Getting chatted up

If you chat someone up then you are (according to the dictionary) speaking to them in an informal way because you are sexually attracted to them. Another example might be “he came on to me”.

Some people don’t believe me (you know who you are!), but I never really know when I am being chatted up unless it is pretty obvious. The pretty obvious ones seem to always be in the most un-obvious of places. Even then I sometimes only realise what happened a little later; usually when people are laughing at my account of the situation.

Do other people always know? Tell me how please! Is it a wink? That could just be a tick you know. A slight touch of the arm? They could just be one of those tactile people. Or are you like me and someone literally has to chase you around a building or matter of factly state that they like you (in a sexual not freindly way) to get your attention on the fact they just might fancy you?

For someone who thinks they are really good (I am really good) at figuring out other peoples behaviours I have a massive blind spot when it comes to myself. At least I can laugh at this deficiency. After telling my ‘chatting up’ story this week I figure why not share a couple of them!


An odd heading – yes. An even odder situation – definitely. Oh gawd if anyone who knows this person reads this I am really screwed as it was recently.

What the hell. So……

I went to a funeral of friend of mine who lost someone close. He gave me the details and so I was there. My intention? To show support to him as a friend, to sit in the back, quietly pay my respects and then leave quietly after giving him a wee nod.

I should put a disclaimer on this one. I am not 100% sure this was a chat up but in a dark humorous kind of way it probably was. Maybe… was. If it wasn’t then it was just weird.

I was quietly waiting to go in when I got a tap on the shoulder. Hi are you here alone he said. Trying to be polite (whilst answering an obvious question) I said yes. The chat continued. I find it awkward chatting during sombre events which my face probably conveyed but he persisted. Initially this seemed ok as it was the usual how do you know such and such, this is how I know such and such.

Until…. “So what is it you do?”

Stop right there. Was it just an awkward question? A tick? A wink? The next statement floored me. When I said what my job was the response was “I am in batteries”. Quite honestly what do you do with that statement. Trying not to laugh given the situation I said…after quite a long and awkward silence…”oh”. There was more awkward chat. I managed to run away to the back of the church.

Was it a chat up? In a slightly reluctant way I think yes. This probability was increased somewhat when my mate messaged me later to say thanks for coming. He ended with a “I heard you met x”.

Thankfully I know he would find this funny. But why me?!!! Maybe it was just an awkward conversation.


Longer ago. A meeting is even worse than a funeral in my book. Work relationships are just not a thing for me. Wonderful that others have met their ‘one’ at work. I just never touch work people. Its like a rule in life.

At the end of a meeting a man who was probably a good 15 – 20 years older than me asked me to go for coffee. My first response was if you want a coffee I’ll go make you one. His response was awkwardly “no….would you like to go for a coffee”. Eh? Stop! Oh shit!!! He repeated this a few times before the penny dropped.

Whilst the penny was dropping he obviously decided he needed to be direct. He said he was asking me out.

My response was equally obvious. “No”! I repeated this a few times before the penny dropped with him. The worst and most funny thing about this was that he actually asked me why I said no. WTF! So in an equally funny and not funny way I said that he was not my type, that he was far too old for me, and I would never want to date him. No point at that point of trying to be subtle.

Having missed out the unattractive comment that was on the tip of my tong I thought I did well. He said “Oh well…I am glad I asked”. I, for the record, wasn’t.

On my return from the meeting a colleague noticed my ghostly white and pretty shocked face. He took me aside to make sure I was ok. I told him about the incident. The only (and best response) he could give was to actually roll on the floor laughing whilst trying to belt out Dionne Warrick’s ‘heartbreaker’. Git! Funny git though. Whenever I see him he still sings this.

Just the two

I have more. Not in a – I get chatted up lots way. Just in a.. that was a bloody awkward and hilarious situation in life. Actually if I do get chatted up more I wouldn’t notice it. Going back to my original question, how do you know!!?

MOT Failure

This is me having a moan. I don’t often have a whinge about things [cough] but MOT day for me is always a trauma.


To prepare for your MOT hide under the covers of any blanket near to you and avoid the reality of your car being in the hands of the garage gods. At least for an hour. Then google MOT’s and read on in both amusement and fear.

Top tips appear to be:

  • Check your lights (yep)
  • Check your tyres (cursory glance and some air…done)
  • Clean inside (has anyone doing these tips seen the inside of most garages?)
  • Top up oil (done)
  • Screenwash (a necessity in this really rubbish weather)
  • Basic maintenance (would require me getting manky so that is a no)
  • Have some fuel in your tank (task done on the way…doh!)


