No.

Me: ???? What are you answering to?

Them: We need confirmation from your verifier.

Me: And how can we do that, if she's on maternity leave?

Them: We need confirmation from your verifier from her workplace.

...

And so on and so forth.

It was a very frustrating afternoon sorting this out. But amazingly, I got through it without freaking out! And, as luck would have it, my Lovely-Friend/Verifier was going into work the following day and so said she would confirm what needed to be done then.

Anywho, after a long and particularly bitchy email from me, clearly pointing out every single fault in their email responses and demanding that they actually answer the questions being set out to them, instead of the ones they were making up in their heads, I managed to get a coherent response out of them in terms of ensuring that they would fast track the card (after I'd paid extra of course) and get it to me by Christmas Eve. In order to do this, I was expecting a phone call from them the following day, to announce that everything was in place and to take my card details for the additional charge.

Friday came, My-Lovely-Friend/Verifier confirmed that I was a real person and informed me of this fact. I waited for a phone call... and waited... and waited. I thought of calling them to chase this, then remembered that they didn't believe in having phone numbers, you know, to improve customer service. So I sent an email to remind them instead. I waited... and waited... and nothing.

It was at this point that Younger-Brother-Daniel thought it would be awesome to give me a call and ask if I had the tickets for the plane journey ready. He asked the question and it was like a damn broke in my eyes. I burst into stupid amount of tears and made the wild and dramatic statement of "I'm not coming home for Christmas, I don't have any way of getting there. I'm stuck in England. You're going on your own."

There was silence for a moment as Younger-Brother-Daniel realised the mess he had just created in asking this question. Now, Younger-Brother-Daniel and I are pretty close, especially since he moved to London a few months ago. We meet up regularly and are no strangers to the post-Doctor Who/Sherlock episode phone conversation, where we disect what we have seen for hours afterwards. However, there have only been two occasions on which he has ever had to deal with me in this state, this being the second one. I will say this now, both times, he has held his own and dealt with this amazingly. His way of doing it this time was as follows:

Younger-Brother-Daniel has been shortened to YBD

YBD: Oookay. Well, I see you're dealing with things right now. What's happened?
Me: Citizencard people are being horrible people who won't help me and now I'm stuck in England with no way out.
YBD: Well, that's ridiculous and not going to happen. Don't be silly, of course you're coming to Ireland with me.
Me: But how?

There was a pause, before Younger-Brother-Daniel said the most awesome thing that felt like we had both just jumped back in time about 15 years.

YBD: ... I'll ask Mum.
Me: I didn't want to worry her until I knew for certain that I couldn't come.
YBD: Don't be silly, I'll call her now, let her know and she'll know what to do.
Me: ... Okay.

Yup, that's right ladies and gents; two adults at 25 and 28 years old and we still run to Mummy when we don't know what to do... I hold my head high with pride on that fact, she is pretty awesome, after all.

I got off the phone and waiting impatiently for the next call, trying to stop the stupid amount of tears that continued to pour down my face in what was turning into a mini stress out panic attack.

Twenty minutes later, Marmie called me and informed me that she'd been on the phone to the airlines and they were prepared to accept my expired passport, as it only expired a couple of months previously. I thanked Marmie, got off the phone and took a long hard look at myself in the mirror, amazed that I still required both sibling and parent to fight my battles...

Anywho, as it turned out, I finally got a phone call from Citizencard on Monday (from a with-held number, of course) reassuring me that they would get the card to me the following morning. And, let me tell you, when that postman turned up at my door on Christmas Eve, there is a chance that I may have threatened to kiss him... he didn't look too impressed with this... *sighs* ...another non-starter.

So, you can imagine, by the time we arrived at the airport on Christmas Eve, with all that having happened, coupled with the fact that the News hadn't stopped warning us that all trains and planes were going to be delayed on Christmas Eve due to the strong winds, I was not exactly in the best frame of mind in believing that this plane was going to leave the airport.

So my slight comment that we will be spending Christmas in Gatwick Airport, in context, makes perfect sense. And that was how it had started, I made one little comment about how we weren't going to make it to Ireland for Christmas and Younger-Brother-Daniel goes off on this tirade about how pessimistic I was and made some form of comparison between me and Scrooge/the Grinch, that I felt was highly uncalled for. But, as we had nothing left to do but converse with each other on this topic, in the light of getting there really early/the monstrous delays being predicted, I thought I might as well play the part.

