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!

Like a busy bee...

This week is gonna be a busy ole week, methinks. I have a week off from work (woohoo!), and while I intend to use the time wisely and sleep as much as humanly possible - I also have a midwife checkup, my sister is up visiting from the Big Smoke, and we have relatives over from Cyprus. Speaking of whom, it was their Golden Wedding party last night. Fifty years is quite a long time to be married. I'm approaching three.

Now, it was nice to see people I haven't clapped eyes on in ages, and chat to folk about my impending motherhood - but really, was is necessary for everyone and their dog to come and give me their sage advice on childbirth and babies? They could have let me sip my lemonade in peace, but no. I nodded through countless tales of sleepless nights (some evil babies who apparently didn't start sleeping through the night until they were 5), horror stories of labour and birth, listened to the debates of whether I'm having a boy or a girl depending on the height, circumference and pointiness (pointiness?! I hope to god it isn't pointy) of my bump (there's not much bump to speak of yet, so that one was a bit difficult), and smiled sweetly as newfangled methods of child rearing were derided.

I know they all mean well, but if I hear "Ooh, sleep now while you have the chance!" one more time, I might actually burst a blood vessel through screaming.

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.

Happy birthday to me...

Howdilly ho. And happy birthday to me! (Well, yesterday.) I'm on a week's holiday from work and intend to string this birthday lark out as long as humanly possible to mark (or mask) the fact that I'm now fast approaching 30 and should be behaving in a bit more of a grown up manner. Or something. The flood disaster is almost all repaired (woohoo!) and the damage was not nearly as bad as we first thought, so now I'm knuckling down to trying out recipes from my new Hairy Bikers cookbook and that all-important task of planning my birthday party. (I don't have to grow up straight away, do I?)

So, what's it like being on the other side of 25? It's not so bad. I still consider myself to be mid-twenties. (I can get away with that for another year, surely?) And just to be contrary, so far there's nothing grown-up at all about my planned partay. The theme is the 80s - so we're having an all-out kitsch fest. 80s games, 80s clothes, 80s music, 80s cocktails, 80s crap party food - the works. I need to make a trip into some neon-clad shops very soon for supplies. I have a feeling this party may hurt everyone's eyes with the sheer amount of neon that'll be on display in the house.

Actually, I am being quite grown up at the minute - not only are The Other Half and I visiting his mum in hospital everyday (she's had a horrendous sounding operation to remove some vertebrae and have metal rods inserted in their place - and is on the mend), but I've pro-actively remembered to make myself an appointment with my doctor without receiving the shameful 'your 3-year check-up is now overdue' letters through the post. (Girls, you know which check-up I'm talking about. It's that not-painful-but-no-less-unpleasant procedure that's necessary yet icky.) So, I've got a nurse invading me with what can only be described as a miniature loo brush to look forward to tomorrow. Oh joy.

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.