Bon Voyage...

Goodbyes are never fun, but at least we did in (comedy) style! Yesterday we gathered a leaving party together to bid adieu to my pal S, who is off to start her PGCE and new life in Cardiff. And how did we mark the occasion? We took a cruise! In a manner of speaking. Well, I say cruise - I mean a tourist sightseeing boat up the Tyne. That still counts though, doesn't it? It went to the mouth of the Tyne and slightly into the North Sea, after all... and we saw a seal. Just the one, mind.

However, it did also have a so-bad-it-was-hilarious running commentary delivered by an old feller who keep telling us to look for buildings which no longer existed. And we were mooned at from the banks of the river by some scrawny looking young miscreants. But other than that, not a bad way to spend a bank holiday Sunday, all in all. I'd just have been under the duvet watching something shameful like Hollyoaks, ordinarily. But most importantly, S seemed to have a tip top time.

I didn't know what to get her for a leaving present, though. So, since she is about to embark upon student life (very brave to do it for the second time, and this time as an older and wiser mid-twentysomething - hopefully), I opted for a DIY student pack of essential university fare. I had great fun wrapping up mini variety boxes of cereal, instant noodles, a baked beans tin and a bottle of brown ale should she get homesick one night and feel the need for the blue-starred stuff. Oh, and the obligatory loo roll. You can never have too much loo roll.

Gathering up the gang...

On Thursday some gal pals came round for a catch up over food - probably my last chance to cook for them all for a long while as one friend, S, is leaving our Northern realm to start her new life in Cardiff in a couple of weeks. It was a lovely, proper girly gossipy evening - and so nice as we haven't all been together in what feels like a long time. I made the gang:

Greek souvlaki with tzatziki
Mediterranean couscous salad
Served with flavoured olives, warm pitta bread, lemon drizzled rocket and avocado
And for dessert - Hot chocolate fudge cake

Yum! And it all went down well. The Other Half even poked his head in the dining room to hoover up the leftovers.

Last night we attended a family wedding party - the evening reception (the couple were married in a small ceremony last week - I think it was her second and his third wedding!). We didn't stay too long though - The Other Half and I only really knew each other and it's not much fun at all when I'm sticking to water because I couldn't face any more sickly sweet coke or lemonade, and he's joining me out of sympathy! Plus we had all manner of random strangers come up to us to wish us well (which we don't mind at all), and bestow their sage advice and old wives' tales upon us (grin and bear it through gritted teeth). Apparently I am going to have a boy as I'm all bump up front. (Where the hell else is the bump meant to go?!)

Speaking of the bump, yesterday was also a turning point as I felt the baby move for the first time! It's amazing - I knew instantly what it was, feels like there's a giant butterfly in there fluttering about. A bit squirmy and wriggly, too - as if it's turning over and trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. And since that first recognisable squirm, it hasn't stopped moving! From here on in I shall refer to the wee one as the little wriggler. The Other Half can't feel anything yet - but it'll only be a matter of weeks until hopefully he can make out an elbow or foot!

In six months time...

I got a flavour of life with a newborn, tonight. A work pal and I went to visit another gal from work who just had a baby girl. We were instructed not to dare enter their house without food, so we stopped off at the supermarket for lots of chocolate pudding. Ah, the baby is gorgeous. And teeny! If I wasn't already up the duff I'd be going home and complaining to The Other Half that I think it's high time I should be.

They're coping really well. Really nailed the whole nappy-changing malarkey, and they even made our dinner! I know that my house will be the scene of utter devastation by comparison in six months, and that will really irk my neat-freak hubby. Tomorrow I'm having tea with some more work pals, then off to see my sister who's up from the big smoke for her birthday. A better week than the last, at least. Think I'm starting to feel a bit better on the whole sickness front, too. Fingers crossed.

And just in case you were wondering, The Hoff story is correct. His ex-wife Catherine married an actor named Michael Knight in 1992. Wow. Some urban myths really are true. According to Google.

Finally, it's all official...

Yay! I had my first scan yesterday - how surreal! And flamin' Nora that gel they use is cold. Everything was fine as far as they could see except I'm not as far along as they first thought, so will need another scan next week so they can carry out some tests they couldn't do yesterday. They reckoned I'm about 11 weeks gone at the minute. It was so strange seeing teeny arms and legs waving about on the screen and knowing that was a person growing inside me! And a little bit alien.