This led to my making plans within the airport for where we would sleep, the material we would use to form makeshift beds, and the games that we could play to keep us occupied. The games topic may have got a little out of hand, especially when we talked about the game Munchkin, which is a card role playing game based loosely on the Dungeons and Dragons type of game:...

Me: You've got the game Munchkin with you, haven't you?
YBD: That's a really long game, when are we going to have time to play that?
Me: We're here for the next 3 days, so we might as well.
YBD: We are not here for-
Me: If we set it up in the main waiting area, we can see if we can get others involved in playing.
YBD: We're just going to ask random people to play with us?
Me: We won't need to, people will be asking us to play once they see how much fun we're having.
YBD: I'm not too sure of the logistics of that, I don't even know what the maximum amount of people are, in this game.
Me: The more the merrier, I say. It could be like one of those flash mob things, we could film it as more people join in around the room.

Slight pause and Younger-Brother-Daniel lets that idea sink in.

YBD: That has to be the most boring version of a flash mob I have ever heard of. Who would watch that?
Me: No one, because they'd all be too busy playing the game and having the time of their lives.

There is a reason why I have hyped the lead up to our flight so much... mainly because we had a half hour delay and then took off without any problem, which pretty much makes this the most anti-climactic ending to a story in the world, but didn't you enjoy the journey it took to get us there??

No?

Okay, sorry. I'll try to be more entertaining next time.

Peace out my lovelies.

A Random memory from the archives: The day I realised my father was too clever for me...

Seeing as it has just been Christmas and we therefore tend to reflect back on past memories and stories, I've come across some interesting ones from my childhood, and I thought, why not tell you all about one of them? It's always fun to delve into the mind I once had. I have quite a few, and so thought I might make a bit of a series about them, possibly telling you a new one every Wednesday, although I'm not going to commit to that, it's too much pressure. All I will say is that I will try.

So today's memory takes us to a place that well and truly proves I grew up in Britain, as it involves a family trip to a castle ruin and involves a very British word. It was also the day that I gained a new respect for my father's ingenius powers of deduction, and realised that he was, in fact, a force to be reckoned with.

I was about 8 or 9 years old, and about at the age where I had become aware of the idea of swear words, and had even heard a few myself. I had been exposed to certain words late in life, given that I have yet to hear my parents say anything remotely close to a swear word outside of the phrase "You ninny!" which my father shouted out during a football match one year, to much the enjoyment of the rest of the family. As such, my childhood was sheltered to any "bad words" until children started to mutter them in the playground. My lack of knowledge of these words did become a bit of a running joke within the school playground as, when my obliviousness had been noted, I was quite often tricked into saying words I hadn't realised where bad, and then the people tricking me would subsequently run to the teachers and tell them that I had said them... this would usually consist of children asking me to say the word Bucket while pulling at both sides of my mouth, so as to create a different sound altogether... I know, children can be cruel.

*Stops and wonders how many people have now just tried that, to see what I meant...*

Anywho, one word that I had previous knowledge of, mainly due to hearing it on a TV show I had snuck in to watch after my bedtime, and then got told off for saying in the playground the next day, (which was generally how I found out that words were bad) was a word that featured strongly in our family trip to the castle.

You see, we had gone to a castle that had a large amount to do with a certain royal family member under the name of Mary. Due to her legacy, she had adopted a nickname after she died, which was "Bloody Mary."

Now our trip to this castle consisted of a tour and a talk of the history of the place, before we were then allowed free reign to check out the ruins for ourselves. During this talk, our tour guide began on her speech about this woman and mentioned, for the first time, her nickname, saying the term "Bloody Mary" without a flinch nor an eyelid batted from any of those listening to her, including my parents.

My 8 year old brain almost exploded, trying to understand it. I remember throwing a glance at Older-Brother-Glyn, who in turn raised his eyebrows at me. It seemed amazing that we were both not only allowed to hear such a word without being ushered out of the room, but that no one seemed to be offended at all. I couldn't comprehend it. I was certain there had to be a flaw somewhere in it.