It’s the not knowing that is the worst. I get that my current car is rubbish. I bought it for getting to and from work. I loved my old car. As in I bloody loved that big ass jeep Sahara. I still miss that car and I should say that even though my tyres cost about £400 each to renew – in a good 67,000 miles I never needed to renew them. I digress. The new car is very generic. Very dull. Its not really new, I bought it second hand :-(. Upside, and one I am thankful for, is that it is economical to run and allows me to spend my money on other frivolous things. See – I didn’t turn completely into a sensible person.

Anyway. Anticipation is the worst thing about an MOT day because you don’t know what to expect. You can think one thing (as in my suspension is rubbish) and up pops something else on the failure sheet.

I dropped the car off. My garage man grunted a few times. He does this and I like him for it. The most honest garage man ever, who will only ever do what is needed. This fact does not, however, diminish the butterfly feeling of anticipation.


That moment you see the garage pop up on your phone. Time to face reality. It is a horrible feeling. It was almost a relief to hear the word fail just to get over the stage of anticipation.

The failure list was long but it was all linked mainly to breaks (and one tyre which is no where near as expensive as my last car). Add in the potential of a new calliper and the dawning realisation hits that this is not going to be cheap.

Cue a quick conversation about price. Cue the thoughts of why MOTs should be illegal when it is in the run up to Christmas. Cue the budget sheet being amended for next month. Still no regret over buying the piano though :-).

I’ll get the car tomorrow (haha when I get paid!). At least I won’t be running around in a car with rubbish breaks. Something I am most definitely thankful for. Lets face it, MOTs are a good way of ensuring we are all driving at a safe minimum. They test for the minimum so I can’t grumble about paying up. That might be the only upside to MOT day.

I can grumble about the process and the feelings it evokes (and yes I know they are my own and very definitely my own fault).

Next year I will just ignore the handy google tips. It wasn’t the leftover coffee cup that made me fail…or even the light that needed fixing. Anyway another year before this level of car anxiety hits again and just one day of not having my car. Bloody hate that car anyway :-).

Header Photo by Mike Lorusso on Unsplash

Missing Fish Slice

That is not a photo of my cooker, my one is more normal looking. It is now official that no one should let me near to any cooker including my own. Hobs I am fine with but the oven though always creates a disaster. This disaster involved a missing fish slice.

As a (very long) side note I am not a 100% sure that is what you call it. I sometimes call it a spatula but realise this may be a baking implement. It was a plastic one, not a metal one but I still think it should be called a fish slice. Oh gawd – yes I am an adult. I am over 40 and I am still rubbish at anything cooking related. To be honest it is a failing in life I couldn’t care less about.

It would help if I was in a relationship with a chef. Although I dated one once and am convinced he dumped me for my disinterest in anything cooking related unless it involved eating his food. That sentence could have ended completely differently but I should also note a rising (stick that word at the end and it also applies!) disinterest in him….I would have dumped him if he hadn’t done it first. Just saying.


I lost my fish slice a fee weeks ago. I found this fact really perplexing. Where can a fish slice go?! I spent numerous occassions pondering this. My kitchen is small. My flat is not massive. I didn’t (I was pretty sure) take it out the kitchen. Why would I? Despite this logic I searched a bit around the rest of my house before giving up due to the impending doom of insanity at my actions. How would I explain this one to any psychiatrist when they took me away.

So I gave up searching and assumed it was lost with no explanation. I logically put this in the ‘oh well’ category of life’s little mysteries.

Until…. I used my oven. A rare event (did you read my baking post) and one that usually involves disaster. Due to an even more rare event as I do weirdly eat pretty clean (just involving hob things). A pre-packed meal. I was tired and needed macaroni so in to the oven went the supermarket meal.

The macaroni was good. Moorish and just what I needed to refuel. The oven however seemed a little off. It was a bit smokey. I think this happens sometimes. Does it? Does anyone else’s oven smoke a little on occasion? Is that a cooking thing?

On investigation I found something unusual. A blob of what looked like plastic. On inspection of the said blob I couldn’t figure it out (honestly I am really quite sharp minded at work!). After dinner and a bit of sofa chilling realisation struck. It was that bloody fish slice. Back I went and found the slice bit of the fish slice at the back of the oven. It must have just been the handle that melted.

