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Welcome to my blog. Brb... I'm making memories (read as: Wine. I'm going to get some wine...)

I got this!

I got this!

Isn’t it funny how we tend to change who we are when put in a situation where you feel completely out of your comfort zone?  Just me then? Really? So you’re always “true to yourself and would never shy away from showing the world the real you…” Well then… fuckyouverymuch. Lies all lies. If I met the queen for example, I know for a fact that I would start talking slower and make a whole lot of effort to really articulate my words more.  This might be due to the fact that on a normal day people cannot understand me.  I have incredibly lazy English, and tend to mumble my sentences with no pauses in between.  No really, I sound like I’m talking through a Darth Vader Mask. Now as much as I would like to blame this on an underdeveloped jaw bone (because my parents clearly couldn’t bonk properly – let’s not even talk about my toes) or on the poor schooling system in South Africa, it has more to do with the fact that I’m just a lazy talker.

BUT with the queen, I’d be rocking the “spot on chaps” and the “good golly have you seen this divine china, isn’t it just darling?” *pinky up while drinking tea* and then I would go into the bathroom, steal her shampoo and take pictures of myself sitting on her toilet pretending to use her monogrammed hand towels to wipe my bum with. (Caption: Who’s your highness now bitchessssssssss!)

As a matter of fact!

Challenge Considered
Challenge Considered

But I digress.  Last night Dalekins and I went to a Whisky tasting.

I hate Whisky.  To me I wouldn’t know the difference if you put a glass of whisky and a glass of meths (lovingly filtered through some mouldy bread) in front of me and asked me which was the Whisky. (Dalekins, a judge would never give you grounds for a divorce on this.  Sorry buddy.)

BUT I am up for any new experience and happily toodled off expecting to feel like a complete twat not knowing a thing, surrounded by connoisseurs talking about distilleries and the grain of the barrels and how it heightens the flavours… blergh. *stabs myself in the eye*

So anyway I got there, sat at a beautifully done up swanky table and prepared to put on the act! I know what I’m doing here people! I LIVE, BREATH, DIE Whisky!

*picks up glass*

*swivels the golden liquid around*

*raises it to the light*

*brings it to my nose*

*sniff* (tries not to gag)

*takes a tiny sip*

*nods head all swarmy like*

Me: “Beautiful flavours, I wonder how long this has been in the barrel for, and clearly it’s been in a sherry cask for many years, I can just taste the dark chocolate”

When an amazing thing happens!

The swanky Whisky pro who has 25 years experience, a lovely Scottish accent who I assume is about to make us all feel like the great unwashed masses, walks up to us and says “People let’s not be pretentious about this, no need to tell me when you taste the whisky that to you, it smells like the oak pews in Saint Paul’s Cathedral and smells of Scottish virgins working the fields in the Highlands, if it smells like apples, just say it smells like apples!”

Me: “Oh thank fuck for that”

*undoes the top button of my pants to let my belly out* *slouch*

*knocks back the glass*

Me: Burp!

You want to put WHAT up my bum?

You want to put WHAT up my bum?

Bucket List

Bucket List