A rose by any other name.....

You may find yourself wondering why I am in fact called Calamity Jane, or CJ for short. You may find yourself wondering, what the hell is she on about, I have never heard her being called that before.
We here at Misadventure land, would like to set the record straight, would like to put it out there, the reason why I am called Calamity Jane, or CJ for short. It has nothing to do with Calamity Jane herself, even though if you ask people, there's a faint whiff of resemblance between us. Maybe its the hair....

But this is what makes me me, a quick (ish) round up of events that have led to the spawnation of CJ:

Tripping over my feet. Not someone elses, but my own actual feet.

Smashing my head on the jamb of the toilet door in 4th class, resulting in stitches.
And some time off school. And a Galaxy Ripple.

Smushing my ankle after jumping off a wall about 2 feet high.

Smushing my other ankle after wearing high shoes to school and falling down the steps.

Breaking all the cups in our house.

Ditto the plates.

Walking into several lamposts.

Being hit over the head with a newspaper by a very angry, very strange man.

Major spillages on the cream carpet.

Kicking a bottle of water on the street only for it to land on the windscreen of someone's car. While they were in it.

Thumping an old lady's leg as I thought it was my brother's leg. Twice. In the same tent. On the same day.

Throwing a bottle of water at a passerby on the street. Purely by accident.

Falling down the stairs banjaxing the heel of my shoe.

Falling down the stairs with a cup of tea ending up all over the walls.

Breaking a wine glass just by looking at it.

Thinking it was a great idea to throw my arm into a sink just as Daddy Howligan was pouring out boiling water. Aged 3. I should have known what lay ahead!

Scalding my hand with boiling water fresh from the kettle. Aged 25.

Upturning a bottle of cider on myself down by the Spanish Arch.

Spilling a champange cocktail at the Electric Picnic before I even had a sip.

Getting another one and spilling it before it was set down.

Setting my mattress on fire. Thought it was a good idea at the time.

Setting a sand dune on fire by mistake. Ran away quickly after that. But don't worry, Ballina's answer to the Beverly Hills 90210 boys came striding across the sand with glistening wet skin from their 24 mile swim off the coast to douse the flames with water.

Slicing the side of my hand open on a broken mirror. Only to be admonished for bleeding all over the wooden floor. Big no no apparently.

Vomiting in a friends house. In the hall. Beside the bin. His parents were behind me.

Smashing my head on the doorway when swinging back around too quickly at work. I have learned my lesson about dramatic exits/entrances. It will end in disaster.

Sending an email tearing someone to shreds, straight to their inbox.

Hitting my head with the Lat Pull Down at the gym.

Spilling my shopping all over the No. 200, then complaining loudly and sarcasticaly that everyone was so kind as to help. Turned around to see someone helping me.

Dropping 5 Red Bull and Vodka's in a row.

Throwing a cigarrette butt out the window only for it to blow back to the back seat and proceed to set fire to some documents.

Throwing a cigarrette butt by mistake whilst pointing at something and having it lodge itself in my cardigan.

Cutting my own hair. 'nuff said.

Running a marathon with little or no training or basic understanding of the human body.

Jumping over a fence of barbed wire after being chased by 15 angry young bulls and getting caught in the wire.

Getting thunked in the head by our "pet" goat Molly. Goats do not like to be annoyed by 3 year olds it seems.

My big toe being stood on by the fat cow (she was literally a cow) Suzy, then her changing position and standing on my other big toe. My nails have never been right since.

Teaching myself to swim in about 4 inches of water in the little stream close to my home. Hard to float when only your stomach is covered.

Tramping through flood ridden fields with wellies, school uniform, and dog in tow.

Losing a shoe in the river beside a friends house.

Punching myself in the neck/face/stomach whilst exercising. Tae Bo is not for beginners.

Attempting to make vanilla ice-cream. With cream, vanilla essence, and a freezer.

Leaving the hair straightener on and covering it with my scarf, seemed so sensible that morning.

Burning my forehead with an iron in an attempt to straighten my hair the old fashioned way.

Burning my eye lid with a curling tongs.

Burning my wrists with an iron (which is funny coz I very rarely iron) prompting a concerned work colleague to ask me if I was ok, was I self harming.

Standing on a fully loaded hair straightener and having 180 degrees of heat clamp down on my foot.

And speaking of feet (nice segue there Laura) running drunkenly up the South Wimbledon Tube escalator and slicing the bottom of my toe along with most of the bottom of my foot on the metal. It bled. I cried.