Why I put my fish slice in the oven is a mystery. Why I didn’t take it out is another one. But I now just think that there is a really good way to avoid any repeat of this. Just don’t use the oven. Ever. Not even 6/7 times a year. So I am now done with the oven and have bought a new fish slice. If. Big if…I ever leave it in the oven again this one is metal 🙂

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

An Unplanned Feature Wall

It is fair to say that I am not that fussed about my kitchen. It is a place to go for wine, coffee and simple meals all of which are available elsewhere in Edinburgh. However I didn’t expect to come home from work on Wednesday to find cracked tiles, a big hole and a whole lot of mess. So now I have a new ‘feature wall’. It may take a while for me to grow accustomed to this change in decor.


The kitchen is on my list of rooms to do up because I want to make it look lovely. Not because is is currently intolerable; it functions like…well like a kitchen. I don’t like the old tiles, the cooker probably needs replaced, in case I get the urge to bake again, and the worktops could do with updating. I should also admit to the wall having a bit of a crack. Not one I was concerned about but one that would need re-plastering in any decorating.

I should further admit to a blob of mulberry coloured paint in the corner no one ever sees. It was a half arsed attempt to decorate before I realised the colour was horrible at a time when I was dating a decorator. Problem being that I wanted to dump him and eventually my morals kicked in to end it before allowing him to carry out his generous offer of painting. Everything else is fine. Well it was!

So I had planned to get around to doing the kitchen. Maybe not immediately as I always find lots of other fun things to spend money on. For example if I planned to get a new kitchen I wouldn’t feel able to book my skiing holiday next January. So I guess you could assume that home decoration is low down on my list of life planning.

Should I re-prioritise?

Should I? It seems not. Why re-prioritise when someone with a great big bloody hammer next door can do it for me. I don’t know if they really had a great big hammer but the flat next door (owned by a friend) is getting a massive overhaul. Apparently he had a crack in his wall. Ill not digress into discussing these things; I don’t have a clue what this crack meant other than the flats, built in the 1890’s, move a little and so the walls must have slipped…a bit.

Anyway. I arrive home and find a mess. Thankfully not broken wine glasses as miraculously the tiles missed them on their way to the floor.

The phonecall to my friend went along the lines of “their is a big hole and mess”. “Its not your fault”. “Never mind [internal yelling that it is a bloody issue]”. “Ok send the builders in tomorrow”. To be fair he was always getting the builders in to sort my bit of the wall and it isn’t costing me anything which is great. So I sort of knew it was coming but the reality of forced re-decoration (if you could call it that) is a little different.

Feature Wall

If I don’t name it a feature wall it could only be described as a jagged section of missing tiles that has been plastered. They howked (that may be a Scottish term) out the broken tiles, plaster and then made good the ancient (130 or so old) bricks with some concrete. A few boards in and then a bit of replastering later and it is done. No crack. One odd looking building site type wall.

I am sticking to calling it a feature wall. At least till after I go skiing. Maybe after I also find something else to spend my money on. In a year or so I might write a home decor type blog about kitchen makeovers. Clearly my blog is not a home decor blog. I will stick to what I am used to and head out to yoga, lunch and then drinks. That way I can avoid cracking up.

How Fast Do You Walk?

I’m not really tall so I always figured that was why I don’t match up to the stride of my 6’ 4 friend. But the more I notice how quickly people In general walk the more I am starting to think that I need to step up the pace.

Maybe I’m Just Slow

It’s an odd thing to notice; I get that. But I have noticed this for ages and so am now, somewhat embarrassingly, putting my thoughts on this in a post. But seriously though…how do people manage to sprint by me even when they are the same height, shorter, or even (by appearance only) more unfit?

It all came to a head when an older, as in a lot older, lady sprinted past me up the hill to yoga yesterday. I basically spent the 10 minute walk trying to catch up with her. The result…I just got further behind. Bloody hell.

Why is Everyone Else Faster?

I’m not unfit, I am not shorter and I am definitely a lot younger than said lady above: so why am I slower?

If I was walking in London I would get it. There’s a difference in pace in different places. But I am from Edinburgh and Edinburgh people are racing by me. Maybe I should be living in the highlands…or somewhere…possibly the Caribbean.

Short legs are not an excuse…neither is a slightly rotund arse. It’s probably an attitude thing. Who knows?

Why am I Bothered?

I’m not too bothered about this. Ok maybe a little. But only because I don’t really get it. Maybe this is why my backside isn’t tiny. I will now need to check out the faster folks rears to see if that theory works out. That might be a little odd but at least they won’t see me doing it when they are zooming by.

Thankfully today is a Sunday and it’s illegal (surely) to be sprinting around the place. So I’ll just donder up to yoga later…slowly. I’ll maybe try a longer (and probably weird looking) stride tomorrow 😆.