I took my best pal her birthday present last night and showed her the photo. She's over the moon too, so that's lovely. And it all makes sense to her now why I've been so awkward eating out for the last couple of months. It's so good to finally be able to tell people - I let the rest of my work colleagues know today - and in grand new technological custom, announced it on Facebook tonight. So the world now knows. Phew.

Little white lies part one...

Urgh.

Yes, I'm irritable. Shut up. I'm getting tired of keeping schtum now. Thinking of excuses for everything is almost as exhausting as being pregnant. Well, not quite, but you know what I mean. I also feel the need to bleat on about it all here because I can't vent it elsewhere. So I'd be prepared for some boring baby ranting posts if I were you. In fact, if you're adverse to such things, just bugger off now and save yourself the time.

I had tea out with the gals tonight. Which is usually a lovely, chatty affair but between me fighting to stay awake (not the company's fault, I'm just THAT tired at the minute) and having to pretend I'm not that hungry (not like me at all), I just couldn't be bothered with it all and found myself fantasising about going to bed with new pyjamas and clean sheets rather than participate in conversations about people we went to school with. Choosing what I could have from the menu was also rather trying. Sticking to lemonade is not my scene, and neither is not having coffee. Actually I was feeling quite bleurgh and sorry for myself in general but had to keep a fixed grin and at least appear interested in the exploits of my non-knocked up chums.

I've also found it difficult keeping things concealed at work, too. Being bleurgh at work is becoming much harder to disguise. This is partly my own doing too, though. Aside from needing the loo all the live long day and nibbling on all manner of sickness 'remedies' - trying to keep Amazon deliveries of baby books to work inconspicuous is like a Russian spy operation to get the packages safely to my desk unnoticed. Must find suitcases and large newspaper with cut-out eye holes.

Oh, I've managed to irritate myself now. Good night.

Tea time tales...

We've had a flurry of birthdays in our little group of late, coupled with some lovely birthday tea nights out in own after work to celebrate. But tonight decided to stay closer to home and go very local! There's a new little Italian restaurant just opened in our village and we thought we'd give it a try. However, no matter where we go in the world and no matter how good the reviews are from everyone else - it always seems to be our group who end up saddled with catastrophe and bad service. Something ALWAYS goes wrong. It's like a law - we must have faces that say 'yes, please treat us badly, we don't mind at all!'

I have a whole host of appalling service stories. Taking the top spot however was the time when a waitress tipped a whole plate of spaghetti bolognaise down my friend S's back, ruining her dress. No apology. The saving grace was that it was cold spaghetti I suppose, so no 3rd degree burns - although the fact that she was serving it cold in the first place is not very comforting. And she tried to short change us. Tonight wasn't nearly as bad as that, but it wasn't great. I'm not going to name names as it's a very new restaurant and is entitled to some teething problems, but really. Why would you employ staff who can't be bothered to listen to what customers order, and make it up as they go along? (Two of our meals came out wrong, even though we repeated the order twice as the waitress seemed confuzzled.) And we'd all finished by the time my friend G's dish came out. And when it did - yep, you guessed it - it was also incorrect.

Somehow I don't think we'll be venturing into that restaurant for a wee while. Especially as I now have the knowledge that my friend J has spent the remainder of the evening since we parted ways and went home locked in the bathroom with her head down the loo, saying hello to her pasta again. How delightful. And it may just be that I know this fact now, and I may just be being paranoid and looking for things that might not be there - but now I've got a funny queasy feeling too. Great. I could really do without a night of crying huey in the bathroom.

Hen dos and hen don'ts...

I normally avoid hen parties like the plague. I just don't get them. There's something unnecessarily chavvy and seedy about them. You might just think I'm being a cranky old crone - and you might be right. But I hate them with a passion - all that forced 'entertainment' and wearing ridiculous L-plates and flashing sashes. Tack and tat personified. Shudder. Even the very name of them strikes fear into my heart. 'Hen dos'. No, no - I'd really rather we hen don't, thank you. Saying that, I have been to a few decent hen parties in my time that happened to be lovely days out - a nice meal somewhere and a few cocktails. None of this awful veil-wearing, PVC fancy dress in town, throwing up in the street and dares to kiss as many random strangers you can gubbins. Eurgh.

