I never really understood the concept of the BBC TV game show Room 101. Picking stuff to consign to hell? OK right. But what if you eventually end up in your Room 101? It’s entirely likely. Why put a load of stuff you hate in the room where you’ll spend all eternity? Let’s see, I really really can’t stand gin, and good books, and cake. No siree. That can all go in my Room 101. OK bye see you later, I’m CONSIGNING MYSELF TO HELL. Sounds AMAZING in there. Cheerio, SUCKERS.
In Orwell’s novel 1984 Room 101 was a torture chamber, filled with the worst things you ever feared and hated, with the express purpose of breaking your spirit and wrecking your soul. That’s more fucking like it. I can think of PLENTY of things that my own Room 101 would be rammed to the shitting bastard rafters with. And once everything is in there, you’ll find me ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE UNIVERSE.
For example, my (capacious) Room 101 would contain:
the Tory government
and damp towels.
That lot can keep each other company UNTIL THE END OF TIME.
I was tagged by the unequivocally splendid Lara who writes at A Life So Ordinary to join in with this Room 101 meme.
What would you put in your Room 101? Assuming one day you might be tortured with it?
I’m such a farking narcissist I couldn’t resist joining in The Gallery with this theme.
But lest you think I do ACTUALLY love myself , I really do not. I just wanted to show off the new Snapseed photo editing app I have on my phone. It is great and awesome. Lots of retro/grubby/dramatic filters and frames, and nice blurring tools. So. You can totally mess with your face. Which is fun.
I took a shot of myself and had a play. This is what happened:
I like to think I am GLOWING with some sort of supernatural evanescence. Spooky me.
I also like that my features have been almost obliterated by the filter. You can’t see what my mouth is doing. Am I smiling? Am I poking out my tongue? Am I mouthing something obscene? (probably)
If you would like to join in with The Gallery, or view the other entries, then please click the link below and spread the warm blog loving. Cheerio.
Hmm. Lovely. It’s nice to be called lovely, yeah? I don’t mind that at all. Cos I am lovely. Most times.
And if it was that blogging maven Mum of One doing the ‘bestowing of the lovely’, then fine. All good. She’s a peach. She can call me whatever she wants, innit. And she just so happened to call me, The Loveliest Blogger in Town. Well! I say. THANK YOU, Mum of One. I’m honoured, proud, and farking JOYFUL about that. Wahoo! In town, she said! The loveliest IN TOWN. Yeah! *punches air*
Oh wait. What?
It’s a meme? I’ve been tagged in a meme?
I’VE BEEN TAGGED IN A MEME?
It’s lucky I heart Mum of One or I’d be pointing my giant laser at her arse right now.
The rules for this ‘lovely’ meme are pretty simple. Answer the questions, tag someone else. Whatevs. *scuffs floor*
1. If you could be any superhero, who would you be and why?
Who needs to be a farking superhero when you’ve got a giant laser and an extraordinary arse? People should want to be ME. Innit.
2. Marmite on toast. Match made in heaven or hell.
Heaven, obvs. Anyone who says otherwise is a wrong’un, and needs to be rounded up and chucked into my dungeon.
3. Boris Johnson. Discuss.
Eeewww, what? No.
4. Full fat, semi skimmed, or skimmed?
I have full fat. Cos my milkshake brings all the boys to the… no. Actually it’s cos Moo has full fat. So I do too.
5. Bum exercises. Squats, lunges, or sofa?
I have an extraordinary arse. EXTRAORDINARY. I need no exercises for my gluteus maximarse. It is extraordinary enough.
That’s it. Those five meagre questions constitutes the epithet of ‘lovely’. How? I have no farking idea. I am just humouring Mum of One. She so owes me a huge glass of wine.