giorge thomas

my cat, my life, my kool-aid

You poor, patient bastards.

Yes, thanks for hanging on.

The next instalment of Almost Drank the Kool-Aid is coming. I promise.

I don’t even have the excuse of not writing. Because all of it is done. Well. The ones I’m going to post on are done (insert winking emoji here).

So they’re coming, they’re coming.

Not caught up with Kool-Aid? Then make sure you’re up to date! Is quite easy. Look up. No, not to the ceiling. Cripes. To the top menu. Yes, yes, that’s it. You’ll see all that malarky there. You can buy my books (please do), ready my poetry (I’m a poet, you know), and also, yes, catch up on Almost Drank the Kool-Aid. For those of you who need extra direction, it’s the menu titled Kool-Aid.

Right then. So, catch up, and then you’ll be all up to date, ready for my next post. And you know it’s going to get juicy. Really juicy.

Apologies for not being around. Life. Depression. All that shit. But I’m here, and I’ve missed you guys.

I’d love to say I’d promise to stick around, but let’s face it, I’m not really good at the whole commitment thing. Actually, no, that is a lie. Me and Mr Thomas have been together thirteen years. If that’s not commitment, I don’t know what is.

In other news, my sole-surviving cat, Martini, turns nineteen this week. She’s the one you can see in my header image. Let’s hope I’m not jinxing the poor thing by posting this. She’s only got a couple of days to go. But nineteen. Shit, man, that’s an innings, don’t you think? I’ve known this moody bitch of a cat longer than most people. She still doesn’t like me, but I must be doing something right. I was nineteen when I got her (you do the maths) and she’s been through all the bullshit with me. ALL the bullshit. So, you know, it’s a bit of an achievement we’ve both survived it all, to be honest.

So anyway, yes. Back to Kool-Aid. It’s coming at you this week. If you’re not subscribed, do it now, and that way you won’t miss out.

Also — I know when I’m posting stories there’s not much to comment on, but I do love hearing from you all, so even if it’s just a ‘hey’, feel free to comment. It gives me a special tingle every time I see one of your comments pop up.

Right then. See you back here tomorrow with another instalment of Almost Drank the Kool-Aid!

Happy Easter everyone! I am currently eating my way through various types of chocolate eggs, which Easter Bunny kindly left for me.

Yes, Easter Bunny still visits me. Just because am in my late thirties does not mean I can’t have Easter Bunny come and see me.

Soon Mr Thomas and I will be off to Mama and Papa Thomas’s, where we will be fed a full-blown Italian Easter lunch. I am very excited by it.

For me, Easter is much like Christmas: it’s all about food and family. So I hope you all have a lovely weekend eating good food and spending time with family. Love you all, and look out for another instalment of Almost Drank the Kool-Aid later today.


Right. So I’ve just come up wth the best. Game. Ever.

You can thank me later.

Actually, no, you can thank me now…

You’re welcome.

The game is called ‘Guess the Mutual Friend’ and all you need to play is a Facebook account. Now, let’s face it. We all have one of those. Am sure is now a prerequisite to being human; having a Facebook account. You will also need one of those friends lists full of far-flung acquaintances. Yes, yes, we all have them. A long list of vague acquaintances. Friends from that job you had five years ago and will never, in any normal circumstance, see again in your ‘real’ life.

Maybe it’s the ex-girlfriend of your second cousin. Maybe it’s your second cousin. That bloke you went to school with, who you were never friends with, but got caught up in the novelty of Facebook in its infancy, so added him anyway. The girl you met at the pub, decided was your soul sister and added her on Facebook then and there. Next morning, of course, you realised she is not your should sister; you were just drunk.

Those folks you endured a monotonously long conference with, where you all thought you’d die of tedium and therefore bonded, adding each other on Facebook so you can share your mutual announce by way of funny memes, making fun of the guest speaker.

Am sure any of you who have been on a cruise will have that couple you sat next to at dinner as a Facebook friend.

Yes, cruises. Word to the wise — don’t go on a cruise! Is like school. You’re told when you can eat and are forced to sit at a table with a bunch of people you know know. Yes, you have the option of not going to dinner. But then you’re stuck with the buffet and, if you’re anything like me, the buffet is a dangerous place if you have absolutely no willpower.


Cruises are weird. You think they are going to be so wonderful. Like you’ll be off to some exotic location when in reality you’re stuck on a moving prison, full of organised fun with the oh-so-obviously-mass-produced food. Plus, there’s that constant ringing of steel drums from the calypso band always playing at the pool who you can’t avoid because the pool is next door to the mass-produced food buffet. And, well, I obviously don’t have the willpower to prevent self from going to buffet. Even with the maddening calypso music.