Of course, some people can take hen parties too far. I know of one lady who was so obsessed with her wedding (Bridezilla complex - honestly, I like hearing about people's wedding plans in general conversation and what have you, but there comes a point when Brides are putting their bridesmaids on diets and telling them to dye their hair all the same colour that they really need to be told to calm down) and her ego grew so much that she had no less than FIVE different hen parties, all with different people, themes and in various parts of the country. And indeed the continent. No, no, no. And WHY? Don't these people mean enough to you to actually attend the wedding? No, she just wanted another excuse to be the centre of attention. Five times.

However, due to stupid work things I missed a friend's hen party yesterday, and I'm gutted as it looked like the sort of hen do I would have actually enjoyed myself at rather than making snide comments in the corner about Ann Summers merchandise. She just invited all her mates over to her house from all around Europe - male and female - to have a few drinks and a catch up as she's getting married in another country and the wedding isn't going to be a giant circus. See? That sounds nice. None of this 'last night of freedom' rubbish. If you think like that then you shouldn't be getting married. Marriage isn't about losing your freedom and spending a jail sentence with one other person forever. It's a partnership. And it certainly isn't about heading to Blackpool for a weekend of vomit and willy-shaped party favours. There. Rant over. For now.

Acceptable in the 80s...

Carnage, cocktails and costumes - the three Cs of a successful party! I feel surprisingly fine today. Maybe it's because we've only just finished clearing up the residual crap so have had something else to concentrate on all day - or maybe it's down to the fact that I gave up on the Del Boy cocktails and started drinking the non-alcoholic plain pineapple juice when it all became too much round about 11:30pm when the 80s dancing competition ended? Hmmm. Anyway, it was like, so totally awesome.

Fashion Wheel, Kerplunk, Spirograph, Screwball
Scramble, Operation, cocktail umbrellas, armbands,
neon...how many 80s relics do you remember?

Everybody made the effort to dress up which was brilliant. Neon Barbie and Ken (matching sun visors and vests!), Madonna (more bracelets and lace than you could shake a stick at), The Hoff (with curly wig, chest hair, leathers and orange skin), Alex Drake (Ashes to Ashes), the 1984 LA Olympics, many generic 80s costumes in varying neon colours featuring legwarmers and awful make-up - and we had two iconic 80s doctors in our presence - Ghostbuster Dr. Egon Spengler and Doc Emmett Brown, to bring a bit of science to the proceedings. Egon's proton pack was made from a cereal box wrapped in a bin liner with a vacuum hose poking out of it. Genius.

All you need for a DIY 80s party:

Food
Anything full of sugar, colourings, and leftover from primary school birthday parties - fairy cakes and crispy cakes, crisps (Space Invaders and Monster Munch), party rings, jammie dodgers, rocket lollies, pickled onions and cheese on sticks. I topped it off with a Mr. Men birthday cake.

Cocktails
'Del Boys' - pineapple and coconut juice, Malibu and pineapple slices (from a can of course). 'Club Tropicanas' - orange and mango juice, peach schnapps and lemonade. Decorate both to the hilt with mini umbrellas, those plastic monkeys, glittery streamers on sticks and fruit in the glass.

Music
My crap 80s iPod playlist came in VERY handy. Gather up as much electro-pop and synth as you can. Think Wham!, Cyndi Lauper, MJ, The Boss, A-ha, Kylie, one hit wonders plus film soundtracks. And make sure you have an 80s dancing competition.

Costumes
Several people picked an 80s character or icon, but most dressed in general 80s attire. Armbands, legwarmers, off-the-shoulder tops, big hair, crimped hair, lace, bangles, stilettos, and - would you believe it - as much neon as you could possibly wear.

Games
We all raided our garages to procure such relics as Fashion Wheel (still with its original coloured pencils!), Operation, Rubik's cubes, Kerplunk, Spirograph and Screwball Scramble. I also found a bag of Trolls. The drunken Kerplunk tournament was a particular highlight, however.