Getting someone's toothpick lodged in the main vein of my foot. It spread. It bled. I hurt.

Getting stung by some mysterious insect on my arm. It spread.

Skipping out of mass of a Sunday and holding my mother's hand. Only to look up and realise that she wasn't my mother. And she didn't want me to hold her hand.

I'm sure dear reader, that there is more to come, but for now, enjoy x

The Human Spirit....

Maxine Balboa Tolan returns for the fight of her life. One women's struggle to get to the pub she loves. Contains strong language, scenes of a sexual nature that some viewers may find offensive, partial nudity, excessive violence, and love.

Mission: Impossible

Day 1.
Day 1 wasn't so bad. Had a stash of ciggies from the day before, lunch was comprised of a left over dinner that a friend had cooked the night before. T'was delish. Transport to and from the gym was lovingly provided by my legs. And keeping phone costs to a minimum, I have used Facebook as a method of communication.

Day 2.
So far so good. It's raining, and my already fuzz dilemma hair wouldn't be too impressed with having to go outside in the drizzle, so lunch will be something pilfered from the kitchen at work. Ciggies.....damn, didn't factor those in. May need to pop out at lunch. However, the real test will be tomorrow. How to look good, get drunk, and have a massive night out on £25.

Spend so far: £0.00

Day 3.
This is where the fun starts. In fact, it started on Day 2, needing to buy lunch, feed my nicotine addiction,and also get some dinner for the night. Spending came to £12, which in the grand scheme of things, is not bad at all. And somehow, and I don't know how.... I managed to go out with £30, and come home with £17. How you may ask? I don't know I will answer. It is one of those great mysteries of the universe, will forever be unexplained, and the day that you are cosying up in your cardboard box with a cup-a-soup and yesterdays Mirror wrapped around you for extra padding and warmth, you will always remember that night. It may have had something to do with the fact we bought items of the alcoholic persuasion in the shop to drink before hand. Or it may have had something to do with the fact that we didn't get a taxi. Or it could be because for a change in this wonderful but almost crippingly expensive City, we didn't have to pay to get in somwehere. Amazing what a bit of leg can do for you..... Kidding.
Anyway!
Total spent between Friday's shenanigans and Saturday's debauchery:
Ciggies: £3.60
Vodka & Mixer: £9.99
Oyster card top up: £5.00
Drinks at The Tramshed Tooting: £15.00 (apparently!)
Drumroll please: £33.59 for a night out, plus food etc

Day what seems like 906:
Two words. Not good.
Total spend: More than I have. Where is Eddie Hobbs when you need him

Day who cares any more:
Phone bill with the cough cough lovely people at 3: £54.91
Money set aside by me for phone bill: £70.00
Money for me to now play with: £15.09

How many R's in Kerrrrrching :-)

Day blah blah blah:
Am currently just keeping my head above water and still in double digits. Not for long I fear, but it's also 7 days to P-Day. Sure I gave it a go, like.

Dire Straits

Your Mission, should you choose to accept it: Is to survive in London on a limited budget until 25th November, from here on in known as P-Day, as a smoker, drinker, eater, gym bunny, phone user, and complete not one, but two nights out on less money than your average ticket for one plus popcorn and drink in the cinema.
Laura Howley, this is your, Mission:Impossible.

X Factor Shocker

It's the ultimate water cooler fodder, are you Camp Katie, or are you Camp Gamu???
In my personal humble opinion, I am very much Camp Gamu. For starters, the girl can sing, which in a singing competition, I feel it rates high up there on the list of pre-requisites. Secondly, Gamu has a natural quirkiness to her, something which cannot be feigned through parasol carrying, false eye lash wearing wackiness. And thirdly, everyone I know supported Gamu. She is a loveable character, and yes, I would pick up the phone and vote for her.

Katie has divided opinion since she appeared on the show a number of weeks ago. Not my opinion, as I took against her from the moment I saw her, but other people's. Can we get a re-wind for a moment? From her very first audition, something was amiss. She couldn't even make it through her first audition without making mistakes. When in doubt, bring on the crocodile tears and some attitiude and it seems you can be a star! She messed up the judges' houses, big style. Even Wil.I.Am commented on the fact that she really messed up. Yet somehow, the Nation's Sweetheart has decided to put through someone with marginally less talent than herself, sacrificing a great natural talent in place of "an opinion divider".

