Kristy Berridge's Blog, page 9

In the past I have written numerous blogs regarding my da...

In the past I have written numerous blogs regarding my dalliances with children and the effects they've had on me over the years and to be fair, my opinions have altered slightly. These tiny creatures of see-sawing emotion both terrify me and sometimes thrill me.
Since I've been in the UK I have been surrounded by the little tykes thanks to The Cockney's ever-expanding family; today was no different.A jam-packed morning in London followed by a botched high tea saw me crossing paths with a toddler running through a plethora of emotions ranging from anger to happiness, hunger to bloated mess and satisfaction to unsettled.
Laughing or sympathising only bore horrifying results and thus it ended up being safer simply to pretend the child didn't exist which of course came quite naturally to me.
Phase one: Hunger.Phase two: Satisfaction - I would be too after eating all the leftover cakes the vegan (me) couldn't eat at the high tea.Phase three: Anger - a sibling stole the two cent yoyo that he might have played with once or twice since his inception.Phase four: Satisfaction again - mummy made it all better again with a few choice words directed at the older sibling. Bi-product? Little one gets his yoyo back but now doesn't have the foggiest what to do with it.Phase five: Hunger.Phase six: Anger - mum said no to more pointless gobbling. Phase seven: Nuclear Meltdown - he ran into a street pole and everyone laughed.
I had to respect this little demon for always being honest about what he was thinking or feeling. Although comparative to split personality disorder, I couldn't help but notice that as adults we hide over half of these emotions from those around us to appear 'normal' and that is a terrible shame. Imagine how much more interesting life would be if everyone said exactly what they meant.
Needless to say, although I did develop a fondness for this child with whiplash emotions, my ovaries still protest at the very thought of reproduction. I strongly believe that these misunderstood creatures are not properly researched or packaged before delivery. Every child should come with a set of instructions and warning labels, but in my case, a receipt so you can return it if you find it's faulty.

Kristy ;)

Vegan Anyone

I've recently decided to become a vegan, possibly not for the most common reason which is save animals etcetera etcetera.
I'm doing it because I used to be a flat blob and now care considerably about my health. Being a vegan is a challenge; no meat, seafood or any form of dairy. I've had to make some major changes to all facets of life but I think it's ultimately worth it now that my stomach is washboard flat, I don't fart incessantly and my skin looks as smooth as a baby's rear end.

Currently I'm in Europe. The French thought I was a bit queer, the most common response being; 'Butteer? Vot do you mean you don't eat butteer?' (Note the attempted accent).
Now I'm back in London and people are generally accommodating.
However, we went to High Tea yesterday, something booked months in advance and reconfirmed twice noting the experience contained a vegan participant (aka me).
So, we arrived and I was excited. After all, months of notice should have resulted in something spectacular for the non-meat-eating, dairy-dissing queen of horror fiction.

No.

I had a bloody hummus sandwich with the crusts cut off because the booking was never entered and they had forgotten my dietary requirements.

To give me my due, I didn't explode in a champagne spew of fury. I sat calmly, smiling brightly while everyone else had their delicious cakes and pastries and I ingested chickpea paste and plotted a hotel bombing.

But to every low there is a high and to be fair I didn't die and saved my waistline, so we'll take it as a win for today even if I still dream of shoving a corkscrew up the unorganised staff's asses and twisting until they pop.

I've recently decided to become a vegan, possibly not for...

I've recently decided to become a vegan, possibly not for the most common reason which is save animals etcetera etcetera. I'm doing it because I used to be a flat blob and now care considerably about my health. Being a vegan is a challenge; no meat, seafood or any form of dairy. I've had to make some major changes to all facets of life but I think it's ultimately worth it now that my stomach is washboard flat, I don't fart incessantly and my skin looks as smooth as a baby's rear end.
Currently I'm in Europe. The French thought I was a bit queer, the most common response being; 'Butteer? Vot do you mean you don't eat butteer?' (Note the attempted accent).Now I'm back in London and people are generally accommodating. However, we went to High Tea yesterday, something booked months in advance and reconfirmed twice noting the experience contained a vegan participant (aka me).So, we arrived and I was excited. After all, months of notice should have resulted in something spectacular for the non-meat-eating, dairy-dissing queen of horror fiction.
No.
I had a bloody hummus sandwich with the crusts cut off because the booking was never entered and they had forgotten my dietary requirements. 
To give me my due, I didn't explode in a champagne spew of fury. I sat calmly, smiling brightly while everyone else had their delicious cakes and pastries and I ingested chickpea paste and plotted a hotel bombing.
But to every low there is a high and to be fair I didn't die and saved my waistline, so we'll take it as a win for today even if I still dream of shoving a corkscrew up the unorganised staff's asses and twisting until they pop.

Kristy ;)

Tower of London

Spotted! 100 Days of Happiness just chillin' by the Thames, keeping an eye on Tower Bridge. Where will your 100 days of happiness take you?

amzn.to/29R7hA5

On this chilly Saturday morning, I sit sprawled in a gard...