Decorations
Afore-mentioned bag of trolls came in handy to decorate the room. As did streamers and balloons in as garish-as-possible colours, luminous table confetti, Barbies, My Little Pony, (I think someone may have brought a Care Bear?) and just general neon-ness.

Dude. It was like, so totally tubular.

Masquerading as a luvvie, dahling...

It's been quite a while since I frequented the theatre. So long, in fact, I can't actually remember what the last performance I saw was. Tonight, a motley crew of us dusted off our high-brow hats and celebrated our friend's birthday with a visit to the theatre, dahling, to see An Inspector Calls. Oh, alright - it was via the pub, but hey - who says luvvies can't scoff curly fries? The play was interesting and the set looked fab (I remember seeing the old black and white flick many, many moons ago and loving that so I was trying not to compare the two in my head), but our seats were right up in the nosebleed section and were so high up that the people on stage looked like beetles in period costumes. Oh well, I suppose that's what you get when you masquerade as a arts critic on the cheap.

And that's apparently all I have to say this evening. I bid you goodnight.

Bring on the sangria...

I love a decent catch up session with friends. Especially with those you don't see nearly often enough! Last night I headed out into town for tapas and lots of talking - for a long-overdue reunion with some pals from my MA. This merry bunch of folk included the star guest - the seldom-seen gorgeous gal from Athens who just jetted over to visit for a few days: cue lots of duty-free ouzo produced from her bag for each of us and the rest of the night becomes a bit blurry!

Tapas is lovely but it's lovelier in the relaxed-and-nestled-away-up-the-steep-cobbled-street-restaurant of El Torero. The sangria soon flowed copiously along with the gossip and it was fantastic. I learned all about my pals C and M's new pad in Durham; L's updates on her latest novel (she's up to number three - and I'm very jealous, having read one and two); A's job for a Greek theatre company; as well as everyone giving their lowdown on the recent cinematic offerings (hey, we're all ex-film students so we're allowed to judge). Lots of loveliness.

And to round the weekend off nicely, today is Mother's Day so I'm heading over to my folks' for some Mum cuddles and to bestow some flowers and nice things upon her. I like weekends like this. I just wish they happened more often - I guess I'll just have to get saving for that trip to Athens to make them happen more often!

Will you have a cup of tea, Father? Ah, go ON...

Times are hard. So hard in fact, that a group of friends and I have taken to hosting our own festival instead of buying tickets and trekking to the back end of beyond. Except this is a festival with a difference – it’s (DIY) TedFest 2009! And it had its first outing this weekend. You see, there's a birthday in our midst - my pal S, who is now no longer the nice round number of 25. And she's a big fan of Father Ted (who isn't? It's fantastic!). We really wanted to go to the actual TedFest in Ireland, but as we're all skint - this do-it-yourself job is (almost) the next best thing.

If you've never seen Father Ted before - hang your head in shame. I strongly recommend that you watch it. It's classic. Here's a bit of a scene-setter: three incompetent Irish priests - Ted, Dougal and Jack - live in a decrepit old parochial house on crazy Craggy Island with their bizarre housekeeper Mrs. Doyle, and get into all manner of mishaps and misunderstandings with the insane folk of their parish. So simple, yet it's got some of the best lines and catchphrases from comedy - ever! Anyhoo, I digress.

The night was a huge (if surreal) success and everyone made an effort with the costumes and scene-setting. S got into character easily as Mrs. Doyle the demented housekeeper, and served everyone their drinks from teapots all evening. We each brought a selection of sandwiches with us so a mountain of bread became the table centrepiece (again, if you've never seen the show, this will mean absolutely zilch to you); The Other Half did wear his new wig and take a pet brick along for company; and the room was generally filled with priests, nuns, weird villagers and Lovely Girls contestants. And we played the game I spent Saturday morning creating out of an old notice board, some embellishments and some pictures I found online of babies with inordinate amounts of hair...'Pin the 'tache on Pat Mustard's Hairy Babies'! A good time was had by all.

Pat Mustard's (the hairy, randy milkman of Craggy Island)
offspring...before they were studded with moustaches in a
'Pin the Tail on the Donkey' manner.

I'll be steering clear of sandwiches for a long time though, that’s for sure.

