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).

City Living

Little Fred has finally grown up and bought a flat, a very little flat, that's not in the country.

It's not little, actually. It's two-bed, mahoosive living room and two gardens. Titchy bathroom with tiling like someone has thrown up and a gorgeous kitchen. It would be a gross understatement to say that I'm terribly excited.

Crazy Greek Lady will be moving with me, so hopefully there'll be antics aplenty to entertain you. That is if I ever get a telephone line. £122.50 to connect me, they say! As if I'll have any money left over after buying a flat..!

Anyhoo, the move takes place next week and I'm having the big countdown via Facebook. And pissing off plenty of my friends in the process. HOW BORING is it to have status updates going: T minus 9 days, T minus 8 days, T minus 7 days.

/unlike
/defriend

Fish Apocalypse Scenerio

Howard says:
I might write to Lydia and complain about her being in an existential angst dream I had last night.

Fred says:
I want a role in your dreams.

Howard says:
I don't know that I get to choose!

Fred says:
something cool.
maybe a superhero.

Howard says:
I'll try my best!

Fred says:
well make it up to appease me.

Howard says:
I shall do my best!
What powers would you want?

Fred says:
i don't know.
you have to dream them.

Howard says:
I hope your powers are totally silly.
I'd hate it if you had REALLY SCARY POWERS

Fred says:
silly powers are acceptable.
i don't want to be scary.
maybe the ability to turn fish into daisies?

Howard says:
Useful
in a fish apocalypse scenario

Fred says:
it could happen.

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!

An Open Letter to Mr Ronnie Miller

Namaste Ronnie,

I have, on many occasions, promised to mention you on my blog. To date, this has not happened. Please accept my sincerest apologies.

So here you go. Your very own post. Especially for you.

You're going to India. That's great! However, I believe you're only going for two weeks, so you'll probably hate it. Sorry to be so candid, but it's true. India is the kind of place that grows on you, it gradually seeps into your blood and leaves you wanting more. Most people who go there and stay for only a short time never return to India. So this I say to you, give it a chance. Go there with an open mind.

I know you're going for business purposes and you'll probably have a guide of some sort and sleep in a nice air conditioned hotel. This isn't the real India. If you get the chance, go and explore! The India you will see on the streets is more exotic, more colourful, more vibrant. India isn't always sweet smelling. The streets are pretty much a public latrine, so watch where to step. The people are harmless and the children will probably beg. Ignore them if you can. If you really have to give them something, don't give them sweets, give them pens or pencils.

Talk to people. Guidebooks harp on about how you shouldn't talk to the natives. I disagree. We met some amazing people on our travels - both locals and other travellers. These people will be able to tell you the best places to go and eat and what to see and do.

You will get sick at some point. Bring rehydrating salts. I cannot possibly stress this enough. The rich gravies of India do not sit easily in delicate British stomaches. Before you start protesting, yes, yes, I know you're a Geordie. Yes, I know you can down 20 pints a night and follow it up with a vindaloo or three. British curries are very different from Indian curries. You will definitely get at least one case of Delhi Belly. I'll put money on that.

When Lydia and I went to India we went vegetarian for a while. Pune is in the South and not that far from the sea, so you should be able to get some decent seafood there. I'd recommend you steer clear of red or white meat unless you think it can be trusted. There will be Western food available, but why would you want that when you can get it in England? For breakfast you can usually find toast and cereal, but if you get the chance, try dosa. This is a South Indian crepe usually served at breakfast. If you decide to shy away from meat, try paneer, which is cheese in gravy, or chana masala (chickpeas).

The Indian head waggle means several things. Yes. No. Maybe. Hello. Very confusing, but you might get the hang of it in the end. Or not.

Bring industrial strength insect repellent with DEET. It smells awful - but at least you won't get bitten! Your room will have air conditioning, so you won't need a mosquito net.

The beer to drink over there is Kingfisher. You won't find Cobra anywhere. Oh, and don't drink the tap water. Stick to bottled water. And don't accept ice in your drinks.

Be careful on the roads. The only rule on Indian roads is "watch out for the cows". An Indian driver would rather mow you down than a cow. You have been warned.

Lydia wrote up a post called Secrets of India, with some of her tips. Click on the link to have a look.

I have never been to Pune personally - so I can't advise you on where to go or what to see and do. For more information and tips on surviving the Great India Experience refer to the "India" label on my blog.

Enjoy! I look forward to hearing all your complaints upon your return.

Caroline x

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!

Fingerspelling Nephews

I'd like to take this moment to name-drop my two gorgeous nephews, Sam and Ben.

Not only are they stunningly good-looking, academically-gifted, impeccibly dressed with charming manners they also.... wait for this.... THEY SIGN!!!

I haven't seen them in something like 6 years. I'm officially the worlds worst aunt. Anyway, I went to my sisters birthday last weekend and was greeted by two mops of blonde hair merrily fingerspelling their names to me.

I nearly cried. You rock, guys.

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.

Overheard Words

"Wooooooooooow. Is that a greyhound, bruv?"

Shuttlecocks of the world, beware!

If you ever happen against a menacing looking brunette in a subway around South London, swinging a badminton racket with a dangerous twinkle in her eye. That'd be me.

Good Lord, I'm hard.