About

The Grumpy Bulldog (b. 2 December 1995), more commonly known as any sensible variety of  ‘Rachel’ but for the purposes of this introduction (I wrote this a long time ago and I can’t be bothered to change the names nor the jokes) will be known as GB, is one of those people who you will approach in one of two ways: firstly, judge discreetly, and secondly, judge not so discreetly. Hailing from an island that no one from America would have heard of and/or will place in either China or Indonesia, she is currently waiting to spend a boatload of her parents’ money just so that she can fulfil her lifelong dream of spending more money on Take That concerts. 

You could try having a grander concert than them. You could try, but you would not be successful.

Early Life

Once upon a time, the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true. So they sprinkled moondust in this person’s hair of gold and starlight in their eyes of blue. This person, unfortunately, was the wrong GB. (More on that later.) Our very own GB was instead born looking like any given Chinese person in a splendid little island called Singapore. She had a fairly average childhood, although her mother’s cooking – often compared to ‘heaven’ or ‘wow wow wow wow wow’ – resulted in her uncanny resemblance to a fairly thick mop. Having resolved to improve herself intellectually rather than physically, young GB ended up digging an even bigger hole for herself by becoming interested in, of all things, history. 

The scariest thing about this picture is that she has nine more shelves.

By the time she was thirteen, GB was a proud member and some say president of the I’m A Weirdo Don’t Get Me Out Of Here club. Interesting anecdotes around this period include bullying her maths teacher, memorising odd things like pi and the capitals of the world, and joining the I’m A St. Nicholas Girls School Girl Get Me Out Of Here club. Finally, she got her wish and went to the Integrated Programme. This is more commonly known as the Integrated Programme Programme.

Slightly Less Early Life

Having achieved extremely skewed IP grades, including As for Humanities and Language arts and fails for Biology and Chemistry, GB resolved that it was a pirate’s life for her, in the form of the arrrrr-ts. A year of sitting at the stone tables talking and not-eating meant that, by the time JC2 rolled around, life was exceedingly crappy. Miraculously, GB managed to buck up, pulling quite-a-bit-less-than-all-nighters while also managing to block google forever from her computer – twice. Thankfully, everything paid off and she is now happily reunited with google as well as seven Distinctions. Standing ovation optional. Come September, she will be going to study history somewhere in the UK, where she could be meeting her slightly cooler counterpart. 

Seven of them, actually.

Hobbies and Other Things

There are people who like talking about their hobbies, and there are people who love talking about their hobbies, and then there is GB, for whom hobbies and other things are everything and life is irrelevant. 

People who know GB would be less likely to describe history as her ‘hobby’ than they would ‘obsession’, ‘mania’, and ‘dear god run for your life’. It has gotten to the point that if you get her talking about history you might as well kill yourself because this way you won’t get charged for murder. Legend has it that she cried upon her first visit to each Imperial War Museum branch – and then to each of the other branches afterwards. Her all-time idol is Winston Churchill because he was a stubborn, depressed and slightly crazy pig. If you are a stubborn, depressed and slightly crazy pig, do give her a call. 

It’s very difficult for GB to sum up exactly what history means to her, or indeed why she loves it so much. If you have about ten hours, she’ll happily try, but nothing’s guaranteed. Suffice to say, history has shaped pretty much every major decision she’s ever made and thing she’s ever liked. If you don’t like history, she invites you to stick your head in the toilet bowl and proceed to flush.

Up yours, adds Winston Churchill.

On the off chance that she isn’t spazzing about history, she will instead be spazzing about Take That. That’s right, the weird boyband who sang that ‘Want You Back’ song in the rain and serves them right not to die of hypothermia. For your information, they have progressed past the jelly-smearing-and-chainmail-underwear-wearing stage into five wonderfully talented musicians who are, by the way, absolutely gorgeous. GB’s favourite is, well, GB – a forty-something dork who is about five years old emotionally. His hobbies include saying inappropriate things on twitter and looking illegally adorable. Sounds bloody good, though. [1] If you ever insult Take That in front of GB (both, I presume) then we can’t be friends.

Look into those eyes and tell me you don’t see heaven.

The third love of GB’s life (again, both, actually) is football. Not that ridiculous thing Americans play – which, for the record, is about as exciting as a bunch of sheep wearing coconuts while grazing – but the real England-created-but-suck-at-it deal. There are few things in life better than watching 23 pixellated men running around after a ball. She is a proud supporter of Manchester United and any haters and/or Shity supporters can do themselves a favour and kindly fuck off. I even have an ‘off’ button around somewhere if you’re the sort inclined to take things literally. When she is not busying herself with the tedium of this site, she is running a football blog [2] with pretty graphics and an amount of swear words which would make any Goodfella an actual good fella by comparison.

Mourinho’s facial expressions are an accurate representation of her own.

Other hobbies include being that annoying person who corrects your grammar and sitting in front of the computer for an alarming amount of time. If you ever feel like talking about TV, GB likes to watch Friends, Pscyh, Sherlock, ATLA, Monty Python, WLIIA, and Band of Brothers. If you ever feel like talking about movies, chances are she’s seen it. 

If you made it all the way to the end, congratulations! Here’s a plate of virtual cookies. Of course you can’t taste them. Be grateful, I’m saving you from the calories.