google-site-verification: google935433b691795853.html KRISTY BERRIDGE

Monday, 26 September 2016

Have you ever noticed how often people seem to be in a hurry? Hurrying to get on the train, hurrying to be the first to pick a seat in the cinema or kicking kids in the shins to make it to the head of the toilet cue.
Okay, so the last example was me since this is a serious issue in cold weather. I literally cannot go more than thirty minutes without urinary relief in cold climates ...

Anyway, people in a hurry. It happens everywhere with every race in most circumstances and is easily avoidable if you're not prone to temper tantrums or bladder problems.

The first is aeroplanes; take a chill pill people. No need to push and shove to get on board, that stinky bastard who pushed in front of you at the coffee shop will be waiting in aisle 6C regardless. So, you might as well wait, eat an onion sandwhich and fart like a geriatric when finally seated next to them. You'll feel better in more ways than one.

The second is Football games; calm down and buy that uncapped beer. Drink until your stomach hurts and then spew on that asshole who bought the last supporter t-shirt sitting directly in front of you. They're going to hate that new vomit-covered t-shirt now, but you'll feel better and ready for more ale.

The third is shopping centre carparks; it's okay if you didn’t get to ram that obnoxious teen listening to deafening techno while parking sideways in two bays, there's always the parent's park or handicapped zones.
Too far? Okay, well the point is that how you perceive a situation greatly impacts on your experience of it. You can choose the method of acceptance or you can channel karma and hope you don't get swept up in the resultant swing of your own poor behaviour.

I personally opt for the fifty-fifty arrangement by where half the time I smile politely and allow people to walk all over me and the other fifty percent of the time I'm physically abusing anyone who gets in my way in a toilet cue.

This bladder waits for nobody!

Friday, 23 September 2016

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 order to redeem your free copy, you will need to click on this link  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             

Vol 3                                           

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

Monday, 19 September 2016

To say that I'm organised is a massive understatement. I make lists and fulfill their requirements and my house is always tidy and organised---my work space, even more considered. So, when I started using my spare time to write blogs while on holiday and then lost all of them due to dodgy Wi-Fi, you can imagine my discontent.

Mornings that should have been spent luxuriating in bed being fondled by The Cockney were actually spent madly typing my ongoing ridiculousness. Thus on the morning when I clicked the 'send' button in my email to hastily send documents loaded with hilarity and they failed and then disappeared as quickly as my pay check during a shoe sale, The Cockney saw a new and very colourful side of me.

I'm not sure what appalled him more; my overall collective use of the 'F' word in various, descriptive sentences or the amount of hotel furniture I threatened to turn into kindling.

Of course there is a moral to this story which every idiot like me knows off by heart, but remembering to save or back-up your device when hurrying through the motions to get on with the business of enjoying a holiday really is on the back-burner of prioritisation.
Hence, my sexless, but literary brilliant morning had been swallowed by a rookie error in organisation.

Now I sit in my airplane seat sandwiched between a comatose Cockney and a fat Hungarian wearing a plaid hat, saving my documents every time the seat belt sign switches on or off---a little reminder not to be so unorganised in the future.

Kristy ;)

Thursday, 15 September 2016

When on holidays you make multiple concessions regarding your usual habits or the choices that you might make. For instance, you don't eat the same types of food or control the portions as you might otherwise do and you most certainly don't save your pennies or yell at bus drivers for the harsh breaking that smears lipstick all over your face. You deal with all the little nuisances because you're having an amazing time.

The Cockney and I are sleeping in the spare bedroom at the parental's house; two single trundle beds of varying height and size pushed together to complete a rather hazardous sleeping arrangement when attempting to touch one another.
Most nights we're both happy to contemplate sleep, other nights we try to embrace via a tentative finger hold over the two mattresses or a foot lock via the bed sheets. Last night we attempted the impossible; ninja sex.

At precisely half past the hour we had finished, semi-satisfied and delighted that the bed springs had resisted the temptation to groan in protest or the timber slats creak with displeasure. The only problem was ... how and where to dispose of the rubbery evidence of our tryst. 
You see, in the UK, they recycle everything and thus the rubbish is eagerly sorted into various piles by the household owner for fear of massive fines--undoubtedly this would have included our ninja remains so we stashed it in my handbag for future disposal outside of the prying eyes of the parentals.

Picture this; the next day we were escorted on a private tour of the house of parliament and the prime minister’s residence complete with full security checks. As my handbag loaded with sexual aftermath passed repeatedly through the scanner with guards smirking and pointing, I was waiting to be questioned, quartered and then killed.

Needless to say I managed to escape unharmed but The Cockney’s DNA is now swimming around somewhere under parliament house---my opportunity to dispose of our rubber package, flushed at the very first opportunity. 
Lesson learned; no more ninja sex!

Kristy ;)

Friday, 9 September 2016

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 ;)