Cicero has no sense of "personal space" whatsoever. He keeps running into me. Once he bumped me into a fire trap.

Also, Lydia - when I say sneak, you [censored] sneak. Got it? I know you sneak about as well as a mammoth in clogs, but at least take a knee and refrain from jumping into combat until I do.

Lydia doesn't belong in the battle field. She belongs in the kitchen making food for the dragonborn, and to keep up with the housework.

Lydia is annoying. She lags behind, appears when you finished fighting or midway, runs in front of every attack you do. She won't put on armour or weapons you give her sometimes.
I don't use her much.

Seriously. Why do you simply watch me walk off? Sometimes you wait until I'm far enough away that I think you're going to throw a football to me, then something sparks in your tiny, tiny brain and you start running to catch up. Other times you just won't move - staring right at me, as if to say "I'm not moving another inch until you walk all the way back to me first." Other times I've seen you run around in circles as though you're desperately trying to find a way to my position that saves you the trouble of having to walk up a hill so shallow your grandmother could have done it while giving birth to your mother, who apparently dropped you on your head, often, at a young age.

Then there's the matter of combat. Sometimes I see you simply wade through enemies. Other times I've seen you fall to your knees after one measly hit from a not-particularly-fearsome foe - Falmer, even. I'll pass over the fact that you're foolishly insisting on using that miserable bow you seem to treasure, rather than the ebony bow enchanted with electricity that I myself customized for your personal use, so that I can instead focus on your clumsiness in battle, which seems to border on the suicidally inept. Do you understand how many times I've had to reload a previous save cast a Spell Of Great Undoing, simply because you chose the exact moment of my swing or shield bash to dart between me and the enemy? I'm not even a wizard, and I don't particularly care to deal in magic beyond the occasional healing spell, and yet you are forcing me to repeatedly cast this rather unsettling spell (tampering with time, no less!) more times than I care to even think about.

Get your act together, woman. You can carry a decent amount of loot - you are, as you so cheerfully remind me, swoooooorn to carry my burdens, and I swear you're emphasizing the word "burdens" a little more every time you mention it - you're better at spotting enemies at a distance than I am (as opposed to even the most flippin' obvious of trap triggers, of course) and while you seem to have trouble with lowly Falmer and various smallish Dwarven automata, I've also seen you take a chunk out of a Centurion or Dragon. So shape up. I don't want you embarrassing me in front of Balgruuf, who I half suspect knew your, shall we say idiosyncrasies[/i] when he assigned you to my service.

I swear, sometimes I think the only reason I keep you around is because, as Charlie Wilson said, you can't teach...well, you look good in that suit of steel plate armor, and we'll leave it at that.

Can't live with her, can't live without her!

Now how do I get her to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQliT71-ooU

Lydia's big butt is good for tanking, especially in the start of the game when mobs can two shot you.

She's a decent meatshield, but I'd love if she could jump over obstacles, or climb up on the back of my mount(because with my horse she always fall behind)

But if you want a REALLY good follower, take the mercenary Imperial Battlemage in Riften(Marcurio?)

I find that he kicks the ass of other spellcasters, and absolutely tear hordes of lesser creatures to pieces with industrial efficiency.

Haven't used anybody but Lydia, except for the few quests that require a different person to join you.

Sacrifice Lydia and get Derkeethus (I spell that right?)

Derkeethus never dies and I hope it stays like this. If Bethesda change it then I'ma be mad at them...

This post made me laugh.

The first time Lydia died, I mourned. The next dozen times, I partied on the inside.