Blades of Glory and the Crash Test Dummies...

Yesterday I wound the clock back ten years and became a giggly teenager once again. And it felt great! I haven't laughed as much in one sitting in ages. A group of old chums and I decided to go ice skating for my friend C's birthday. (And as a sort of anti-Valnetine's Day thing.) Even my rickety, never-been-on-skates-before Other Half was persuaded to give it a go on the proviso that we're all pretty much novices, and since it'd been about a decade since any of us last hit the ice we'd all be as bad as each other. Give him his dues, he did try. And lasted all of four minutes before he did a lap of honour (clinging to the edges for dear life) and went off for coffee and to stand and point at us instead.

None of us fell over, we got a bit of speed skating going on once we all found our balance, and one mate, dubbed Christopher frickin' Dean, even attempted some fancy turns and arabesques. Show off. Not bad for a bunch of fast-approaching 30 year olds, all in all. But we had earned a drink or several by the end of the session and headed off for what turned out to be a very funny, very drunken lunch...which lead to impromptu late afternoon drinks...which led to an en-masse gathering at a mate's house...which led to muchos singing and wine until the small hours. The unplanned things are always the best. My head did not agree with that statement this morning, however.

And as for Christopher Dean, well - he kept breaking out into song throughout the day (if you can call his repeated renditions of the Crash Test Dummies' 'Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm' song, that is). In the pub when the rugby was on (cleared the bar). In the taxi going to our mate's house (almost had to get out and walk, the driver was so harassed by the ongoing verses). By the 14th performance in our mate's house, we knew it was home time. And I can't for the life of me remember WHY it was so funny or what it was in aid of. But I do know I never want to hear it again for a very long time.

Our survey said...

Last night turned out to be a success in the end. No hitches with the Chinese food (thankfully, after the cooking week from hell), seven happy people and not an exploding spring roll in sight. Except, apparently my cocktails (Gatsbys) were a wee bit too lethal for some. My friend S texted me today to say she is never drinking them ever again. I can only hope she managed to keep her head out of the loo long enough to salvage some of her Sunday. (S: What was in those bloody cocktails? Me: Southern Comfort, ginger and lime. S: Southern Comfort? Southern Hell! Me: Oops.) Oh dear.

Actually, it was probably the fault of the toxic cocktails that we all started playing a very merry version of Family Fortunes (with buzzers, 'our survey said' sound effects and everything - it was most exciting for a bunch of sozzled individuals). It's always the way when you've had a drink - even innocent games become innuendo laden. This was no exception. The air was positively blue. Even more so since we were in the presence of The Man Who Can Make Anything Into a Double Entendre. My Other Half took up the role of game show host/Les Dennis for the evening and even he struggled to keep his composure as the answers just kept getting worse and worse. This was a very tame one before the second pitcher of Gatsbys made an appearance:

Les Dennis: "Name something you might find in a church."
Team A: "Love beads!"
Team B: "A threesome!"

And it got slowly worse.

Anyhoo. For no apparent reason, the night then progressed into what can only be described as a gurning competition. You can imagine those pictures, I'm sure. Our living room was taken over by a herd of insanely grinning, cross-eyed, elasticated-mouthed lunatics. And on almost every photo, my face is apparently made of rubber and I look like the second cousin of Jim Carrey on day release from a mental ward . I really must work on that.

Always room for a little one...

Well, I've given up the ghost trying to make everything myself for tonight and have conceded defeat. The Gods of Cuisine have conspired against me. So, everybody is bringing something along with them and I no longer have to subject all and sundry to my exploding spring rolls. Phew! My only concern now is that my little table seats six; yet we have seven for dinner. Methinks the person with the littlest backside will be perched on a patio chair and we'll all be a bit squished. Oh well. How very classy, dahlings.

A Lazy Susan. I'd like to know exactly
who this Susan was, and why she was
so lazy. And how could her laziness
have possibly produced a spinning piece
of wood?? We may never know.

I'm off to dig out my chopsticks and dust off the Lazy Susan which I have procured from the Outlaws. I have never used such a piece of dining kit. It screams '1970s' to me but it's really from Ikea. I have spent a considerable amount of time today spinning it to see how fast it can go. (It goes very fast, if you're wondering.) Perhaps speak tomorrow if I haven't poisoned us all...

