London Men.

I've attracted some right muppets since living here. Southern lads just don't care.


Abar 6 weeks ago, I was on a train from Liverpool Street to Stratford, where I live. (Yano the Olympic place? That's Stratford. State o' me livin there ay? Far cry from me terraced house with me mum an dad!)...Anyway, I was sat in a carriage all to meself, an lad gets on an goes  "Wow. 22nd of January, and already I've broken my New Years Resolution......" Now this was deffo the beginning of a chat up line. I ignored 'im an carried on eatin me Seaweed Peanut Crackers from Tesco. (If ya haven't 'ad 'em before, deffo get some, they sound proper vile but they're better for ya than Galaxy). He waited for me to respond, and when I didn't, he went "Wow, just gona ignore me.....Sorry I'm bein annoying". A few minutes later, he looked at me an went "So have you had a good night?" Blanked. "Okay, there's no need to go silent.." By now, I'm textin me bezzie lad mate getting him to phone me. I answered the phone, told him I loved him and couldn't wait to get to Stratford to meet him and his 4 best mates who were all UFC fighters, got up and walked away. Now, that occasion, I kept my cool. Thinkin back I should have asked him who the fuck he was talkin' to, and I was quite happy on me own until he got on an started "chattin breeze". Cheeky bastard.


A couple of nights later, same place, same train. These 2 young lads got on. Faces only a mother could love. The big muscled blonde started eyein me up and his dark haired mate started whispering to him. They're eyes were burnin a hole, swear down. The blonde kept talking shit whilst looking at me, seeing if he was getting any of my attention. He was in for some disappointment. Talkin about goin to Fabric an his new job as a builder, trying desperately to get a glimpse from me. Then, some gorj City Man got on and sat by me. The gimpy blonde little melt was fumin. Saw me eyein up the competition, and proceeded to tell his bezzie about all the weights he was doin'. Honest t'God, what a little blert.  The City man began to fall asleep with his iPhone 5s in his hand so I woke him up. "Don't fall asleep with that in your hand, you'll get it nicked." I said nudging him gently. He opened his eyes, winked, smiled and thanked me. You should have seen the face on Johnny Bravo. GUTTED. I was in love.


But that's not all! I attract ALL the weirdos. Including a 50 year old  drunk Nigerian Man who claimed he was a King in his country with "so much pussy". He called me a "Motherfucker" all across the Northbound Jubilee. I assured him and everyone else on the carriage that I had maybe fucked a few dads in me time, but never a Mother, to which everyone laughed.


Now in Liverpool, you have two different types of fella. Ones with money and a job, and ones without either.

I've been here a year and I've found in London, there are different types. Let me guide yas through them ay?

• Cockney Geezers- They think they're Danny Dyer. Support West Ham/Arsenal....call you "babe". They have the same group of mates they've had since school and they go to Ibiza or Thailand on holiday every summer. They get round you by using their "Swagger" and "Charm". They teach you Rhyming Slang and walk funny. Like they've got uncomfortable gential warts. You can usually find them in their local "Battle Cruiser" in Barking, Brentwood, Clapham or Canning Town talking Tits, Footie and more Tits. Gorj, but trouble.
• Mediahhh Guys- I dated someone last yeah who worked for a TV Production Company. The bullshit he would sprout about who he had met through his job. Dropping names quicker than I drop sluts of a Saturday Night.  Little Mix, Olly Murs, and other nonsensical celebs I couldn't give a fuck about. They normally jump on 5 Minute Fads, New Apps, and faff around Soho in a Hybrid Car. When they list their conquests, they include getting stared at by "The Blonde one out of Hollyoaks at The Soap Awards." Prey on niave girls who will believe anything they say.
• City Boys- Usually an Office Junior from Ilford, Essex. Early 20s, suit from Zara, an' hair in a quiff. Millin around Liverpool Street of a Friday Night chattin up Hipster Models with long blonde hair, black roots, denim shorts and a Boy London Beanie. They tend to meet their mates and drink around Spitalfields. A couple of them have approached me in the past whilst I've been wanderin to the last train and tried their look. I can safely say they have never been successful.
• City Men- 28+. Designer suit, watch and scent. Now these fellas 'ave got money. If ya go round Canary Wharf or The City on the last Friday afternoon of the month, you will see them gradually goin' to bars from about 4pm, waiting to chat to a girl they can buy champagne for, then maybe sleep with. Briefcase, loosened tie, and tongue to match. Some of them are married, but it doesn't stop them trying. Sayin' that though, the married ones are usually the ones asleep on the train with nothing but a greasy Maccies an a copy of The Evening Standard. It's not exactly The Wolf Man Of Wall Street like, but the majority of them are decent.
• Musicians- Anyone who is over the age of 21 and says they're in a band, SWERVE. Loser. Usually means working in a Coffee Shop on Brick Lane or behind a bar in Dalston, clinging on to the band he had always wanted to be in since the age of 12. They sleep around, carry disease and will go on about the "heart to heart I had with Foxes/Carl Barat/Him out of that band" 3 years ago at a pub in Angel". Sports a moustache, skinny jeans and Toms. Serious slags. Keep away.