(I hate steel drums. HATE them. There was a bloke playing them at the end of Millennium bridge in London and Mr Thomas literally had to prevent me from punching him out.)

So you’re on the cruise, comfort-eating, and you befriend the folks you’re forced to sit next to at dinner for the entire trip because at the end of the day they seem normal compared to the over-enthusiastic cruise directors.

If the above is familiar to you, your Facebook friends list is probably full of mere acquaintances rather than actual friends. Which makes Guess the Mutual Friend game so much fun!

You can play on your own, or with friends. Would probably make for a great drinking game. If you drink. Am not much of a drinker myself. Regardless of whether you play it with friends or alone, it’s still super fun.


How to play

Head to the ‘people you may know’ section of Facebook. Search those faces. Below, it will tell you how many mutual friends you have in common. Which might give you some clues on who your mutual friends are. Say, if there’s a large number, it might be the mutual friend of an old work. Or even your school. A smaller number might mean they are a mutual friend of a family or couple you know.

When you play this game you get to learn a lot about your Facebook friends. See, for example, I have discovered when playing this game that one of my friends and their partner are closet bicycle riders. All of the mutual friends that popped up on my feed have pictures of bicycles! WTF? Have they joined some cult?

Another un-named friend is seemingly only friends with twenty-something blondes with full-faced makeup and duck-lip poses. Creepy.

So if you find yourself bored this weekend, or perhaps you’re looking for something to pass the time while you wait patiently at the doctors surgery, or while you’re waiting in line at the next ‘it’ food truck, have a go at the Guess Your Mutual Friend game. If you find it as hilarious as I have done, and want to share with your friends, remember to hashtag #giorgethomas

That is all. Will be back shortly with the next instalment of Koolaid!

I’ve really been enjoying YouTube at the moment. In particular, beauty tutorials. Have never really been the makeup type. In the past I may have tipped my hat at makeup every now and then with some mascara and maybe, just maybe, eyeliner. I remember when I left home to live in the ‘big city’ and start work at a doctors surgery my mum (never a makeup-wearer herself) said to me, ‘maybe you should wear a little makeup?’

It wasn’t a dig. I think she was just trying to encourage me to be a little more presentable. And for whatever reason, makeup makes you more presentable.

Up until recently I never in my life wore foundation. Now that the time has passed, I can boastfully admit to you that I had beautiful skin. The real kind of peaches and cream complexion. Sure, I’d often go red as a beetroot (my rosy cheeks being sometimes too rosy) but it would always pass. My skin was clear and blemish free and anything covering it would have looked unnatural.

But then I got old. Yes, the wrinkles, but I don’t really give a shite about them. We all have them. Maybe I’ll botox it up later on. But. My skin. Ugh. I’m guessing a lifetime of medication combined with a refined sugar diet has taken its toll. I have pimples and bumps and dryness and irritation. The peaches and cream complexion is more blood orange and four. Not good. So, you know, I need a little help.


Of course I do. With absolutely no experience in the makeup world I had to turn to my favourites such as NikkieTutorials, Nicol Concilio and my new pleasure Anwen. I’ve watched carefully, trying to replicate their looks. After one successful play, however, Mr Thomas looked at me, eyes wide and declared I looked like Kryten from Red Dwarf. For those of you who don’t know who I’m talking about (I didn’t) please see the picture below.


Yes. Well. Obviously, had gone a little overboard with the contouring.

I am getting better though. Even bought an eyeshadow palette. First time wearing eyeshadow. Even bought foundation! Have been flirting with mineral powders up until now but they’re just not cutting the mustard.

However. I have a little bit of a beef with the beauty community. There are a few issues none of them seem to be covering. Tips I’m in desperate need of.

For example. What does one do with stress-related hair loss? The hair is growing back but my baby hairs are curly as all hell and just don’t want to settle. I basically look like an inverted poodle. Straight hair except for tennis ball sized patches on each temple which are curly as all fuck. So what do we do about that, beauty experts? You can’t straighten them. Too short to fit into the hair straightener. Must I suffer in silence?

Then there’s my nose. Now, this may be because it’s growing so rapidly in old age (ha, ha) and every time I apply product to it, my nose simply outgrows it. But how on earth do I get foundation, powders etc to stick? Every time I full-face it up, am left with a patchy nose. And yes, I’m doing the primer and the fixing spray afterwards. Have changed up using beauty blenders and brushes. Nothing works! Look like Rudolph, if Rudolph was sun-burnt and his nose started to peel. What about that, beauty influencers? Am desperate for the ‘snatched’ nose you all talk about, but hard to contour when all the product immediately disappears into some cavernous pit which is, most probably, my over-large pores.