Toodle (or is it tootle?) pip for now.

All the small things...

Here's a little update on what's been cooking this week:

Being a Plan 'B'
The dating game is a minefield. Blind dates especially. Now, I'm not going to get all sanctimonious here - while I haven't been on one for a very long time, I do know that blind dates can be fun. They can, however, also be a showcase of the biggest rotters and weirdos known to man. This week I was my friend's get-out-of-jail free card, otherwise known as the Blind Date Plan B, should her date have been a psychiatric ward escapee or something. He wasn't - but we still had the code phrase phone call at a strategic time, just in case it went awry. All very Sex and the City, but necessary. He didn't make the cut in the end, though.

2-4-1 equals good times
In these times of economic hardship we're all looking for a few ways to save the pennies here and there. So, when a group of mates and I decided it was high time we met up and had a good old chin wag over dinner, we scoured handbag.com until we found a suitable restaurant voucher. Tight? Us? Never! We're just thrifty every now and then. And what we saved in food costs just went towards the wine bill. Oh yes.

There's nothing like a good bitching session
When you've had a bad work week, sometimes that last thing you need is to rake it over and talk. But sometimes you do. Especially if a few of you have had similar troubles. Anyway, an apres-work drink seemed in order on Wednesday where some coworkers and I put the office to rights. And caught up on the workplace shenanigans - all those juicy little tidbits that are meaningless to everyone else, but to colleagues - they're gossip gold. And all things I couldn't possibly repeat.

My crazy mother
Every time I visit my folks, I come away with random items from her loft. Tuesday was no exception. After a very strange meal that consisted of mashed potato, some oddly spiced carrots and not much else; gossip about people I still have no idea who they are (Mother dearest: "You know him over the road with the bad leg, well he left his wife - the second one, not the one with the bad perm. You know them - you used to go to birthday parties with their daughter." Me: "Who?!"); she produced a bag of bits she 'no longer has room for'. What am I going to do with a school project about the Amazon, a box of Forever Friends stationery and some clay pots I made in school ceramics classes?

Planning for next Saturday
My gal pals are coming over next weekend for eats and drinks. I'm thinking Chinese, since it'll be Chinese New Year. There will be lots of flicking through recipe books and practice sessions in the kitchen, no doubt. And I'm sure The Other Half will happily hoover up the results. Lead-lined stomach, that one.

It's not worth crying over spilt vino...

Remind me never to play board games whilst tipsy with my equally inebriated Other Half ever again. He's just far too competitive. I mean, honestly. It was only Cranium - not exactly high pressured. (Have you ever played Cranium? It's ace. Like 4 games in one.) And certainly not worth going in a strop and throwing a prop from the game - a ball of purple plasterciney play dough stuff used in a clay form of Pictionary - at me mid-sulk. Except he didn't aim properly. Oh no. The stuff missed me and knocked my wine off the table. Luckily my hand-eye coordination is better than his, and I caught the glass. Tsk.

My Facebook graffiti of the Incident. The Other Half was not impressed.

Anyway, apart from that, last night was tres amusant. A wee gathering of chums to celebrate our pal S returning from the Big Smoke. It was supposed to be themed (her idea) and that theme was Italian food (again, her idea. But a crowd-pleaser, nonetheless) and everyone had to bring something. As people arrived, our table became laden with an entertaining mix of garlic dough balls, spinach ravioli, mini tiramisus, teddy bear shaped pasta and more pizzas than in Rome. Therefore this turned into a Pizza Party. And a good time was had by all. Until the flying plastercine incident, that is.

Boys. Honestly.

Forget your troubles, c'mon get happy...

