Things that annoy me #3 - Children

Children can be cute. I admit have made a small "d'awww" noise at the odd baby or toddler in the past, and felt a glow inside me that may have been my uterus smiling. Or this glow may have been every fiber in my body praying that the small human in question doesn't come any closer than five meters. Because, whether they are cute or not, I am quite terrified of these crawling, gummy gremlins, and have no interest in holding them so I would thank you people to STOP THRUSTING THEM IN MY DIRECTION.

I ran into an old colleague who I hadn't seen in a while on my way to work the other day. I was tired, grumpy, and wanted to do nothing more than listen to Planet Rock being pumped into my head via my earphones. But this person, who shall remain nameless, unfortunately came at me with such little warning that I was convinced she had emerged from the nearby shrubbery.

Now I hate these chance OMG-I-haven't-seen-you-in-ages conversations enough as it is, but I particularly wasn't in the mood for the back and forth "what have you been up to...ah there's nice" performance in this early morning zombified state. But being one of the politest people on earth, I pulled my earphones out and tried my best.

I'm ashamed to say it took me a full sixty seconds to notice the three-year-old standing at her side. This I was not prepared for. I managed a strangled "oh, hello!" and, furiously trying not to look awkward, bent slightly in the middle to lean closer in an attempt to look like a friendly adult. I don't think this worked as the little girl backed away, scowling.

I would have made my excuses and bolted at this point, but the ex-colleague blundgeoned on, beseeching the blonde haired small person to say hello back.

Silence.

I was not awake enough for this. Unable to take the stoney silence any longer, and painfully aware that I will still slightly bent over, I said in an entirely inappropriate formal tone, "I'm Rachel. And you are?". Yup. Like I was in a fucking business meeting.

The child was quickly ushered away after that.

So as I stated on Facebook the other day (shortly after this ridiculous exchange), I cannot talk to kids. I have never felt comfortable doing it, which, on paper, is illogical. It's highly unlikely that a small child would fix me with a beady eye and launch into a belittling speech of how I'm a disgrace to adults for not having the capability to discuss Dora the Explorer over a cup of pretend tea.

But I don't know what it is that makes it so diffcult.

It might be to do with the fact that my first instinct is to talk to everyone like adults. Even animals. I've lost count of how many times I've dissected Greece's financial plight with my cats. But I think the part of my brain which engages baby/toddler speak is not only broken, but missing entirely. I've tried to make an over-the-top fuss over a small person's toys or whatever, but whatever comes out of my mouth sounds like it's dripping in distain and I have no control over this.

It's not that I just feel uncomfotable meeting a child for the first time, it's ANY time. It doesn't matter on how many occasions I've met them, I will always feel like I'm being cheerily introduced to Hitler. There are several midget adults in my family, and if I'm placed near them I tend to grin constantly in their direction without saying a word, which is bound to get me in trouble one day. I'm sorry, parents, but I don't have a fucking clue what to say to your kids.

If I ever have a baby maybe the talk will come naturally. I sincerely hope so anyway, otherwise my spawn will be forbidden to talk until at least the age of eight. Eight is fine, it's a friendly number. Plus over-eights are less likely to suddenly rush towards me with jam or some other sticky shit on their fingers.

All this being said, I don't HATE kids. They're fine for people who want them. But I have a message for my friends out there with knee-high little scamps. Your children will get a small wave from me, maybe a smile, and that's it. Please don't plonk them in my lap or try and force conversation. One day I'll get over this little brain fart in my personality make up, but until then, keep 'em away. Cheers.

And finally, please don't execute the cardinal sin which is leaving me alone with your child. I will not molest them. I will not give them alcohol or teach them swear words. I will run for my life. I will hide under or in the nearest available object and wait for your return, sobbing quietly.

You don't want me to confuse your child like that, do you?

Things that annoy me #2 - Fifty Shades of Shite

Alright, it's once again been another year since I've angrily tapped something into this little box. It's not my fault, I genuinely forget about this thing. But I promise I will try my best to keep it up this time.

"WHAT'S ANNOYING YOU TODAY?" I hear you shriek. First of all, calm down before you squeal yourself into an early grave. Now that you're nicely silent, gather 'round, and let me tell you the story about the worst story ever written - Fifty Shades of Grey.

Let me just put a quick disclaimer in here first - I know a few of my friends have read/are reading the book, and are enjoying it. These friends are also on Facebook, where I will be sharing this blog. This is not a personal attack on you. Rest assured I like you all very much, and I'm not knocking your tastes.

