lemme tell you a story – of words & books

London, 2022. Before the Queen departed this mortal coil, the pound jumped off a cliff, and they installed a revolving door in Number 10. Blissfully unaware of All That Would Be, I, my sister-in-law and my niece and nephew, caught an early coach to the Capital. Our mission? The Natural History Museum and Big Ben. Sorry! Elizabeth’s Tower.

We were fortunate in that arrived at the side of Buckingham Palace and saw the changing of the guards. Our sight was partially obscured by a postman’s van. Presumably he’d taken a wrong turn. I like to think of him fondly, slumped low in the driver’s seat:

‘Maggie! I’ve gone to the palace. Yes! You heard me right the Palace! I KNEW I should have used the bloomin’ SatNav’

The guards changed and marched around a bit and stood for much longer and out of all the things I’ve ever seen, it was one of them. You can’t say much more than that.

I asked a policeman if he wouldn’t mind assuring my nephew that this was Buckingham Palace. The good news? Yes! It was. Also (he pointed) ‘those are the kitchens.’ So. Now we all knew.

Onwards we trooped, towards the Natural History Museum. We had a map, we had a plan, we were prepared.

And it. was. glorious.

this has a WHALE of a story to tell. i make no apologies

We had a map. We marked off each area we visited and though we spent an eternity there and still didn’t visit every single place.

This is a Giant Sloth and let me tell you that Sid the Sloth wishes he had this height. What a legend. What ribs. What glory.

The dinosaur area (LOOK I’M NOT A PROFESSIONAL MUSEUM PERSON. I DON’T KNOW THEIR NAMES. Oh wait. Exhibit? Exhibit.) was heaving with people and yet, it was magnificent and I got to see some dino skin and lemme tell you, their skincare routine? Not it. Not it at all.

Charlie, mah boi, with his bodacious beard

I quite liked all the mineraly-rock room. My niece thoughtfully pointed out one of the precious gems on display as a gift for her mother and what can I say? The girl has taste.

Unfortunately the gem was a) in a vault and b) not for sale. Pfft. Minor obstacles. Easily overcome!

In the low, low priced gift … place … I bought dinosaur jelly sweets for the folks at work. They were delicious and inspired a poll. (The sweets. Not my colleagues.) It’s always ‘Why are you here?’ and ‘What do you do for a living?’ and never ‘What’s your favourite dinosaur?’ A simply disgusting oversight. So that’s why we, in my little office, asked the question of nearly the entire company.

And they answered.

I won’t tell you who won out, but I will say that I’m disappointed that more people didn’t vote for the Pachycephalosaurus who are clearly the spirit dinosaur of a British-man-with-a-bulldog-tattoo emerging from a pub after a football match.

(Trust me on this one.)

It was a long day, but a day that was very much worth it. We got to meet up with more members of my family, which was delightful, and so in short – it was a wonderful day and I would 100% recommend going. (With your own family. Sorry. You can’t have mine.)

If no one has asked you lately, please allow me:

What’s your favourite dinosaur?

lemme tell you a story

ochhhh Scotland, me lassie!

October 14, 2022October 14, 2022 nesskingsley

The first time I went to Scotland, the friend I was with went into anaphylactic shock just over the border and had to be taken to hospital. This time? No hospitals were involved and so I’d like to call it: an absolute win.

My brother and I decided we’d go to the Highlands for the weekend. I’d never been. Let me tell you … WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME EARLIER JUST HOW BEAUTIFUL THE HIGHLANDS ARE???! I’ve been cheated. Damn it, Time-Traveling Scottish Highlander Romance Novels! you didn’t tell me.

‘I’ll take the high road and you’ll take the low road …’

Loch Lomand was beautiful and so big, so very, very big. I spent most of the time we were driving past it with my nose glued to the car window. We stopped in a small village by its banks and had some lovely soup served in tartan-patterned bowls.

We took a walk and a cat peered back at me from one window, a poster of Nicola Sturgeon from another. There was a strong feeling of wanting Scottish Independence up here – signs on lampposts etc. I felt almost sorry to subject everyone to my – unfortunately – incredibly English accent. (A common by-product of being English.)

Past Fort William and ever onwards, and the further we went, the more beautiful our surroundings were. There was this moment when heavy rain gave way to the most stunning hills that rolled downwards towards the car. It felt like a secret world, locked away and so very magical.