There's more, but Come Dine With Me is on and I'm shattered. I'll keep yas posted though.


Tra xoxoxoxo

Datin' an tha.

Normally, I have the fella's on me case on a constant. But since moving to London, I have found no fucker wants me. Me ma says it's cos I'm too common for fellas' down 'ere. I've tried eatin' olives an avacados an tha but still, not'in. I switched from Blossom Hill to Prosecco too but even tha didn't work.

Me mates down here seem to think I should experiment with "The Natural Look". I told them to go throw themselves on The Bakerloo. Sif I'm walkin round with only one layer of foundation an no eyebrows to speak of! Anyway, I tried, and the only fellas I seemed to be attracting were borderline Sunday School Teachers and proper little melts from the mediaaahh. I proper hate lads in the Media.....but I'll come onto that later.

So I tried Tinder, yeah, an I got lucky. His name is Jay an he's an Arsenal fan. He's a bit cocky, cheeky an is up for a laugh. He's not one of these uptight fellas who work at Bishopsgate and work you round their schedules consisting of Pow Wow's and business lunches at Wasabi. Nah, he's a grafter. Manual Labour. We we're havin "decent chat" as they say here, and we got on to the subject of the Channel 4 documentary "The Undateables". "Saw you on that the other day" he said laughin, thinkin he was hilar. "Yeah" I replied, "I'd been set up with some little creature called Jay". Soon shurrup didn't he? Then Liverpool battered Arsenal and he realised he didn't have a leg to stand on.

I think he has binned me off for bein funnier than him. Oh well, least I got a hoodie out of it. Superdry one too. S'right.

Tra xoxoxo

The City

London fella's look BOSS in a suit, commuting round Chancery Lane and St Pauls. But unfortunately in Liverpool, EVERY lad with an office job looks like he's on the 79 to Queen Elizabeth Crown Court instead of his all important job at some marketing company on Dale St. I never appreciated a good suit until I moved here. Whenever I'm on Liverpool Street or around Mayfair, I love a good perv at a rich man in good clobber. They make an effort. Designer watch, briefcase and suited and booted. The first time I went to Canary Wharf on a weekday, I was in me element. It was like something out of a film! All the stocks and shares on the screens on the banks, I couldn't cope!


The women though......an am not bein funny or no'in, but they could drag a brush through their hair at least! Kitten heels, black roots an blonde hair snatched back in a bobble, blue eyeliner, smudged mazzy an then they pull out a YSL lippy. 'Onest ta God. They all look shattered too. Sat readin their Kindles on The Jubilee Line, yawnin past themselves! They're all called Tamzin, Emily, Victoria and Sophie. Drinkin red wine in All Bar One, parousin the salads cos they won't ave a butty. Every now and then, you get a woman, done up like the ald one in The Devil Wears Prada. Louis Vuitton bag, Chanel Scarf and Prada Glasses. An I think good on ya love.


If you get a black cab in London, it means ya minted. I've only ever seen people flag taxi's in Mayfair and The City. Basically, that's when I know I have made it. When I can just casually flag a taxi an be all made up with meself.


xoxo

Well, it's been over a year....

since I moved to the Big Smoke that is London. There's things I've had to get used to....

• It's considered normal to be reading a copy of The Sun in public. The first time I witnessed this, was in my first week when some fella pulled it out his bag. I was fumin. Started lookin round for back up an to see who else was snarlin....but nobody was assed.
• Kitten heels are a staple in a City Girls wardrobe. They purposefully go shopping for them. Really though, I'm norreven messin.

[For those who dunno what I mean by "City Girls", they're basically Girls who work in The City. Now I've not gone completely mad, I know London is a city, but for some strange reason, theres a part called The City Of London. It's where St Pauls is (no, I know it's not a patch on Paddy's Wigwam or The Red One, but wha can ya do ay?). And Bank. No not A Bank, but The Bank. Basically, it's where all the Suits work. I'll get onto that later].

• If ya make an effort on a night out with ya clobber, ya from Essex.
• Men singing to me on a regular basis on the tube.
• People staring at ya on the tube. When I first got here I was mortified. Nobody gives eye contact in Liverpool without it being followed very quickly, usually from some teenage girl from Anfield shoutin "EEEEEEEE WORRA YA LOOKIN AAA"
• This also applies to shoulder bargin.
• Toms. Everywhere.
• You appreciate Liverpool more once ya away.
• Scousers are either loved or hated.
• If you drink Still Water, you're basically a ming. Sparkling, everytime.
• Hummous is eaten with flat bread and olives.
• A Waitrose on every corner. Posh me now yano!
• Lunch is Dinner, and Dinner is Tea.
• The buses are 24hours. An on the reggers too, even at 3 in the morning!
• Tubes are every 30 seconds. Which is boss until you go back to Liverpool and have to wait abar half an hour for a chocker 79 to town.
• Everyone thinks I'm Irish or Scottish.
• Hipsters fucking EVERYWHERE.
• "Vintage Shops".....no....it's 2nd hand, stop bein a dick'ed.
• Avacado's are boss.

               and

• If ya lose ya Oyster Card, ya fucked.

xoxo