Cut crease. Cripes alive. How do you cut your crease when your crease has about fifteen folds in it? Hooded lids I think they call it. But mine are like they are dressed for Antarctica with fifteen different hoodies in tow, the final one being the furry hood of my eyelashes. Would love a cut crease, but am I to have surgery first to remove layers of skin? I tell you…

(Not beauty folk may have no idea about the above. Don’t worry. It’s actually not that important.)

Now, please. Tell me, am desperate to know: what makeup routine does one need to remove resting bitch face? It’s quite the problem.

Was at a shop the other day, waiting, and the attendant served another lady first. No big deal. Was in no rush and was deep in thought thinking about life, cut-creases, that kind of thing. Anyway, the customer said to the attendant, ‘you better serve that other lady first’ (me) ‘she looks pissed off.’

Was shocked. Turned to lady and said, ‘am not pissed off, just have resting bitch face. This is how I look.’

So, you know, it’s causing problems in my life. So yes. A beauty tutorial to remove resting bitch face is a must.

As is a tutorial on how to put a full face of makeup on in the car. While driving. Now that’s a skill.


Are you guys addicted to YouTube like me? What are your favourite type of videos? Would love to know your favourites!


*** images of NikkieTutorials, Nicol Concilio and Anwen taken from their Youtube channels 

From my family to yours, wishing you all a wonderful Christmas!

Stay tuned in the New Year for more exciting news!




Hi Folks! So much is about to happen here on and I am super, super excited!

I’ve been a little busy worker bee preparing everything and I hope all of you will be along for the ride.

It’s going to be a month of excitement stretching right through to the new year so if you haven’t all ready, make sure you subscribe to my blog so you’re the first to know.

For those of you who have been with me from the beginning (you know who you are) I’m so glad to have you along on this journey. I know what’s coming up is something you’ve wanted for a long time.

So spread the love my friends, and I’ll see you back here real soon with me news. Hopefully soon. I’ve actually got a few things to finish up and am off to the cricket right now which takes an entire day so looks like I’ll be working into the night again.

Love you all!!


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The roads are empty, a low mist is hanging over the city and the hoarding tourists are still at breakfast. This is the London I love. ​



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Francesca. That was the name of the girl who served us at a well known car rental outlet yesterday and she’s restored our faith in the industry. 

I’m not going to deny that I probably got on her good side by mentioning her makeup application. There’s no doubt she’s of the contouring generation, probably spending hours honing her skills by watching tutorials on YouTube. Yet a pretty face and perfectly highlighted cheeks does not necessarily mean you’re going to have a pleasant personality, or be good in a customer service role. Thankfully, Francesca was both. 

Not sure what it is about the car rental industry, but we don’t seem to have much luck when it comes to renting cars for our holiday. Every year we arrive for holiday in the Britain, our first port of call is always the rent-a-car branch. We’re well traversed, and as repeat customers, you’d think it would be a satisfying exchange. That it would be pleasant. That customer service would be on-form to ensure the business gets another five hundred quid from us next year. 

No such luck. We’re always served by the same type – the kind of blokes you usually find in industries where vehicles are involved. Though while car dealership salesman have a certain slickness about them, their rental counterparts are severely lacking anything which can be defined as slick. Apart from their hair, of course. 

In a massive generalisation, I often find that the ‘gentlemen’ working in such establishments have oiled, combed-back hair, trousers slung unattractively at the hips and which are always two sizes too big, baggie white shirts which are un-ironed and have long ago lost their whiteness, and several big fat gold rings. Men who work in car rental dealerships rarely have less than three rings on their fingers. They are the ones who buy those gaudy medallion type yokes from the pawn brokers. More often than not, they’ll have a thick gold chain to match. The resulting look is one of a wannabe gangster. But then, they are a bunch of gangsters. 

Case in point, imagine a customer ringing the call centre of a rent-car organisation (because the website is conveniently down), getting a quote and reference number for a vehicle in a particular category, and then turning up to the storefront and not have them honour that price. And giving the old ‘computer says no’ routine as reason. 

As a customer, you do everything right. You ring the branch half an hour before arriving and they say, yes, yes, we have that particular vehicle in stock but when you arrive, the story has changed. ‘What? That car? No, we’ve never had that in stock. You spoke to Mark? Mark who? No Mark had ever worked here.’ 

Lying bastards. 

We have also had an instance when we were given a car with only one working cylinder. Something you don’t notice when driving around town (apart from exclaiming ‘this car is shit’ while trying to get up to speed) yet was apparent when you find yourself being overtaken by a tractor on a B road. 

