Sabrina x 2

Blippin' 'Eck! I didn't expect to be blipping anytime soon and I suspect that Paul's prize might have been awarded to me because he fancied a holiday ;) Thanks for all your comments and views anyway! You'll be pleased to know that the following blip contains yet more tales of my complete inability to live a normal life?

So, dear readers, above you will see a cheese sandwich/bap/cob/butty - whatever you want to call it. This may seem trivial to you, but for me this is a big deal. No, I'm not some kind of cling-film pervert (think we dealt with all my perversions in the last blip), nor do I have some kind of fear of cheese fetish because, despite what you may think, I am not weird. Honest. No, it's a big deal because it's taken me a little while to build up the confidence to eat a sandwich? Let us take a trip back in time?

I was 15 years old and after what can only be described as a disastrous adolescence, I was starting to doubt my Disney mantras about finding eternal happiness. I'd also become a 'greb' (picture a goth with splashes of rainbow, like skittles on a pavement). In a bid to be individual, I had in fact tried to impersonate Avril Lavigne and had the sullen scowl to match. Clad in huge, black, baggy trousers from Camden market and more shag bands than you can imagine, I thought I was cool. Puddle of Mudd, The Darkness and Sum 41 provided the soundtrack to my middle class rebellion which involved drinking, smoking, sneaking out and generally looking like a tit to anyone who wasn't 15 and trying too hard. Part of this 'new me' involved becoming a vegetarian. I'd recently done a project in Food Technology about vegetarianism and armed with propaganda from the Vegetarian Society and an inflated sense of self-importance, I told anyone who'd listen about my new life decision. My grandmother, famous for her meat-laden Italian cooking, was shocked and appalled in equal measure at my choice. She immediately told me I'd never stick to it and whilst, she was probably right, this only compelled me to work even harder at it. The first few months made eating perilous, as she had taken to hiding meat in my food, giving me a conspiratorial wink and assuring me that she wouldn't tell anyone. However, going back to that first day of my Vegetarian Life, it was also the day of my friend Kirsty's birthday party. To make things classy (and also because her parents didn't trust us enough to let her have a proper party), Kirsty was having a dinner party at her house. Unfortunately, the menu included a beef lasagne and I hadn't exactly provided sufficient dietary notice of my newfound vegetarianism, having only made the decision approximately six hours beforehand. It didn't matter anyway, Kirsty's mum kindly made me a cheese sandwich, with really mature Cathedral City cheese (remember that particular detail - maybe look at the picture, if that helps secure the image)

Anyway, despite my size, food wasn't the driving factor behind my attendance at this dinner party. I'd fancied a boy, Chris, for the best part of three years and, at the age of 15, I still liked him and had made absolutely zero progress. I had gracefully plonked myself in the 'Friend Zone' but all that was about to change. I had decided to reinvent myself. I arrived at Kirsty's house a 'greb' but I was determined to transform myself into a siren. I had ditched the baggy skater trousers in place of smart black trousers and one of my mum's tops. I had straightened the afro using Babyliss hair straighteners (the kind you had to add water to!) Gone were the Etnies and on went the kitten heels. I was looking and feeling gooooooood. Everyone arrived and I took up the mantle of life and soul of the party. I was on form, even if I do say so myself. Out came the blue WKD (seriously, it was the drink of my youth) and we all sat around exchanging humourous stories. I was doing well; everyone seemed very impressed by my strong vegetarian morals. It was all going so well until my friend Carly mentioned that her granddad had a shrine to Shirley Bassey in his shed.

I laughed, I might have even snorted, but what happened next was truly horrific. I choked. I coughed, I spluttered and to my complete distress, I was sick. I was sick in front of my friends, I was sick on my mum's top and in my Babyliss straightened hair. But worse than all these things, I was sick on Chris' shoes. The most pungent, stinky cheddar cheesy sick you have ever seen or smelt. Looking down, too ashamed to look up, I saw it congeal on the love of my life's shoes. Mortified, I left the room and changed back into my greb clothes, put my Etnies back on and returned my hair to its naturally frizzy state. I then had to sit in that living room, filled with my friends and the smell of my sick. Honestly, it smelt like gyms and feet. Mercifully, I had French the next day and my French teacher, incidentally Chris' mum, wasted no time in bringing this up (pardon the pun)... I kept my French class entertained for a number of years. Tune in next week to find out what other French escapades I got myself into?

'Av fun' guys and sorry for rambling on about my cheese-based trauma!

P.S Chris, if you do happen to read this, I know it happened nearly ten years ago, but I am still very embarrassed and very sorry! I'd offer to buy you dinner, but frankly, I don't think I can risk this kind of thing happening to me again?