It may be a new year, but things seem to be looking pretty miserable at the minute with the economy collapsing ever more by the day and unemployment soaring. The predictions aren't too good for 2009. So, to counterbalance the doom and gloom we're fed by the news on a daily basis (and because I was a bit bored) I've made myself a happy forecast. All the things I'm looking forward to this year. Here are just a few:

• Feeling 15 again. One of my bestest friends in the whole wide world relocates from the Big Smoke this coming weekend and we'll be living in the same town again. I feel several teenage-homage sleepovers and drinking sessions are on the cards. Splendid.
• The inauguration. A fresh start for those across the pond in a week's time - although I think I along with many others will miss the ludicrous "Bushisms" we're so accustomed to hearing.
• Traveling a bit closer to home. I don't think I'll get away on a transatlantic jaunt or anything this year, but I'm looking forward to days out in places that are on my doorstep really yet I never have time to visit. Edinburgh, The Lakes, maybe a short hop over to Amsterdam or Barcelona, and my friend is getting married in Berlin this summer.
• Making the house our own. The foray into home decoration continues in 2009. Living room is done; porch, kitchen, dining room and bathroom to finish; bedroom and garden next on the list. We'll get there. Room by room, we'll get there.
  
• Vive la France. New Year can be such a let down - nothing magical ever happens when the clock strikes midnight. But I'll be ringing in 2010 with a group of chums in the middle of nowhere in Normandy. Good times lie ahead.
  
• Getting things in order at work. We're due a big office shift-around, and I'll be hopefully sitting with the rest of my team near a window instead of plonked on a row with The Most Annoyingly Voiced Coworker Ever Bar None. Good opportunity for me to get rid of the collapsing towers of paper that appear to have eaten my desk.
  
• Family and friends stuff. Visiting my sister in London Town; a couple of 30th birthdays; a 50th wedding anniversary; a wedding; crazy-themed birthday parties...who knows what else the year has in store?
  
• The Oscars. I love them. Sad but true. I try to stay up late each year to watch them but inevitably fall asleep and end up watching the main winners on the news. Along with the bad red carpet outfits.Hey, I can judge if I want to. They can't hear me.
  
• The next Harry Potter flick. How gutted was I when they knocked the release date back to July '09? Very. And, The Other Half has finally got around to reading all the books - so when we settle down to watch The Half-Blood Prince, he can ask himself what bits they've left out, instead of me. Hurrah!
  
• The longest eclipse for a century. Spacey things have always fascinated me, and this total solar eclipse in July will be lasting over 6 minutes, apparently. I won't be going to Bhutan to witness the event, however - but the t'interweb is a wonderful thing.
• First aid course. I've always wanted to do one and have finally got a place on the big 4-day course through work in February. Tying knots has never been a forte though, so I think I'm going to have to practice slings and bandages otherwise my casualties will look like extras in a war film.

Not too shabby a year, I think.

'Twas the night before Christmas...

Hello all, hope everyone had a fantabulous Christmas and Boxing Day and that Santa has been good to you. (I must say he was very good to me and brought me all manner of domestic goddessy things - cookbooks, foodie things, and a matching apron and oven glove set which is 1950s meets 1980s - black with bright multicoloured polka dots - so very me!) We've had a hectic one - visiting his folks' for Christmas lunch, mine for the evening, and all manner of family in between. Today, The Other Half and I finally caught our breath at home and did the dishes...from Christmas Eve. We appalled even ourselves. Every glass vessel in the house (including some bowls and a vase) had been utilised. Still, a good night was had by all.

It's becoming a sort-of tradition (in that this is only the second time it happened) that we play host to our friends for a bring-a-bottle-games-and-nibbles night on Christmas Eve. Last year, the old roulette wheel and casino table had an airing and the nibbles consisted of anything I could knock up from our only- recently-moved-into kitchen cupboards which were a bit bare, to say the least. Anyway, this year we had a bit more preparation time. I finished work on 23rd (until 5th Jan - whoop!) and we both spent Christmas Eve getting the house ready and rustling up some grub for 11 hungry people. (Recipes to the right and down a bit - the dolmades and canapes in particular went down a treat.)

Well, the Christmas tunes were on loop; drink flowed and the food was polished off; The Other Half spilt his thumb open on an exploded can and spent the night with a comedy cartoon-eqsue bandage adorning said digit; but the hysterics really started when game time began. We played giant pictionary in 'Win, Lose or Draw' girls-vs-boys stylee on a flip chart someone (who will remain nameless) pilfered from work, and had to contend drawing such anomalies as 'God' (you try drawing a 'concept'), 'Guam', 'Tipperary', 'Stephen Fry' and 'Vincent Van Gogh'. (Friend C who had to draw Van Gogh was very good actually - his team were just rubbish and didn't guess in time. He'd drawn the Sunflowers on an easel, and a one-eared man with a pair of scissors and everything. His team were baffled and the guesses included 'Spock' and 'Willy Wonka'. I don't have a clue why, either.)

