Phone Sex Voice

We have a running joke at work that my interpreter has a "phone sex" voice. I've been nagging her to change the voicemail on my phone, but we still haven't come up with a script.

I asked a friend to pen something for me; here's the result:

Start off with

Hello..... (purrrrrrrrr)
This is Caroline's (pause) phone
(purrrrrr)
I'm deaf, but also extremely busy
And wouldn't you like to know what I'm busy with?
If you want to get hold of me... (purrrr)
Send me a text and maybe.... (pause)
I'll get back to you! (sigh)

Ummm. Maybe not.

Suggestions in the message box, please!

NEVER APOLOGISE. NEVER EXPLAIN.

It's netball season again.

We won 12-4, but it was quite a dirty game. I was in a bit of an aggro mood, and the rain probably didn't help. I got scratched by the WD, and she drew blood, THEN she tripped me up (bitch) so the red mist descended. I went to catch the ball, saw her approaching from the corner of my eye, planted myself firmly - she came straight at me, then bounced right off on her arse into a puddle.

Revenge is a dish best served cold (and slightly wet).

Daft Hands

I wouldn't mind asking this lady to interpret my meetings.

Happy Monday!

Spot the Difference

The Sistine Chapel

My friend's foot

/braces self for torrent of abuse

N.B. Idea coined by Ms Cathy Heffernan, esq.

Hello Goodbye

Hmm. It's been nearly a year since I last posted. That's very bad. Very bad indeed. Do you forgive me?

It's been a busy year in the Exclusively Caroline household. We lost two flatmates and gained a crazy Greek lady. The Peckham Ladies took Reims by storm. I entered my fifth year with The Boy. Book Face, our online book club was established, and is dying a slow death. I'm one year older, another year closer to 30, and none the wiser for it. It's also been weddings and babies galore - although not for me!

What else?

Oh yeah. And I didn't win on the National again.

Gutted.

Please Keep Your Wet Bum Off The Seats

I’m sure many of you have at some point in your life listened to that wonderful tune “Donald, where’s your Troosers,” and wondered at the meaning behind these discerning lyrics.

Not many people know this, but this wonderful refrain was actually composed with the esteemed Mister Donald Duck, Esquire, in mind.*

*This may be a lie.

Rumour has it Donald used to wear a very fetching kilt in a glorious pattern of duck-egg blue and yellow, the colour of his Scottish clan. He cut a dashing figure striding through town to pick up his daily bag of breadcrumbs from the bakers. The problem arose when Huey, Dewey and Louie, Donald’s mischievous nephews, decided to make off with his kilt one day and run it up the local flagpole.

Poor Donald was humiliated; his exquisite kilt sullied in such a way. Determined not to let three silly lads get the better of him, he managed to retrieve it, dignity intact. However, every time he wore it out all the ladies pointed and laughed. Even Daisy Duck, her of the smoothest, whitest feathers had been seen to titter when he strolled past. Donald swiftly went from local Lothario to laughing stock.

In despair, Donald called on Mickey and Pluto, his two closest friends. “Mickey,” he cried, “I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t wear trousers; it’s too hard to find a pair that fit my considerable backside. That’s the thing about being a duck – with this tail I’m every tailor’s (haha) nightmare.”

Mickey took one look at Donald’s wretched face; he knew that this was no laughing matter. He exchanged a brief look with Pluto and with an almost imperceptible nod he whipped out his mobile phone and dialled up Gok Wan.

Naturally when the How to Look Good Naked Team heard of Donald’s sorry plight, they headed straight over. Taking Donald firmly by the hand, Gok lead him down a row of ducks. Fat ducks, thin ducks, ducks with considerable assets, ducks with bills, ducks without, ducks with Mohawks and tattoos. “Darling Donald,” said Gok, looking deep into his eyes, “You must realise you are one sexy duck with the most amazing booty. A butt like that should not be hidden beneath cheap polyester. Let your light shine! Cast off that kilt and show the world your beautiful bottom!”

Clearly Gok is never wrong. And from thereon Donald went forth naked as the day he was born. It must have worked some magic, as he’s now happily betrothed to Daisy.

