Things That Make Me Unreasonably Happy

A few weeks ago I wrote about things that piss me off. I really enjoyed it because I think, as humans, there is something so gratifying about having a bitch at life.

However, in order to keep the balance, and as I am currently on the day-after-holiday day (the one where you’re still tanned, all the washing is almost done and a proper cup of tea is like crack in your veins) I am now going to write about the things I love.

The things that make me happy.

And a few that make me smug.

Because really, being smug is a form of happy.

“You Haven’t Got Your Lights On”

I’m not a massive fan of driving at night, to be honest. I have a bad astigmatism, so going round a roundabout is like being on the Waltzers sometimes.

However, in contrast to that, when I’m driving and notice someone hasn’t got their lights on, I LOVE giving a little flash of mine, a little nod of the head (that they can’t see because their lights are off) and alerting them to their lack of headlights.

It just makes me feel ever so mature and like I’ve got my life together.

And then once again dazed because their lights being on means I can’t properly see.

But I may have saved a life and that’s a splendid feeling.

The Dogs. Like Simply the Dogs. All of Them.

We have two dogs and they are truly everything.

I genuinely treat them like my children and look after them not just physically but emotionally to the highest extent.

Luna looking into your soul, Reign wondering who you are.

Luna is so protective and permanently concerned, and I will often spend a lot of time at the window with her (which I love because I’m so nosy) talking her through what is going on to try and quell her worries.

Reign is very clingy, has no social awareness and is very clumsy, yet caring. He loves to be shown every single item in a shopping bag when you get home, especially candles.

Loves to sniff a candle.

I also love knowing the names of everyone else’s dogs. I never ask the owners’ names. Enough humans know other humans’ names.

But on our short walk to work from the car in the morning, my day is starting well if I see Billy the sausage dog or Athena the shepherd and can say hi to them.

I’m at my happiest when I am within millimetres of my dogs’ faces telling them how I would die for them, while they dream of cheese.

Iced Coffee. That’s It. ICED COFFEE.

I am iced coffee.

If my arm was severed off in a terrifying incident, uncooked coffee would flow from the wound.

In the week I have one every day at 10am (or the closest to that time a funeral will allow) and at the weekend, just as many as I can before 3pm.

I won’t have caffeine after 3pm.

I’m not a lunatic.

I love the pre-made ones in fridges, overpriced ones from coffee shops and the ones I make myself at home are also stunning. I know they are.

I like flavoured ones, plain ones, basic ones and dramatic ones.

They also must be consumed through a straw.

And no fear if one is not supplied. I always carry a metal straw with me for such times.

Just don’t put whipped cream on them or offer me a frappe instead.

I hate frappe.

It’s insulting.

People I Don’t Know Arguing on Facebook

Now, I hate to see people upset and would never, ever condone cyberbullying, obviously.

But when two people are giving as good as each other and really going at it in a public forum, it’s just excellent.

I only have a Facebook profile for checking work things and have no friends on there, so the algorithm simply doesn’t know what to do with me and drops me off everywhere.

Neighbourhood dramas in Queensland, parking issues in Aberdeen or traveller chaos in Derry.

I’m sat.

Unspoken.

Unknown.

And sat.

A Shop on Holiday

My favourite, favourite thing to do on holiday is go to the shop.

I love to look at everything.

I’ll be down all the aisles, perusing all the shelves, hovering over boxes with my Google Translate and shouting to Nik about all the wonders I’ve discovered.

Stunning. No notes.

Nik is usually outside.

Nik doesn’t love a shop.

Nik is loyal to Lidl and sees other shops as a waste of time.

I love foreign toiletries, face products and the crisps.

I bloody love the crisps.

Why in the UK are our crisps so shite and every time a flavour does come out that’s mildly exciting, it costs a small mortgage to purchase?

Pottering About Home and Charity Shops

Pottering is in my genes.

My Nan is chief potter, my Mum second in command and, at the age of 39, I am now a successful potterer.

The Potterers.

I tie these two locations together because both bring me equal joy, and the latter is one of the few reasons I will leave the former on a weekend.

Charity shops are my nirvana.

My safe place.

My kingdom of joy.

I live for the whole “one person’s trash” thing because it’s so bloody true.

People donate the most amazing things, designer things, expensive things, and you can just pick them up for next to nothing and help a good cause.

The majority of the outfits we wore on holiday were from charity shops, a good portion via my Mum, who volunteers in one twice a week and spends the majority of her time there shopping for us all, as well as having a natter and popping stuff on shelves.

Not on the till though.

She refuses to work on the till and that could be a blog in itself.

At home, my favourite variety of pottering is moving things around.

A massive trait I get from my Nan.

When we moved in, our house was almost fully furnished and we already had a lot of stuff, so we utilised the garage massively with a mix of what was here and what we brought with us.

I love that every now and then I can swap out a coffee table for another one.

It’s like shopping with your own stuff.

And after all that, I can now confirm that talking and writing about happy things does, in fact, make you happy.

Then again, there’s every chance I’m still a little bit post-holiday drunk.

All inclusive life will forever have me. If the dogs could be there too, it would be perfect.