And then a thought came to me, what if this wasn't just a flaw, but rather a beautiful gift, a loophole that would allow me to be naughty and get away with it. My little mind went into overdrive trying to work out how I can turn this to my advantage. I walked through the rest of the tour, my body almost bubbling over with excitement over this new revelation. Eventually the tour finished and we were invited to check out the place for ourselves. We did.

At this point, my memory tells me that the rest of my family disappeared, except for Father and myself. I'm unsure as to where they went, but I'm going to assume that they simply went to explore another area of the castle, rather than anything else more sinister like they fell off a ledge or something...

Anywho, Father and I had climbed to the one of the turrets of the castle. Father was examining an old unused canon, and I had found myself in front of an information board, telling me what this part of the castle was used for. As if by fate, Bloody Mary's name shone out of the text and I had to bite my lip to contain my excitement.

"Daddy!" I called out. "Bloody Mary has been here too!"

I turned to face Father, waiting with baited breath on his reaction. Knowing that this would be the moment of truth, if he accepted my use of this nickname, it was him giving me the green light to use it whenever I wanted. I had never felt so naughty in my life.

Father slowly turned to face me, a look of weariness on his face that suggested he could go either way. However, he simply nodded and said:

"That's nice."

It was like fireworks had gone off inside my brain. My father, the man who told us off if we so much as said the word "fart" had heard me say a naughty word, and had accepted it. I literally didn't know what to do with myself. After a moment of thinking, I decided that this was all too much of a good thing to let go to waste, so I decided to milk it for all it's worth.

"I can't believe Bloody Mary was actually here where I'm standing. The Bloody Mary. Why is she called Bloody Mary? She doesn't look that Bloody."

Father's weariness appeared to grow at each repeat of the word, but I didn't even notice, so hyped up was I at the free reign of a normally taboo word.

"You heard the tour guide as well as I did. She explained why."

"But I don't understand it. Bloody Mary actually stood here? Why would Bloody Mary do that? Do you think she minded being called Bloody Mary? I wouldn't want to be called Bloody Mary, it's not a nice name to be called... Bloody Mary."

"Enough!" Father called out.

I stopped in my tracks and peered up at Father, aprehension clear on my features. He seemed angry, although he had already made it clear that Bloody was a word I could use when put before Mary, as he hadn't minded the first time I had done it. Therefore, I hadn't done anything wrong, I couldn't be told off. I had been 100% clever in my words, there was no way that he could have a problem with a single thing I had said. I had worked out how to swear and get away with it, it was a fool proof plan.

"I know what you're doing." Father continued.

I gave him my most innocent look. "I'm just interested in Bloody Mary." I said.

Father sighed. "You are using that name as an excuse to swear."

Colour drained my face, my heart sank to my feet, I could not believe that he had worked it out. I had been so sneaky and clever about the whole thing. How could he have thought for one minute that it had been a trick? I shook my head, automatically going into defense mode, as an 8 year old tends to do.

"No I'm not!" I said. "I'm just interested in..."

"You are, and I know it."

I gaped at him. Was he reading my mind?? How did he know this stuff?? I was immediately terrified that Father had some magical powers I hadn't been aware of until now.

"I'm not doing anything wrong! It's her name!" I said.

"Well, I tell you what, how about we don't mention her anymore today?"

I pouted, he had just taken all fun out of what had been one of the best conversations I had ever had. I had to find a way around this.

"But what if I want to find out more about her? Can't I ask any questions?"

"Of course you can." Father said, with a smile. "But you can refer to her as Mary, I'll know who you're talking about."

My mouth dropped open, he had thwarted all my chances of being naughty and I was now backed into a corner.

"Fine." I said sulkily.

And I did sulk, turning back to the information board. My father had proven to me that he was able to read my mind and know exactly what it was that I was planning, my world had been turned upside down. I would have to be careful on all my plans from now on, this changed everything.

And I kid you not, I genuinely believed he could read my mind for at least a year after that. You can see why, there was clearly no other way for him to have known what I was doing.

Peace out my lovelies.

What a difference a year makes

I caught myself smiling just now... walking down the corridor at work and just smiling. I had no particular reason to. I had just bought a salad at the canteen and was given a free 2014 calendar which of course is nice, I like getting free things. However, I don't think that had anything to do with my smile, my smile was there purely because I am happy.

