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.

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.

Scaraboosh, Scaraboosh, will you do the banned tango...

The first week back at work after all the Christmas gallivanting is always a bummer, so apologies for the lack of posts. Not that much has happened this week to report on, as it happens. I'm still weaning myself off the Christmas chocolates; met up with some gal pals on Thursday for some happy hour pizza and a catch up (always a winner when you're broke); took a half-day from work yesterday to attend the funeral of a very distant relative (was more there for the sake of other family members, and to serve quiche and tea at the wake than anything else); and ploughed my way through my bursting email inbox.

In fact, the most exciting thing (which highlights the tedium of my working life, sadly) to happen this week was a funny email circulated around some work bods featuring a catalogue of misheard song lyrics. You could tell who was bored at their desks and trying to while away the hours until home time by the guffawing and erupting ripples out laughter throughout the office. Which led me to think about my good mate S (moving back up here from The Big Smoke in a couple of weeks) and how we laughed and laughed at school over our other friend C - who thought the lyrics to a really bad dancey tune used often on 'Shooting Stars' with Vic Reeves leaping about inanely to it were "My lover has no money, he's on his trampoline." (Actual lyrics: "My lover has no money, he's got his strong beliefs." That's by Gala, if you care at all.)

This all tickled me so much I had to share:


But my favourite one on the email was this:

Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves by Cher
Misheard lyrics: Give these tramps some peas!
Actual lyrics: Gypsies, tramps and thieves!

Hmm. Perhaps next week will be more thrilling?

'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.

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.