Once, they tried to charge us the excess for a punctured tyre. A punctured tyre! Is ridiculous because you can never claim tyres on insurance anyway. Because of wear and tear. But in rent-a-car circles, they can seemingly get away with it. The whole excess thing is a wrought anyway. The Daily Mail did a story on this yesterday. And yes, we are all being fleeced. 

Renting a car is now the single most stressful element of travel. And it just shouldn’t be like that. If this industry wants to redeem itself (and to be honest, I don’t think they do) then they should start employing more people like Francesca, and less of the wannabe gangsters. That might be the answer. In an industry dominated by men, they have failed miserably. Maybe it’s time to give the girls a go. 


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So last night I got into bed, hoping an episode of Location, Location, Location will prove to be just the right tonic for sleep to set in.

(And yes, I am well aware of the link between device activity and insomnia. Just given me a break; I’m on holiday).
The usual bed routine is mad enough. OCD sorting of pillows. Adjustment of duvet and sheet. Making sure the latter is tucked so tight my squirmy legs have no chance of moving through the night. A slather of lip balm. The preventative blowing of the nose.

All checked off. All good. But then. The horrors. Somehow, and I don’t know how, the duvet had managed to fold itself under the cover. A big fold of duvet resulting in a useless flap of duvet cover.

Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking: what’s the issue here? Sort the problem out and get back to The Kirsty and Phil Flirt Fest (because, isn’t that the only reason we all watch the show? The whole will-they-won’t they scenario? Although, if truth be told, the main reason I watch the show to get a glimpse of Kirsty’s aquamarine beauty. I love that ring. I want to marry it. Satisfaction in life will not truly happen until I own a sparkler like that. But am getting off topic…)

The issue of mushed-up duvet would not be an issue to those whose brain has a perfectly symmetrical chemical balance. Not mine. I imagine my brain as a set of old fashioned brass scales, and whatever my brain lacks, or has too much of, causes the scales to tip out of balance with the type of regularity which should o my apply to bowel movements. Or eating. The odds are definitely not in my favour.

So the shrieking high-pitched squealing escapes my mouth, alerting Mr Thomas to the fact that

a) our cat has again decided I am the enemy, and has therefore begun to attack me with growls, hisses, bites and taps to the ankle with her astonishingly strong paws

b) there is a spider within eyesight and while, in public, I act bravely in such situations and am able to cup said spider in a glass with ease, in private I become a hysterical mess.

c) there is a hair where hair shouldn’t be: on my shirt, on the floor, in the bed, or in other places I will not mention and deny at all costs


d) I am having a complete and utter breakdown of high proportions over something completely inconsequential

Ding ding ding! D is the winner, today, folks.

So Mr Thomas came in and tried his best to keep the smiling to a minimal as I explained in a pitch that was affecting every dog in the neighbourhood what the problem was.

‘The duvet… is… not… it’s folded… twisted… I can’t… it’s not…’

Somehow (and it might be due to our twelve year relationship) Mr Thomas was able to understand my predicament.

In that annoying long-armed way of his, Mr Thomas was able to flick the duvet until it righted itself; the corner of the duvet and its cover aligning to a no-ga perfection. And that was it. Problem solved. Anxiety subsided.

I know, of course, that in any other given moment I would not have been flustered by a mangled duvet, but my anxiety is already at high levels. It always is before a trip. The thought of having to pack four weeks of my life into a suitcase is positively petrifying. And while I am the queen of the To Do List, and there is nothing more satisfying than checking something off a list (I know I’m not the only one who understood Monica’s ‘check!’ Obsession in that episode of Friends: ‘The one in Barbados Part One‘) yet my issue is, and always will be: what if I don’t remember to write something into he list?

The worst thing that can happen? I forget something and have to buy it while on holiday. A very rational thought, but it can be terribly difficult to be rational when one is a sufferer from anxiety.

Like, for example, being kept up at night at the thought of having to complete every item on my To Do list. Which would take about an hour in reality and said To Do list is written in my Midori Traveler’s Notebook which I am beyond excited at being able to use on actual travels. Such irrational thoughts! And yet, they can not be abated.

The decision may have to be made to take the anti-anxiety tablets reserved for actual plane flight in the days prior, just to calm the nerves. Would prevent another duvet-related calamity, that’s for sure.

I may just do that. There’s not much else I can do about it. I will always be a sufferer of anxiety. It is what it is.

Whatever it may be. You might be interested in my poetry, which can be at times disastrously dark, but always poignantly human. You may be interested in my thoughts. My random seizing on small moments which may seem insignificant, and probably are, yet will be noted all the same.

You may have no interest at all. Which is fine. It is what it is. But what will be will be, and my words will continue to flourish. Sometimes here, sometimes in my mind, sometimes in print.

Old friends, I welcome you back. New friends, I look forward to meeting you. Just as much as I look froward to the journey.

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