The AirBnB we booked was on its own little loch and again – stunning.

We went for a walk around its banks, got caught in the rain, but I entertained my brother by pretending to be the presenter on a documentary ‘AND IT WAS HERE, ON THIS VERY ROAD THAT WILLIAM WILLIAM HAMMERSMITH TROD’. I use the term ‘entertained’ very loosely. ‘Tortured’ would perhaps be more apt.

If you, dear reader, ever plan a trip up to Scotland, I’d advise doing such a thing as: checking the weather first, and also planning the trip. I’m not going to say that we didn’t do it, but I will say that it turned out marvellously in spite of our incredible organisational skills and the tropical storm battering everywhere at the time.

We went to Skye and saw our aunt and the little corner of paradise that is her back garden. Over a deliciously filling meal (far better than the sandwiches I’d cobbled together that morning) I realised just how nice it is to see familiar faces, especially when so far from home.

We stopped off in Eilean Donan Castle where there were a lot of tourists (obviously I’d never call myself a tourist. Purchasing something from the gift shop DOESN’T COUNT.) and also torrential rain. It was entirely worth it, especially after we’d taken photos in front of the castle with gritted teeth, braved the queue for a coffee, and retreated with moderate haste, to the much drier confines of the car.

Eilean Donan Castle, as seen from the car. Where it was NOT raining.

With only one full day to spend in the Highlands, we’d done our best to spend it well. The next day, it was time to share the eight+ hours of driving it would take to get back home.

I insisted we stop at Gretna Green for two very important reasons:

just in case I felt like eloping
to make every regency novel heroine proud

It was then that disaster struck. I did not, dear reader, like Gretna Green. It did not have the romance. It did not even have a romance novel corner. This was a crushing moment of disillusionment. The only person to elope with was a shop mannequin and I did not feel Equal To The Task.

We returned home, tired, but immensely satisfied. I’m going to steal the Highlands and shove them in my next book. It won’t be a time-travelling romance, because I still feel betrayed by them. It will, however, include such descriptors as:

‘The rain moves in ghostly veils across the loch, pushed by wind.’

and

‘Binky looks cold, wet, and utterly miserable.’

I can’t wait.

lemme tell you a story

cosplaying as jason todd // london comic con

September 14, 2022August 14, 2022 nesskingsley

Honestly, I like to think that everyone is a bit of a nerd these days. This year was the first time I properly expressed it though. You see, I went to ComicCon with a friend, dressed as Jason Todd. Oh yeah. I have a crowbar now. One that stuck out of my backpack all the way through London and no one stopped me.

Okay, so I guess I’ll have to fess up – aside from spending too much money on finding just the right jacket and experimenting with white hair paint – I really should have spent more time figuring out exactly what goes on at ComicCon. You probably shouldn’t, you know, just rock up.

(We did just that.)

However, I’m going to say it – I didn’t mind at all. Because: 1) it was about the atmosphere and 2), my friends, I got to see Batman.

It was one of the worst moments of my life. Batman said ‘ah, the disappointment’ and I, with the zeal of a true fan and Jason Todd aficionado fumbled out a ‘no, YOU’RE the disappointment for not killing Joker’.

…

… don’t say anything. Please.

…

The earth, contrary to my dearest wish, did not open up and swallow me whole. The man who was cosplaying at Batman looked a little taken aback but was wonderful because he let me take a menacing photo with him.

(When I got back to work, one of my colleagues framed that photo. Life is glorious. Also: I’m pretending that this exchange never ever happened.)

I was trying to get up to have a photo taken but you know what? this looks like I have some kung fu skills. I have none. But I cling to the illusion this photo provides.

I also saw the literal best cosplay ever in the form of the Batman Who Laughs (who was also The Batman Who Couldn’t See as the cosplayer literally couldn’t see and had to be led around and honestly? THE DEDICATION.)

We wandered over to the tattooist stall where I contemplated ‘should I get one?’ in the same way one leisurely contemplates ‘well, SHOULD I become a dairy farmer on Mars?’ but then I saw the price and backed away. And then I met a Red Shirt being consumed with tribbles and this man? Iconic. The Moment.

I wish I knew your name, cosplayer! But you DID GOOD.

