Random Thought of the Day: Mosquitoes.

Mosquitoes are dirty bastards. During this heatwave I have worn shorts, a skirt and cropped trousers and haven’t had one mosquito bite to deal with. The past two days I’ve worn jeans, full length jeans and to my astonishment, three big ol’ mosquito bites have swollen up on my legs. How the hell did that happen?!

Clearly they like a challenge and they found it in me. I know mosquitoes are sneaky little creatures that feast upon whatever they can find but they ignored my bare legs when they were on show, but flew into no-go zones such as MY TROUSER LEGS and bit me and I am outraged by their brazen ways.

I hate them. I hate their smallness, I hate the way they buzz past my ear on some summer nights and force me to fight them at 3am with a rolled-up magazine. I hate the way they made me hurt my finger the other night when I tried to squish one into the wall (I got it eventually). They are probably the only reason why I don’t like summer. Irksome little sods.


Put Your Hands Where I Can See.

Last weekend Britain was basking in beautiful sunshine. It was blissful but I have a bone to pick with some of the male half of the population and have to make a plea. Guys, for the love of goodness, please stop breaching public decency.

I have no problem with men wearing low slung jeans or trousers but I am sick and tired of seeing young men walking round with their pants showing most of their underpants or bum. Or even worse, walking with their hand(s) down the front of their trousers. I saw a guy yesterday doing just that and wondered since when has it been acceptable to strut around like you have a gun stuffed in your undercrackers?

Do any of you guys realise that this does not make you look hard or attractive- it makes you look like a sex pest. I don’t know if you have heard but there is an invention called pockets. When you don’t know what to do with your hands, you can stuff them in there rather than down the front of your trousers. If I was with a boyfriend there is no way I would let him venture out with me while juggling his bits. It’s slack-looking and classless and some men wonder why they are judged negatively by some people. Well, if you go round looking like a sex fiend, don’t expect them to see you as approachable.

And don’t tell me you do it because it is a part of male behaviour or ‘it’s cold outside’ or some such nonsense. None of those excuses wash with me when it came to that guy. Yesterday was sunny, 24 degrees centigrade, his shorts had pockets. But no, instead of using them like normal people do, he thrust his hands down his front and onto his cock, like the…cock he is. All the while, his woman walked with him like she had no shame. They were at a cashpoint and honestly, he looked like he was sexually harassing her. Not once did I see her say, ‘Take your hands out of there, will ya?’  Grim.


I don’t know about you but this heatwave that’s enveloped Britain is something else. Very few places in the world look as beautiful as Britain does when it is bathed in sunshine. But one question has nagged away at me since the heatwave began last week and it is thus: should I reveal my bingo wings to the world or keep them under wraps?

Like many others I am blighted by this phenomenon, always telling myself that I’ll start my tricep & bicep regime before summer comes. In the past, I hardly thought about them but my way of thinking has changed over the past couple of years. I’m a little self-conscious about them. While my bingo wings don’t flap in the breeze when I stretch, they aren’t non-existent, either.

I have seen some unfortunate things during this heatwave. Numerous pairs of desert-dry feet I’ve clapped my eyes on over the past couple of weeks, some of them crustier than a fresh baguette. And as for some of the male members of the species, all I’ll say is it’s always the ones you would beg to keep their tops on who go topless. The beer-bellied or scrawny bird-chested men who flaunt their ‘wares’ to us women. Wow, aren’t we lucky…

So cut to last week and the mercury hit 32°c. Hemlines skimmed a wide array of buttocks; bikinis were now considered suitable attire when buying a loaf of bread even though there are no beaches in London; legs were no longer hidden by tights or trousers and arms were bared by all…except me. But as the weather forecast predicted hotter stickier days (and nights- it was 25°c last night!) I knew I had to throw caution to the wind. In the end I realised that no-one cared about the state of my bingo wings- and if they did then that’s their problem. Who in their right mind would cover up in this heat? I didn’t get any filthy looks or have someone run over and fling a pashmina over my shoulders when I exposed my arms.

A lot of our time is spent worrying over things such as our appearance. We can’t change much (and sometimes when we do, we end up making things worse) and you’ve got to live with it so starting loving it, especially in a country where you only get 2 weeks of summer per year.

© G. Holder 2013

Well, I’ll Be Darned…

…Andy Murray has just won Wimbledon. On an absolutely glorious summer day, he beat Novak Djokovic in straight sets to become the first British man to win in 77 years. Take that, Fred Perry!

The last game of the final was so tense, our barbecue was put on hold. Murray was 40-love up, then Djokovic went through his ‘sod all of you partisan bastards!’ phase and hit back to level at deuce, before Murray got Championship point once again and brought it home. His roar of joy when it was game-set-match was phenomenal. Twitter and Facebook exploded, grown men cried and I jumped around and shouted the house down like he was my brother. Djokovic was a gentleman in defeat but Murray played the game of his life.

And on the eighth anniversary of the 7/7 bombings in London as well. Although such an ‘event’ will never be forgotten, it’s nice that this day will have a footnote that will be memorable in a more positive way. So to sum it all up, I’m exhausted, happy and going to have some dessert. Phew.

© G. Holder 2013

Rotten Pollen

Summer is finally here, despite a fresh wind accompanying the high pressure (ooh, get me with my weather technology!). Now I am getting some Vitamin D on my skin I am a very happy bunny…kind of. Not because there’s too much sun- far from it. It’s just that before the clock had struck nine this morning I was so tired and it was all because of one thing: my hayfever had arrived.

No matter how early or late summer comes, my arch-nemesis never fails to hitch up and join me for the ride. So for the past fortnight (to be continued for the next couple of months) I have turned into a sneezing, sniffling puffy-eyed creature. And I don’t even need to be near a blade of grass for this to happen- lucky me!

Every year it’s the same thing, only you forget how bad it gets. I start the day feeling fine. By lunchtime, my face feels dry and blusher has disappeared from my cheeks because I’m blowing my nose every five minutes. The worst bit is when the roof of your mouth itches and you have to use your tongue to ‘scratch’ it. This can sometimes last all day and is irritating beyond belief. When it gets too much, you sound like a spluttering drain as your tongue goes back and forth. One time I had a terrible sneezing fit and the man standing next to me at the bus stop kept side-eyeing at me like I was doing it on purpose. How sympathetic of him…

Some of my non-suffering friends are beginning to know how it feels. Last year they smugly announced how hayfever didn’t affect them. Now they feel the first stirrings of the symptoms: their eyes are puffy and don’t shine as brightly as they should, they sound slightly congested and they sneeze endlessly. They reach for the eyedrops and nasal spray and the antihistamines, but I don’t bother with the latter as I don’t think they work for me. Some leave you drowsy, which isn’t good. The last thing I want is to fall asleep in the park having taken a tablet and wake up to find I’ve got sunstroke and turned ten shades darker (well, it could happen). The non-drowsy ones dont work either so I often turn to good ol’ Olbas Oil. Anyway, I’m sure taking endless tablets to combat hayfever can’t be beneficial in the long run.

So all you sufferers out there, I feel your pain. Hang in there, it’s only a couple of months ’til it’s over and then we’ll forget it ever existed…until next year.

© G. Holder 2013