Now Gamu......she can sing! Her first ever audtion, even though marred by controversy with the "AutoTune Gate" scandal of 2010, was still possibly one of the best auditions we have seen. She sang the song in her own unimitable style, going so far as to change the words and make it her own, but with no crocodile tears and no arrogant attitude. Just a sweet funny girl with an old fashioned ability to sing! Yes she has been sidelined. In favour of Katie. Indeed.

This has fuelled speculation of there being a wild card section to the show. Simon Cowell has been reported to be seen leaving the house of one half of gay twosome Diva Fever, with the grapevine rife with rumours of a fourth wild card contestant being brough to the show for each of the judges' category.

Here's hoping. Both Katie and early bookies favourite Cher have now buckled under the pressure 3 times between them. They will be shown for their true colours in the live finals, where they will face people with actual talent.

Bring it!

Revenge....how do you like it

In retaliation to comments made, I've decided to put my knowledge of all things useless, strange, wonderful and everything in between to good use. I'm here to present myself as Google in human form. Think of me as your personal fountain of knowledge. Or a summisation of A Brief History of Time. Or depending what your literary preferences are, Dear Deirdre.

So, if you have any questions you would like answering, from obscure musical references,'to the moon landing, from adverts, to World War 2 and anything else in-between, please comment me and I shall endeavour to answer you in my unique way. Next time your fingers get the Google itch, why not try www.laurahowley.blogspot.com

This is My City

Looking out my bedroom window in an attempt to freeze myself to sleep, I was hit by a very sudden rush of wowness (legit word) Its like the first time you realise that you are in love with something or someone, and it hits you at warp speed, you feel you cannot breathe until you get the love statement out of your mouth.

It was night time, and the distant lights were twinkling away in the dark at me. It gave me goose pimples (and not just because the window was open) I feel so much adoration for the ultimate city that never sleeps, like mothers experience when they see their newborns for the first time. I love how it is a city of huge contrasts, from the filthy rich in their mansions in Notting Hill, to the dirt poor in their high rises in Peckham, from the beautiful,tree lined suburban, environmental havens, to the polluted, graffiti and litter lined avenues, privileged people falling out of clubs and casinos in Knightsbridge, to the homeless lying under a blanket at an ATM just down the road. From posh Wimbledon where it's almost essential to fit in, to Camden, where literally, anything goes. Its a paradox in itself, its a city where not just two, but too many worlds have collided and it has created this sprawling metropolis where me and 13 million other people call home.

It's the city that I love, where I feel I truly belong. To misquote Mr Sinatra Senior, If I can make anywhere, I can make it here. And I fully believe that. No matter who you are, where you come from, what your belief system may be, you will find a little corner for yourself in London. True, the City can leave you chewed up and spat out, but it can also embrace you and make you feel part of a community. If you rebel against London, what it stands for, who it is, the vast crowds going here there and everywhere all day long, the traffic, the noise, the craziness, then I think this is when problems start. If you accept that, and jump in feet first to the ensuing bedlam, then I think you will be just fine.

I'm not that naive to think that the City doesn't have its problems. Of course it does. Crime against people and property is rampant. There is corruption, there is abject poverty, there is obscene disregard for life, there is pollution. But in order to survive here, you have to overlook those things and see the good in London. Wander down a street on Saturday morning, and you will no doubt stumble upon a street market, with Cockney's crowing at you to sample their goods. You may be hungover, clutching your water and life saving tea like its keeping your blood flowing, but it will always put a smile on your face. You go to a park on a sunny day, and you will be tripping over yourself and your maxi skirt with mini festivals and random music events. You can turn the corner and find the love of your life. You go down Oxford Street at Christmas, and I defy you not to turn into a child in awe of all the lights, festiveness and decorations. Being driven down there one Christmas, I had my nose pressed up to the window for the entire journey like a dog itching to get out of the car.

It's a city where in one single Tube journey, you can fall in love and have your heart broken. Its a city, where at any one time, people are dying, being born, getting married, splitting up, having a rough day, having the best day of their lives, meeting strangers who will become life long friends, meeting strangers you hope to see again, but possibly never will. Its a city full of promises and of hope and I feel that every time I step out onto the street.

London, to me, is a piece of fabric. Each person, immigrant, born here, moved here from a different part of the UK is a little piece of string that adds to the tapestry of City life. It smells exotic and spicy and like home cooking all at once. It feels lush in parts, like a luxurious silk, but some corners feel like mohair, itching away at your skin. It has different colours, but somehow it all works together. There 's hatred, but there's also a whole lot of love around, if you just know where to look.

And I'm hopelessly in love.