Hi there Dear Reader,
How’s it going?
mm hmm, really? wow! Thanks for the update.
If you can’t already tell by the previous sentence I may have gone a little mad.
Turns out I am not very good at multitasking, which is not ideal when I am combining a pretty stressful day job, ice-skating training (yes this is still happening), writing this little bubble of joy AND now writing for Time Out. You’d think I’d be so busy I wouldn’t have time to eat but somehow I have managed to maintain my cuddly exterior.
Sod’s blimmin law.
I shouldn’t complain, if my third year at uni was anything to go by it was touch and go as to whether I would ever achieve anything that didn’t involve Snakebite.
I can already hear you saying “but Sophie, you haven’t actually written anything for Time Out yet” and yes, you are correct. I have, however, drafted a few posts.
It is a lot more complicated than I first thought. Mainly because you have to actually write something that informs people rather than just the stream of consciousness that happens each week on SSW.
Also, I am acutely aware that I am being judged by serious journalists (journali?) when I submit posts to TO. It is a lot scarier than it is when I post for you Dear Reader. You are lovely and not at all scary. We are friends, you and I. I trust you. There is a good chance we are related or I went to school with you or I bullied you into following my blog and now you just do it to be nice. I like our little relationship. The people that might read my post on TO are a whole other kettle of fish.
This could be the shortest blog career known to man.
You’ll be there for me when it all comes crashing down. Wont you?
As if I haven’t been crippled by self-doubt enough this week, I heard the devastating news that apparently Tinder has decided that if you are over the age of 28 you are officially old and are not able to access the premium site.
Don’t believe me? click here
On behalf of everyone born before 1987.
Not that I am on Tinder, mind you. I go though phases of installing it out of desperation and then being deeply saddened by the poor specimens of menfolk available that I uninstall it and begin immediately making plans for my life as a spinster. Job number 1 is to ask people to refer to me as “Ms” rather than “Miss” and by current calculations that’s due to happen some time around 2022. Finger crossed!
So. Er this is awkward.
Since I wrote the above my first ever Time Out blog has been posted! You can see it in its full glory here. It is your one-stop shop for everything going on in Manchester to celebrate International Women’s Day.
If you are friends with me or follow me on twitter you will know this by the multitude of updates over the last few hours.
In case you didn’t quite get it before see here:
It is somewhat hidden on the website but I really couldn’t care less. It’s Time Out for crying out loud!
I decided this needed celebrating so I met my lovely friend Lucy for a glass of pinot grigio blush (we’re classy like that). One thing led to another and before we knew it we had ordered two lots of chicken in a basket. Now I love my deep fried poultry as much as the next guy but this was incredible. The fact that it came in a basket shaped like a chicken only added to the taste. WOW.
(I would like to point out here that I took a picture of Lucy and her chicken in a chicken basket but she point blank refused me permission to post it on my blog. If you need a visual here is the closest thing I could find).
We inhaled it. It was amazing.
If you are ever in need of Chicken in a Basket (and if we’re all honest with ourselves thats at least once a week) I would definitely recommend TheAlchemist on New York Street. I tipped my waitress and left a very appreciative comment card so just tell them I sent you.
I may be getting too big for my boots.
Whilst I’m bragging. I got followed by Jimmy Fallon this week. All in all not a bad week. They basically said they would follow anyone who tweeted them in the next 10 seconds and I got followed but I still walked round like this:
Before you think I’m letting all of this get to my head, please remember that I still live with my parents, I am more likely to get punched in the eye by Bugs Bunny than I am to get a boyfriend, and my mouth guard is really uncomfortable.
Back. down. to. earth.