And now in answer to the stupid question posed to me by ‘Im Up North… Why does Donald Duck wear a towel when he gets out of the shower, but walks around naked the rest of the time? Well, duh! Who wants to walk around with a wet bottom? If you went around visiting people for lunch and leaving wet patches on their designer sofas, you wouldn’t be too popular, would you? Or at least that’s what Donald tells me.

I heard it straight from the ducks bill. Honest.

And there were 101 of them...

Due to my mother popular demand I have posted some pictures of myself as a dalmation.

Why was I a dalmation? It was The Boy's sisters 21st birthday. She was Cruella de Ville. We were her dalmations. I don't make these things up.

You'd have to pay good money to make me do this again...

Dalmations in Swansea

So, JGJones... where's that post you promised me about carrots?

It's been a mad couple of months. I spent all of Christmas laid-up on my proverbial deathbed, hurried back to London and decked myself out in groovy 70's clothes for New Year; then with no further ado I started working at Auntie Beeb with the worlds biggest hangover.

I've already had two programmes out with another one on the way and I still have four months left on my contract. Where I'll go from that, God only knows.

What else? Oh I've dressed as a dalmation. I've seen Colin Jackson, Nick Knowles and Jeremy Clarkson. I went to Swansea for St David's Day and pitied the poor blighter who had to clean the red dye out of this fountain.

I also have a new flatmate. A crazy Greek woman who cooks the best dinners, plays an excellent game of badminton, never stops laughing, and brings her friends over to climb my corridor walls. Seriously.

I adore her!

I'm off on a course next week and I have to come up with an interesting and amusing fact about myself. I've been stumped for weeks... then it came to me.

When I was young, I used to have a pet stick insect called Sticky.

What do you think, guys?

In Case of Emergency, Press Copy & Paste

I try my best, but in this instance my best isn't good enough. I apologise profusely for my shortcomings.

Blog update coming soon.... Promise!

Come dressed as your Screen Icon.

Well I didn't have a cat and a cigarette holder...

Dead Fred

I had a rather shocking/amusing email today from my friend Billy. Billy and I have a mutual friend called Luke who is at university studying meeja. The email was regarding a music video that Luke had just made as part of his university work.

Just to clear things up - I'll be working with Billy from January onwards, he will be my producer. Terry will be my boss.

Our email exchanges follows below:

Billy:
Erm... basically, this pop video was a sort of sped up 'day in the life' of a girl who dies of a drug overdose at the end.

I nearly choked when the words

"Caroline O'Neill 1980-2006" came up at the end. I texted him to ask who this particular 'Caroline O'Neill was, he said: "I know! The reason for that was that I had just spoken to Caroline about an hour before and her name is the first that came into my head when I had to think of a girl's name to make it 'authentic'!"

Caroline:
*spits out tea over keyboard*

So I officially died last year? :) Might want to let Terry know that he's employing a dead girl!!!

Billy:
There will deffo be some health and safety issues involved. I'm going to call HR and see if they have any guidelines on employing the dead/undead.

Caroline:
It just means when I write up a programme proposal for you it'll be full of braaaaaaaaaaaaaains.

Billy:
I can tell working with you's gonna be a killer, thriller...

I'm just glad 2006 is over, otherwise I'd be more than slightly paranoid!

Camera Shy

I'm terribly camera-shy. Really. I am. I hate having my photo taken and I hate looking at photos of me. Unless they're by Howard. Or the exceptionally talented Gabe Leung.


This was taken in Dubai at a friends wedding a few weeks ago. Howard says this is my "listening face," whatever that may be!

Life 101

Sometimes don't you wish that you could take a crash course in life? You know, the kind of course that tells you which fork to use, not to wear a cropped top in church and to let little old ladies off the bus before you start digging your elbows in...

The reason for this post? I've just been for sushi with Howard - we've been discussing the kind of people who could really do with a course in Life 101.

Let's start with an oldie, but a goodie. Take Jasmine Willis, a 17 year old with a fondness for caffeine. Now add seven double expressos. I don't know of anyone who could drink all this and then sleep easy (well apart from Ray Harrison Graham, but that's another story). According to Howard she's going to start a campaign to raise awareness of the dangers of caffeine. Jasmine, I don't think many people pop out for a salad and seven expressos at lunchtime. I suggest you look up moderation in the dictionary. You'll find it beween self-restraint and asceticism.