If I delve too much into the reasons why I am, I get the sneaky suspicion the happiness won't last, as there is no rhyme or reason to it at the moment. Looking at my place in life now, compared to me this time last year, I'm about at the same place; if anything, I'm slightly worse off.

I have less money and more outgoings, my writing isn't as frequent as it was then, my friendships are... well probably the same, with the exception that I speak to them a little more than I did then. However, there is one fundamental and all encompassing thing that is different in me. That thing is my mood.

You see, last year I climbed out of a fog that I had got lost in for over 10 years; marking 2013 as my most favourite and important year of my life. I won't go into the details, mainly because I have a post saved in my drafts that I have been writing for about 6 months which goes into this in detail. As it might be my most soul exposing post yet, I don't want to upload it in any hurry, until I have it just right, hence the silly long time it is taking me to edit it. However, I will say that the change in me and the comfortableness I am able to feel within my own skin, is so mind boggingly different to anything I have experienced, that I find myself unable to comprehend it at times.

I found myself at a dinner party on Friday night with some people I used to work with (I know! Don't I sound posh and something right out of Downton Abbey?) Anywho, we were debating about a whole series of things, and a question was posed to me, asking me if I minded that my lifestyle might be seen as inappropriate in the eyes of the more conservative religious groups in our world today. I found myself shrugging at this and shaking my head, simply stating "I couldn't care less if someone is offended by how I live, I'm not doing it to offend them, and it has nothing to do with them, so why should it matter to me what they think?"

As I said those words, I found myself shocked and surprised at how comfortable I felt in saying them. I realised in that moment, that I had never been so completely certain about anything in my life. Growing up in a strong Christian built world, I had pushed myself into a lifestyle that lived for approval from those around me, to the point where I was unable to find any form of approval within myself. This was where I was, this time last year. It was where my mind and my heart was at. And it was at conflict because the constant struggle to meet the expectations I believed I had to meet, was slowly draining me of everything I had.

Then last year happened, it wasn't in the form of a life altering event that forced me to reconsider all my thoughts and processes, but rather in the form of a gentle whisper in my ear, encouraging me to take ownership of my life and suggesting new ways I could approach it. That voice changed me more than I can say. It allowed me to not associate crappy situations with a crappy mood, but rather look at ways in which to survive through it. And I did. I dealt with things and began to become more vocal with what it was that I needed and wanted. I built a life from scratch on my needs and what I felt was right to do. And with that, came a freedom that opened my heart and lifted my head, allowing me to see the world as it was for the first time.

I feel truly blessed and honoured to be able to see the world this way. Remembering how hard it had been to get to this point, I will never take for granted the ability to simply say "So what?" when something bad happens.

I'm not going to lie, I have bad days, but only in the way that others do... the mood doesn't linger for long and soon I am able to get on with life again. I also realise that there does need to be a certain degree of work that needs to be done on my life, as I have inadvertantly wasted a large chunk of my 20s in the fog, and I'm damned if I continue that way into my 30s. I also have to work that little harder at the moment, to ensure that I don't slip into my old ways. Right now, it seems to be manifesting itself into laziness and procrastination; ensuring that I never get round to making a change, in favour of watching TV and scrolling forever through the internet. I have things that I need to do, and my reminder of that is realising how far I have come already, in just under a year. The list of things to do in 2014 are thus (these aren't New Year's Resolutions, just a to-do list):

1. Be on this blog more. Nothing brings me more joy that being around my Internetual Peeps.

2. Finish my damn second book. I have seriously slipped here, and am struggling with the final chapters. I will finish it people, I promise.

3. Finish another freelancing job I currently am working on.

4. Get more freelancing work, anyone fancy me editing their work?

5. Get through Episode 3 of Sherlock on Sunday without having a complete and utter breakdown. (I'm not holding out hope for this one)

6. Get more of an active life than the one I currently hold... as happy as I am, I am also fully aware of the lack of things happening with me right now.

And that's it. My obligatory New Year's Post. I do one every year, each time I list things that I will do and then never get round to doing... but then, as I said, this year is different. And it will continue to be, I'm sure of it.

Peace out my lovelies.