But you're fucking morons.

Curiosity finally got the better of me on Sunday, and I bought the book. I had been intrigued by it for a few days. Why was this particular trilogy of erotica causing such a storm? There are many, many books out there in the same vein, what makes this one so different? Perhaps it's beautifully written, with memorable, lovable characters that worm their way into your heart and stay there. Perhaps it's a book that will change your life.

It ain't.

Lets start with our little leading lady - Anastasia Steele. The moment I saw her full name I groaned. The early signs were not good, and I hoped that something in this character would make me see past this horrendous and cliched name, something to actually make me care about what happens to her. No such luck. "Ana" is bland, dim, and terrifically annoying. There is absolutely nothing to this character, nothing witty, nothing insightful, nothing exciting. All she does is blush and talk about how lovely and grey Christian Grey's eyes are (yeah, it actually goes there). Her subconscious and "inner goddess" are referred to as second and third characters on such a regular basis that I began to suspect that even the author was bored of Ana too.

Ah yes, the author. Lets get one thing perfectly clear, and this is not up for debate. This woman, EL James, cannot write. This is not an opinion, not something that I'm willing to cheerfully discuss over a pint with the possibility that I will emerge with a different opinion on the matter. It is a fact. Her writing style is so simplistic, so lacking in any edge whatsoever that it leads me to believe that the people who read this rubbish have never previously read a book in their life. I have never, ever come across an author with such a clearly limited vocabulary. For example, as I was reading (with a look of horror permanently etched onto my face by now), I noticed that Ana was saying the word "holy" a bit more than was acceptable. It was everywhere. Holy crap! Holy shit! Holy fuck! Holy Moses! It almost seemed like the author was trolling the reader, seeing how many times she could fit her clearly-favourite word into this book without anyone noticing. Well, Mrs James, I did notice, and it got to me so much that I found myself emitting a small roar of frustration every time this bastard popped up. It is written, without exaggeration, at least once every other page. Sometimes twice on one page. You cannot argue that this is good writing, that this author deserves any of these millions coming her way. It is literary laziness. What is also clear is that this woman, perhaps aware that her readers might notice she has simply been repeating the same words over and over, has on occasion Googled a word that she intends to use, plucked a synonym of that word out of a list, and plonked it into a setence. The word does not quite fit, and is a desparate attempt to appear like she has a more varied vocabularly than she actually does. Oh, and she's also fond of the word "equilibrium", throwing it in wherever she can and no doubt beaming with pride that she knew a word that contained more than three syllables.

One thing I will say is that the author knows what what the average woman wants to hear. The sex scenes were ok: dominant, muscular guy who likes tying women up. That's fine with me, bra. But the point is they're nothing special, and certainly not deserving the mountains of praise being heaped upon them. For one thing, the author refers to the characters genitalia as "sex", or occasionally, with the author's cheeks flushing furiuously, referred to as "down there". Oh please. The whole thing has an air of a giggling school girl, and it is unbelievably grating. And the bits in between these little meetings are so tediously boring that in the end I simply skimmed over them, my zipping eyes leaving a long trail of "he's so freaking hot", "holy shit!" and "equilibriums" in their wake.

It is trash. Complete and utter trash, and I am puzzled to why this has become such a phenomenon. Even the middle aged housewives who usually indulge in Mills and Boon would surely notice that they appear to be reading something that has the same four or five pages copied and pasted over and over again.

I'm disappointed. It would have been nice if it was a fantastic, well written read that I could discuss with other people. And to these other people, I beg you -

DO NOT BUY THIS FUCKING BOOK.

And to those who are currently reading it, please, have a good, long look at what you're taking in. Notice the paragraphs a 12-year-old could have knocked up while sitting in front of the TV, notice the bland, underdeveloped characters and the general tone of stupidity. Put the thing down and stop pouring money into the pockets of a talentless idiot.

The offending book is currently face-down behind me on the bed. I have yet to finish it. I'm about three quarters of the way through, and struggling. I don't like not finishing books, and I am determined to do it seeing as I've paid for it (£7.99. £7.99!).

You may think I shouldn't really give my opinion on it seeing as I haven't completed it yet. But trust me when I say this - it isn't going to get any better, and fuck me, this little rant needed to get out before I burned the book in the playground of a local school.

Laughing. Laughing maniacally.