On this chilly Saturday morning, I sit sprawled in a garden chair in an English back garden in the middle of Sidcup, listening to foreign animals click and chirp while I deliberate over The Cockney's impending death.
On holiday it's typical to lose out on precious hours of sleep, but since arriving in England and travelling through Paris, I've had less than six hours per night. Ordinarily this wouldn't bother me, but since every day has been crammed with a plethora of activities that include needing to schedule in a fart--I'm knackered.
This morning I planned a luxurious sleep-in which was consequently thwarted by The Cockney's exuberant nostril orchestra. Never in my life have I been that close to a freight train and yet this morning one rolled directly on top of me. Blissful hours of sleep were robbed from this innocent victim who was without earplugs or apology. Thus, I now sit in this overly-green garden, eyeing off the children's tree-house in the corner, fantasizing about whether or not a bed will fit in its wooden hull.
So, after establishing that my shoulders don't fit through the hatch of the tree-house, I figured I'd exercise to shake off my weariness.
Thirty minutes later I have indulged in approximately fifteen unscheduled farts, swallowed some sort of flying insect, almost wet myself after a jumping-jack went slightly wrong and managed to kick my toe on a garden paver.
Upside? I found a shovel in the garden shed that should fit nicely wrapped around The Cockney's head when he finally wakes up ...

Kristy ;)

Beautiful Paris

So here we are; me and The Cockney, still basking in the glory of the city of love.
The lingering smell of Indian faecal matter has been replaced with sweat-stained clothes and a tub of soy yogurt left unattended.

Not romantic? You're probably right, but as I frown at the now black rear-end of my favourite pair of shorts, I reminisce about its happenstance; a bike ride through Parisian streets in forty degree heat, smiling lovingly at The Cockney as the perspiration in my pants gathers momentum.

The River Seine now taking up permanent residence in my undercarriage, we take in the extraordinary cabaret show at The Moulin Rouge. Feathers, sequins and abundant displays of nipple tantalise; so much so that I contemplate blinding The Cockney with his beer bottle as he grins excessively.

Finally hitting the hay and I am pleased to report that although sleep overcame us both rather quickly, so did The Cockney's exuberance to repeat the cabaret show within our hotel room. The sequins and costumes were absent, but the enthusiasm was more than present as his ear-sucking techniques led to the ingestion of one of my favourite pair of earrings--just another reason to celebrate 100 Days of Happiness ...

Kristy ;)

Free Giveaway

****** Who doesn't want a free book? ******

IT'S SIMPLE - Sign our Guestbook at www.shadowinkpress.com.au
and say "I want The Hunted."
We will send you a link for your FREE eBook.

Since writing 100 Days of Happiness, a lot of things have...

Since writing 100 Days of Happiness, a lot of things have changed in my life. Not exactly an understatement as life does move forward for everyone, but it's been an adjustment. A part of me thought that after the emotional roller-coaster finally ended that I would be different--fundamentally changed, but I'm still an idiot. I arrived in Paris yesterday, otherwise known as the city of love and while The Cockney and I occasionally held hands, nibbled on baguettes together and perused icons of interest, we were both in bed by 9:00 pm, out to the world and sleeping solo.The romanticism of my soul expected wine sipping on our little balcony and hours of fornication, but reality dictated and subsequently annihilated my ideals. BBC was our ambience and the slight waft of passing French curry was the perfume from our bathroom.As I drifted off to sleep--unsated and sober--it occurred to me that my idiocy was re-birthed from forgetfulness. My creative mind had taken hold and raised expectations and completely dismissed the magic of actuality.I was with my Cockney, in Paris, seeing the most amazing things and safe in his arms as I slept soundly in feathered cushioning. Did I really need a glass of red and a good bonking?
Hell yes. I'm in bloody Paris!

Hi everyone,We at Shadow Ink Press would like to give to ...

Hi everyone,
We at Shadow Ink Press would like to give to you our loyal readers, a free eBook copy of The Hunted.  
But wait! There is a requirement....in order to redeem your free copy, you will need to click on this link www.shadowinkpress.com.au  to our website and sign our guestbook. In your message, you must tell us that you want The Hunted.  
Once you do this, we will email to you, your free download link.
Be quick, as this amazing offer is limited to the first 2500 people....YES, 2500 lucky readers will receive this eBook free.
We do hope that you enjoy reading this amazing book and that it will inspire you to look at more books written by Kristy Berridge.
Why don't you get your hands on volume 2 - The Damned and volume 3 - The Aligned in the Hunted series too. 


Vol 2 
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Vol 3
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We do hope that you enjoy this amazing offer.  As always, we appreciate any feedback you may have. :)
Stephanie

The countdown is on for Kristy our Editor to head to chil...

The countdown is on for Kristy our Editor to head to chilly England for a hectic holiday exploring the region and surrounding countries. She assures us that she will be back, but my guess, she will likely be: a) Rugged up to ward off the cold, b) On a beach in sunny Spain, drink in hand, or c) Off to Paris for a tour of the Lourve. Will she be in touch, sending us her love in a blog? Hmmm, probably not. I expect she'll be too busy having fun! Stephanie :)