I'm not going to lie...

I'm having an awful week. One of those weeks where you literally cannot wait to go to bed so you can dream of a day less stressful than the last.
In the past few days I have been so caught up with things that I have topped my levels of insanity. Yesterday I boarded a piccadilly line train, panicked thinking I was going the wrong way so got off only to realise I was actually on the right train in the first place and because of my hasty exit had to wait another ten minutes for the next train.
I then decided to try to fix my fan. I think the wire between my brain and my body has been cut because without thinking properly I lurched my finger towards the blade and sliced my thumb. Ow. The day before I decided to go to the cashpoint and strolled along daydreaming, only to realise from sniggers behind me that I was trying to withdraw cash from a post box. Oh dear.
The past few days were spent confined in a teaching room whilst I decided to brush up on my technological skills. I turned up thinking that I would be around like minded writing souls who would love my choice of visiting the local pub garden for lunch. I was VERY much wrong. I was the youngest by twenty or so years. And trust me being the youngest has its problems, I soon became the 'fast learner' of the group, and sitting in a room without air conditioning surrounded by five middle aged redundant women as they asked me how to centre their text box nearly killed me. If that was not enough I then was forced to listen to a newly divorced woman who had just been made redundant from her high publication job and was now thinking about working in Tescos. Wow definitely the news I need to hear when in the midst of graduating.

It all seemed to be going a little pear shaped- did I mention I also had to take a friend to A&E ?(for no fault of my own but that can't be good, and there are no fit doctors in the UK. ER lied- bastards.) Until today.

As if an omen England finally got their act together and won a game, I boarded my train at Kings Cross without fuss or delay, I was told I was beautiful by some strange man (normally the pepper spray has come out but when you're having a down week the strange foreign man with no teeth is a highlight) and my favourite song came on the radio. I popped into my local to see a friend who had moved abroad for the last year or so. Immediately I was told stories about our times at university and just had to smile. 'Remember the time when we went to that bar and popped outside for a cigarette and that random woman tried to kiss me?' or 'Do you remember that time when we had a fight and you got so upset drunk that you ran down the street in your towel to talk to me'. It was on this that my friend Fleur ran into the pub carrying flowers. Running towards me she pressed them into my hand, 'I know you've had an awful week and decided that someone should buy you flowers. I know your favourite are orchids but I wanted these to match your room.'
I could have cried. It is most definitely about the small things. (and no that was not meant to be read dirtily thank you very much!)

The Friend

I've decided to write a little bit about my friend Sarah. She in herself is a blog just waiting to happen.
We all have those friends that are just a little bit crazy...who are the ones that feature in all of our drunken nights out stories. Well that is my Sarah. The only difference is there is no line. That imaginary line that people have on nights out Sarah does not have, and she simply will not be embarrassed by ANYTHING and I mean ANYTHING.
The first night I met Sarah was when I was 16 and she 15. Her brother was a good friend of mine and had brought her along to the pub one night (yes we all drank underage, who didn't?!). Within minutes of meeting her Sarah had not only set fire to her hair and broken a chair in the pub but she had proceeded to remove all the remaining drinks and food from the table next to us. Needless to say that from then onwards Sarah and I became very good friends.
Unfortunately for me however I do get embarrassed easily. I pretend not to and my guy friends try to get me red in the face and fail but Sarah manages it every time. When driving with her she will make sure that she plays 'Time To Say Goodbye' in Italian on the loudest setting whilst pulling into my tiny, private roaded drive way. Or the time when we went food shopping and she decided that I had to walk around pushing the trolley with a tiara on and very high heels whilst she then (sober) managed to drive straight into a DVD display.
When I was younger I thought that Sarah's acts could not get any worse. I was wrong. University and its hockey team brought with it a barrel full of anecdotes for Sarah to tell. The time she was dared to sit in Tescos in their freezer and is now henceforth banned from Cowley Road Tescos. Or the time she went to the kebab shop and proceeded to scream at the man that she was diabetic and therefore needed cheesy chips within the next 2 minutes, whilst trying to pay with her harrods card.
The best nights I have had have been with Sarah and her straightforward attitude. One night we were out in a club in Oxford and Sarah spotted Bradley from S Club 7. Sarah called him over to her where he then asked if he could have a cigarette. After a pause Sarah decided that he could but only if he sung her his solo part of 'never had a dream come true'. Bradley agreed and sung her his solo, he then asked her for his cigarette to which she replied...'Yeah I don't actually have any but thanks for the song' and walked off.
I could go on but feel that with the amount of stories that I have about her I could be here a while...so I'll leave you with the attached photo. It's the time that she raided a skip and found a child's toy car. After removing it from the skip and deciding to ride in it drunk down the hill it collapsed into several different pieces...