Here's hoping next Christmas Eve is just as fun. Ideas for games on a postcard, please!

A collage completed by everyone at the end of the evening.
I can't quite remember exactly why Rudolph is being rogered
by Santa; but I'm sure there's a logical explanation.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year...

The festive season is upon us. There's a whisper in the air about the office Christmas party; and while the group of stupid ditzes in my place of work (every office has such a group of empty-headed bints) are already whining about the lack of decent party clothes in the shops and swapping details of their latest idiotic crash diets - I'm happy to report that my diary is filling up nicely with get-togethers and drinks. Both myself and The Other Half are feeling more festive this year. Last year, we hadn't been living in our new pad for very long and were still unpacking when Christmas descended upon us - hence a hastily decorated tree was shoved up in the living room and cards were forgotten about.

In fact, both The Other Half and I have already had our first Yuletide gatherings and we're starting to feel very Christmassy. On Wednesday I had a long-overdue catch up with my two bestest gal buds from my MA - and we gossiped for a long, long time about all sorts and put the world to rights several times over. The Other Half had his official work do (he thinks there may be several Christmas lunches as well over the coming weeks)...and it was fancy dress. Cue some crazy shopping, and my good self and our friend J making a pink frilly tutu for a 6"5 bloke so he could go dressed as Ace Ventura. It worked. J's sewing skills are far superior to mine. Bizarre just doesn't sum up the sight of seeing a grown man dressed in a ballerina/Hawaiian shirt combo.

I have it on good authority that my Other Half danced like this.

Last night we headed out to stay over the new gaff of some pals - and got to meet their new dog, a five-month old Labrador named Charlie. Very cute and boisterous. Ate my shoe. And when we were unpacking and getting ready for bed, he broke into our room and ran off with The Other Half's jeans. Then socks. Then trainers. And proceeded to get his head stuck in our bag when he ran out of things to steal. This morning we all experienced something you'd rather not at this time of year - the holiday hangovers. I fear there may be many more to follow.

Sing when you're winning...

Some people should never be allowed to sing in public. This includes the majority of the damned X-Factor gang, but also Yours Truly. I just can't hold a tune - never have been able to. My sister claimed my share of any musical genes I might have had. The witch can turn her hand to almost any instrument. Even at school I was so tone-deaf that playing an instrument was something that was always going to be beyond my reach. A few chords of 'Silent Night' on the keyboard and the baseline of 'Under Pressure' was about all I could manage, sadly. I was always that kid in school ensembles who was given the tambourine or third triangle just so they had something to play. And last night proved to me that I should definitely be gagged.

Thankfully, not a picture of me singing...but equally as cat-strangling I'm sure.

I've had a couple of just-what-I-needed get-togethers with friends recently (the last was a very nice affair at the weekend with my good buds C and J - we had slightly crispy lasagna and melt-in-the-middle chocolate puds and the works) and last night was no exception. But someone should really have stopped me. It started off innocently enough - a load of us piled into my friend V's lounge playing a really good interactive quiz thing on her games console with individual buzzers everything (the excitement at having individual buzzers became too much at one point and everyone was pressing everything) - then the wine was cracked open and the karaoke game was unleashed.

At least I wasn't alone though, my murderous renditions were always as part of a duet. I just don't know why I thought it was a good idea at all, never mind three times! First up was a cat-strangling version of 'Daydream Believer' with J. She can hold a note. I cannot. The came 'California Dreaming', also with J. You'd think both of us would have learnt our lessons. Apparently not. And lastly, a festive performance of Wizzard's 'I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday' with C. Turns out even with the words on screen, I still don't know them. I didn't take the crown for most embarrassing song of the evening though, oh no. that was left to our (straight) male pals J and C, whose convincing interpretation of Sonny and Cher's 'I Got You Babe', complete with adoring gazes at one another was the vocal highlight of the night. I think wine came out of my nose.

Karaoke. An evil word indeed. Wine. And even eviller one.