LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: Reece Shearsmith (Page 1 of 2)

House Hunting

Alternative title: Why isn’t there a Tinder-like app for house hunting where you can ogle the size of the garage and cringe at the rather offensive leaky guttering while at the same time wondering where the heck they’ve been storing their lawn mower to get such a patchy garden?! Wouldn’t that make the whole process far more efficient with the swipe / tap / sticky notes with panicked scrawlings thing going on? … That said I have no idea how Tinder works and the chances are I’d end up on a random date with a bungalow in Blackpool during the hen do season (flashing of buttocks and hurking of vomit all up in the garden!). 

I’ve taken to lying on the floor … I should point out that it is in my current residence, not during one of the endless viewings we seem to be attending.

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Call me Q …

**As a heads up for the folks who have yet to see “Spectre” (and who really want to see the film) I will be nattering a little bit about it … So just in case … SPOILER ALERT!**

Alternative title: Why I’ll never be a Bond girl. 

I’m in the cinema, popcorn long since snaffled but my mouth remains open, stunned. Ladies to my right are shrieking at the “sheer phwoar” factor of Daniel Craig, the gentlemen to my left are nudging each other about “the Girl”, and me … well, I’ve just realised I’m a female version of the Quartermaster.

All rather surreal.

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Spicy Buttery Chickpea and Split Red Lentil Soup

Alternative title: I can’t seem to cook lentils without hearing Neil from “The Young Ones” bellowing “guys! There’s some dinner on the floor if you want it!”… Being raised on a comedy series like that is probably the reason I’m a sarcastic git.

 

“What…The heck…Are they?” My brain mumbled.

“Split red lentils” I mutter as I tear open the bag, lentils spill on to the counter top…over the counter top…Into the pup’s bowl. Pup looks decidedly unimpressed.

“Lentils?”

“Yes lentils…”

“And you’re going to mix them with chickpeas? By ‘eck we’ll be farting like mad!”

“…”

I blame ‘The Young Ones!’

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Yoga Maybe?

Alternative title: The last time I went to Yoga I had the unfortunate situation of being placed on the mat behind a 60 year old dude who was wearing shorts…During one move I ended up playing a horrifying game of peek-a-boo with his ball-sack. That image can not be bleached out of my brain…Nor can I look at dried prunes in the same way again.

 

“I should go back to yoga” I sigh as I stare at the very sad looking mat in the boot of my car.

“Why?” My brain chirped up, positively repulsed by the concept.

“Because it’s good for us. It makes us…Well…Bendy I guess”.

“Good for us? Really? Ruebi you try and manipulate your limbs in ways that, quite frankly, are terrifying while listening to some gassy so-and-so releasing their daily dose of green juice in such a way that the local sewage works smells like a rose garden in comparison and let’s not forget the time you managed to smash your knee into your nose with such force we ended up using a sock to stem the bleeding! Honestly, running the wrong way down the motorway while blindfolded would be a safer hobby”.

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