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!

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.