It was, I must admit, a little overwhelming – the con was heaving with people. There was a man selling mushroom merch and I commented that he must be a ‘fungi’ to which a passer by said: ‘I heard that – no.‘ (Alas, the burden of loving puns is a heavy one and unappreciated.)

We browsed the stalls and I was tempted by a comic but bravely said no. I stopped a Nightwing cosplayer and complimented him. He was queuing for lunch, and so was unprepared. (Compliments wait for no man!)

The creativity on display! It was all very incredible! However, the sheer volume of humanity eventually got the better of us. We escaped into London, wandering its streets, tasting its food, staring at the group of American tourists on bicycles on a Harry Potter tour. We were a wonderful trio – my friend, me, and my crowbar.

Would I go again? Yes. Definitely.

I’m not certain what the etiquette is of posting photos of other cosplayers, but if I ever find their social media handles, I’ll link them up. If I don’t and I find out I’ve committed a Heinous Error, I’ll remove the photos and draw stickmen figures as illustrations instead.

lemme tell you a story, ness rambles, ness talks about life

hair dyeing adventures [Story Time]

November 23, 2017November 24, 2017 nesskingsley

*warning: excessively long post ahead. before + after pictures that are in no way professional and display a love of bathrooms/mirrors/ipads. moulting hair fears. bad humour*

THE BACKGROUND

When I was a little girl, I wanted to have black hair – as black as Aquila’s sister in The Lantern Bearers, which was so black she could almost comb sparks from it. (Or that’s how I remember the description going. I can’t look it up because my beloved books are an ocean away right now.)

hairbackthen

But I’ve never yet had black hair, always brown. I loved the stories where the heroine had plain brown hair. I could sympathise. I thought my hair was … a nothing. A sort of bland, brown, and boring mixture that simply existed.

It took me many years to appreciate my hair for what it was: beautiful. When the sun shone, different strands looked like spun gold. In the summer, it would lighten – if I went outside, of course. Which didn’t always happen. I am a bookworm after all.

But I’ve pondered dyeing my hair (mostly blue because it’s so THERE and shockingly so) for years now. Not because I didn’t like it, but because … I could. And suddenly, quite by chance and entirely by impulse – I had a hair appointment booked.

… and still no idea what kind of colour I wanted it.

THE ELIMINATION PROCESS:

Blonde was ruled out because I couldn’t envision myself as a blonde. Like, the image didn’t compute in my mind.
Black was discarded because I couldn’t quite picture anything that didn’t look terrible on me (I’m still saving this for another day … dun dun dunnn.)
Blue was thrust aside because a) I’d only feel like having blue hair on Thursdays and not every day is a Thursday and b) I’m a bit quirky but I don’t think I could live up to having blue hair all. the. time.
Highlights were tossed because I wanted a CHANGE OF COLOUR dang it! And a big one.

So I was left with either a dark brown (NOOOOO!!!!) or red. I went with the red.

THE ACTUAL DYEING THING-Y

IMG_20171104_213325_506

I bussed, and arrived five minutes late (I accidentally went past my stop and had to ride the bus until it came back. Yes. You may laugh.) I’d call the saloon I went to ‘boho chic’. It was actually in the hair dresser’s home and it. was. fabulous.

Was I nervous? Not really. I was excited because I was going to be a red-head.

The colour was mixed and applied. It felt a little odd at first, but I really liked the smell. (Wut? It smelled like change and adventure.)

And then it was cut.

And then I couldn’t stop looking at myself in the mirror.

AFTERMATH

I have a semi-permanent red dye in my hair – which means that slowly the colour has been fading (I quite like that about it; new shades of the same colour), the first few showers looked like a blood bath and my towel looked very disturbing.

It’s been four weeks now, and my roots are beginning to peek through – but I quite like the effect.

Do I like my hair? Heck yeah! It’s awesome. I look back on my brunette pictures and I don’t have a smidgen of regret.

A WARNING

At work, some colleagues thought I was a new recruit. So, if you’ve committed a heinous crime of say – putting the milk in first before adding the boiling water to a cup of tea, you could dye your hair afterwards and no one would know you!

(But I would. You utter heathen.)

ALSO: Don’t go into this red hair business expecting to develop either the bare rudiments of Gaelic or a Scottish accent because guess what? It doesn’t work.