And we'll swiftly move on to the latest piece of artwork to grace the South Banks finest gallery. Yes, I'm talking about the Tate's crack. Since it's opening, three people have fallen in. I'm not kidding. Three people have fallen in this huge trench running through the Tate's Turbine Hall. The story goes that they thought it was painted on the floor. So they stepped on it. Only to find that they are not quite as capable of defying gravity as Elphaba.

As a wise man once said, look before you leap.

Get ye to the classroom and no running in the hallways!

Combatting Depression

I am very, very, very, very, very unhappy.

Oh yes.

So bring on the ice-cream.

Red Wine & Cheeseburgers in Casulty

There's nothing like a bit of flirtation to boost the old confidence. But there is a time and place for everything.

"What's your name?"
"Caroline."
"Karen?"
"Close enough."
"So, do you come here often?"

Location? The JobCentre.


What else? Oh yes...


I ended up escorting a friend to A&E last week. We were around Shaftesbury Avenue when he started feeling unwell. We jumped into a taxi, shouted out in our best action hero voice, "Cabbie, take us to the nearest hospital and step on it!" We were still in the same place ten minutes later; stuck in wall-to-wall traffic.

This would never have happened in Hollywood.

Oil Slick and Oleander

I'm grumpy. I'm coughing up my pink little lungs at this very second. But at least I have good blood pressure, so it's not all bad.

It's been a busy past few weeks. Finished my current contract at betty. Went to Madrid for a romantic weekend. Looked after two greyhounds called Oil Slick and Oleander (names changed to protect identity). Went to the Carnaval del Pueblo. Visited a friend and her baby, Chicken Wing (name changed to protect identity), in Leeds. Watched The Simpsons Movie (which was very good, incidently). I have not stopped.

It's so nice to embrace unemployment. You know, sleeping till 1pm. Staying up late to watch crap movies. My only issue is that I'm finding it hard to let my personal hygience slip.

In other news, the four-part series I worked on at betty will be airing this month! Outrageous Wasters, BBC 3, Tuesday 21st August at 9pm.

Addicted to.... Sushi

It would seem I have been rumbled...

And I am now a fish.

Lovehandles

I have just been called fat!!!!

OK, the exact exchange was with the Indian guy in my local shop. He made a sign for fat, then said that I had lovely curves.

All the same...

Fat!!!!!

Right, the diet starts now.

Well, maybe tomorrow... After I've finished eating my birthday cake...

Pepperoni and Green Peppers

Me: "I prefer my pizza without a stuffed crust these days."

Sis: "I think we've come to the end of our relationship."

Slim Pickings and the Round Table

Why haven't I been updating my blog?

I've been washing my hair.

For a month.

The sudden absence wasn't because I won the Grand National. My horse was actually first, until being pipped to the post just yards from the finish. Probably a good thing really. I was yelling that I would name my first born after him if he came in first.

The horses name?

Slim Pickings.

It could have been quite unfortunate.

I'm a bit worried at the moment. There's been a sudden baby boom. I know about 56,759,506 people who are pregnant. My mates, Jason and Mary-Jayne have just had a sprog called Lancelot. I was quite disappointed they didn't name him Slim Pickings.

What else? Oh yes, the real reason for my absence is due to the fact I've become religious about badminton and netball. But all this healthy stuff scares me so I've been counteracting it with nights in the pub. It's a problem really, I'm FAR too busy being a sexy, empowered media luvvie with a newfound passion for sport to boot. I really don't have time to blog.

And I probably wouldn't have but my Dutch friend gave me a right telling off today on MSN. Apparently he checks my blog everyday and then goes to the toilet to cry for an hour because it hasn't been updated. Hello Peter!

Oh, top tip from my sister. Don't ever sit on your hair straighteners. Particularly if you've just been using them. I've been assured that it is very painful.

Oh - I have to do that meme from Howard. Keep watching. I'll get round to it. Eventually.