Bigging Up Daisy

We do like to obsess about horrible people, don't we?

This week, the front pages invited me to consider MeatMarketMan, a cannibal nurse who pursued a teenage girl with designs of cooking and casseroling her. I don't even know where this took place, as the lead-in made me too sad to read any further.
And I can't get through the phrases 'Jim'll Fi...' Or 'Animal Ho...' before having to stop because it’s just too depressing. What's with all the awful people?
 
Today, folks, I want to talk about one of the best people in the world. My very good friend Daisy turns 30 today, and I would like to take a few minutes to remind you that not all humans are shit.

Here are just a few reasons why she's one of my all-time favourites:

She’s an achiever. In the run up to her birthday she’s been checking items off her 30 Before 30 list. Things such as running a 10k, painting the shed, getting something pierced. Tangible, noteworthy things. I got equally enthused about life-goals at this juncture and wrote my own list of objectives. Except mine are more like buy more lipsticks; watch The Sopranos; get a globe.

She keeps it real. Her favourite drink is cider. And not fancy Somerset pressed-apple stuff either. Strongbow. And black. Old skool.

She knows the difference between right and wrong. And she’ll stand up for her beliefs. She once had a mad lodger who said a very not-PC word one evening. I winced and was just settling into the awkward horrific silence I expected to ensue, but Daisy didn’t miss a beat. ‘We don’t say that word in this house,’ she said smoothly; mad lodger quickly apologised, and we all moved on. The world is less racist and infinitely better with Daisy in it.

Sometimes she forgets that she's been to Brazil.

She’s resourceful. I’ve witnessed Daisy make toast in a saucepan. Fact.

She dreams big. So far we've made pacts to go on a cruise, visit Budapest and meet at 10pm at the Gare du Nord on my birthday. Never let it be said that Daisy sets the bar low. My personal favourite is that we're going to visit all 10 boroughs of Greater Manchester in a zany 24 hr-challenge this August. And you know what; I have no doubt that we'll succeed.

She once fed me daiquiris until I passed out.

Daisy helps you to be the best you can be. Her encouragement and faith in other people knows no bounds. This year, she’s the reason I’ve done a journalism course and said yes to far too many social invites. Because, you know what, I told myself, that’s what Daisy would do.

Of course, sometimes this backfires a little. Her exuberance can verge on over-zealous. As, for example, when she really wanted me to stand on the top of this gargoyle, because it was a Croatian tradition and she’d had so much fun doing it. It ended up with me shouting, ‘SHUT UP. I’m not climbing on the fucking gargoyle.’ Our first fight. Don’t worry, we got past it. Or, when Daisy really wanted her friend Claire to let the water pummel her face in a European spa. ‘Pummel your face Claire, pummel your face.’ Claire didn’t shout; she just laughed and ignored her.

Once she thought she saw a unicorn in a field.

I've had some of the most fun times of my life with Daisy. Don't believe me? Let me refer you to earlier episodes of this blog:

1. Kendal Calling: in which we festival it up big-style, find ourselves fashioning trolley wheels out of kirby grips and eat a lot of free Alpro products.

2. Croatia: in which we holiday with backpacks on the Dalmatian coast, Daisy falls off a cannon and impersonates Marlene Dietrich in the background of someone's wedding photos, and we get fed spiked Rhum cake.

3. In which we invent Prosecco Thursday, enjoy some live music and learn that a bazooka is also a kind of trombone.
 
So Daisy, happy birthday, yeah? Well done on being awesome. Now let's get shitfaced.
 
Xx