I am, of course, immensely disappointed.

ALSO: Maybe don’t go about telling people that you’ve dyed your hair in the blood of your enemies. You’ll get some strange looks.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

I know, I know – I’m being hysterical and dramatic but I’ve just showered and my hair literally MOULTS after a shower. It’s been doing this before I dyed it so I can’t create a clickbait horror story (‘I dyed my hair and what happened next is horrific!’). But it could be because:

my diet has changed
I am more stressed than I think I am (I am?)
TWIST! My hair always sheds like this and I’m only noticing it now because the house has wood/laminated floors.

If it’s my imagination, I’m going to sue it and tweet angrily about it. And if it’s my reality, I am going to rock some killer wigs. (I’m thinking pastels. ALL THE PASTELS!)

Thank you. I just wanted to get that off my chest and out of my hair … literally. (Too much?)

… and thus is the transformation of my hair completed. On the left – me, in the beginning, before I paid someone to lop my hair off. On the right – me, after I paid someone to soak my hair in blood!! Muhahaha!

Have you dyed your hair? Did you like it? Do you have difficulty with died/dyed because THE STRUGGLE IS REAL MY FRIEND!

lemme tell you a story, ness rambles, ness talks about life

[Story Time] repercussions of daydreaming

March 28, 2017March 28, 2017 nesskingsley

When I was a youngling, I daydreamed excessively; in my dreams I was extremely clever and I had secrets – world-changing, mind-blowing secrets. I could give the best, most convincing comebacks, break into sudden ninja skillz, and do daring deeds that would leave grown men gaping in my wake.

Image result for gasp in awe gif

I’d do all of this without repercussions. One doesn’t really think of real world consequences when you’re in a delicious daydream, fixing a tragic moment of fallibility in your life.

Par example, when my family was introduced to a new church; instead of retreating into my blue coat when the microphone was shoved in my face and whispering my name …

… it would go a little differently. The pastor would ask my name. I’d stand straight and tall. ‘You want my name?’ my attitude would say. ‘THIS IS MY NAME!!!’ and at the end of the aisle, the church doors would slam open, and in would pour an entire troop of animals enough to make a zookeeper weep.

Image result for llama running gif — like this. but with lions. and giraffes. and maybe an elephant?

It’s important to note that my daydream was conspicuously absent of:

animal droppings
outraged animal rights activists.
the screams of horror from churchgoers who just wanted to hear some preaching (was that too much to ask?!!)

When you’ve spent half your life with your nose in a book and your head in the clouds, your sense of proportion, social settings, and – alas, to my cost – brain-to-mouth filter sometimes malfunctions.

Take my last, most monumental gaffe, for instance. I’ll share it here. You can probably feel the echoes of my disbelief from where you’re sitting.

LAST MONUMENTAL SOCIAL GAFFE:

I can’t remember the mood I was in when I turned up to my driving test, but it must have been quite something.

My examiner reminded me of a TV character and I really quite liked him – he sort of set you at ease. I didn’t do quite the same service to him.

He introduced himself pleasantly with a ‘My name is N—, what can I call you?’

Usually, I would have said my name and included a nice and pleasant: ‘nice to meet you.” Usually, I managed to function as an adult. That day, I did not.

I didn’t say my name. I didn’t plead for a pass. Oh no. My brain saw OPPORTUNITY written across the sky in big, multicoloured letters.

It saw opportunity. It took that opportunity. I opened my mouth:

You may call me Lord and Supreme Dictator of the Universe

Image result for shy gif

Nowadays, I try to rein myself in a little; try to fix the ol’brain-to-mouth filter. Be a little mature. Realise you can’t just blurt anything out – even if you think it’s the pinnacle of humour. This works sometimes. But now and again, every so often, if a customer asks how my day has gone, I find myself answering:

“Well … the zombie apocalypse hasn’t happened yet, so it’s been pretty good, thank you.”

(They often seem bemused. I, on the other hand, am always enormously impressed that I – a bookworm – can pronounce ‘apocalypse’ correctly.)

Category: lemme tell you a story

paddington bear’s favourite dinosaur is: unknown

ochhhh Scotland, me lassie!

cosplaying as jason todd // london comic con

hair dyeing adventures [Story Time]

[Story Time] repercussions of daydreaming