La Bibliochaise from Nobody & Co would look perfect in my house, and I want one. Now.
16 September 2008
Get Me One
In Metro this morning was something so beautiful, so special, so marvellous I ripped out the page and have it next to me on my desk.
La Bibliochaise from Nobody & Co would look perfect in my house, and I want one. Now.
La Bibliochaise from Nobody & Co would look perfect in my house, and I want one. Now.
14 September 2008
The Birthday Club
Today we celebrated another day of birth - this time Claud(e)was the chosen one, and we hot-footed our way down to Chiswick for some Pissarro's goodness. We managed to get a table for 6 in the conservatory overlooking the Thames, and got stuck in to the Sparkly Rose quick sharp.
The Girls were all fabulous entertainment, such good value for money, and so fine too. Look.
10 September 2008
Let Down Larry
Back in November I got myself all excited by this news.
Can I just say, what a load of rubbish. Like REALLY?! That’s really the best you could do. Like really? I saw it on DVD at the weekend, and I am still really really angry.
The whole booking the holiday scene didn’t even frigging appear. My bestest, most sweetest, saddest, heart breaking scene didn’t even appear, unless you count the travel agent lady moving a box of tissues on her desk. Fuck a fucking duck.
I am SO very VERY disappointed. But thank Christ I'm not the author of the book. If I was Cecelia Ahern, I would be suing everyone associated with this mockery of a shame, of a shame of a mockery. The scriptwriter, the producer, the director, the casting agent... every last MoFo. That is of course, after I have picked myself up from the floor where I had been crying my eyes out for 6 months.
Can I just say, what a load of rubbish. Like REALLY?! That’s really the best you could do. Like really? I saw it on DVD at the weekend, and I am still really really angry.
The whole booking the holiday scene didn’t even frigging appear. My bestest, most sweetest, saddest, heart breaking scene didn’t even appear, unless you count the travel agent lady moving a box of tissues on her desk. Fuck a fucking duck.
I am SO very VERY disappointed. But thank Christ I'm not the author of the book. If I was Cecelia Ahern, I would be suing everyone associated with this mockery of a shame, of a shame of a mockery. The scriptwriter, the producer, the director, the casting agent... every last MoFo. That is of course, after I have picked myself up from the floor where I had been crying my eyes out for 6 months.
4 September 2008
Tan Lines
There are three programmes on TV that I can’t bear to miss at the moment - The Secret Millionaire, Who Do You Think You Are? and Don’t Tell the Bride. Obviously I am still addicted to Midsummer Murders, A Touch of Frost, Wire in the Blood, Without a Trace and any and all of the CSI’s – but am happy to record them all and watch them at a later date.
TV is weird I think. There was a time when I would watch as many celebrity (!) reality shows as you could shake a stick to. I would watch every cookery programme, every home DIY thing, and almost any show involving sex in any form.
Like music. There was a time when I would only listen to jazz. Another time when it was all about the hip hop. Classical took its turn for a while, as did R&B, Rare Groove and even a touch of Opera. (Never The 60’s I hasten to add).
But I think I’ve only had five distinct phases in my book reading life. (I don’t count books that were read to me when I was a kid for a couple of reasons – but mainly because I don’t really remember them (except Where the Wild Things Are?, which I still love today)).
So, I believe my first phase started when I was about 9 or 10 with the complete works of Agatha Christie, moved onto the likes of My Sweet Audrina , and Kane and Able, when I was about 13, Jackie Collins and books of that ilk from about 16 or 17 for the next 10 years or so, and now chick lit. It has been one of my best friends. At times I get very frustrated with it; even (dare I say it) a bit bored now and again. But I love it from the bottom of my heart. I will defend it to the death. And even when I am old, grey(er) and smell of wee, I will still have it by my side. Now and again though, I am unfaithful and I see other friends. I know, I know. But like people, we can’t get everything that satisfies us from just one human being. We need a plethora to tap into the different characteristics, interests and passions within us. I have been known to wander into crime on occasions. I’ve done some mass market general fiction. The odd thriller. I’ve even been known to skim read the odd non-fiction title….
It will came as no huge shock therefore to report that I enjoyed Tan Lines more than is strictly necessary.
Sometimes I don’t want to have to think when I read. I don’t want to be challenged by language and grammar. I don’t want to be stretched and educated. I just wanna have a laugh, been titillated a little bit, be entertained in short sharp spurts and close the book at the end thinking “excellent”. Tan Lines delivers on every level with the main characters Liza (feminist writer), Kellyanne (beautiful wannabe actress) and Billie (off the rails rock chick) and their adventures during a summer share in the Hampton’s. With bags of hoo-hars and to-dos, a dollop of sex, drugs and rock and roll, some stalking, a gay husband, a randy old sugar daddy and a gorgeous crab fishing surfer dude – its great fun, and very reminiscent of the Queen of the Bonkbuster – Jackie Collins.
For what it is, its great - if only the author hadn’t have rushed through the ending in five minutes flat I would have given Tan Lines a 10 out of 10.
TV is weird I think. There was a time when I would watch as many celebrity (!) reality shows as you could shake a stick to. I would watch every cookery programme, every home DIY thing, and almost any show involving sex in any form.
Like music. There was a time when I would only listen to jazz. Another time when it was all about the hip hop. Classical took its turn for a while, as did R&B, Rare Groove and even a touch of Opera. (Never The 60’s I hasten to add).
But I think I’ve only had five distinct phases in my book reading life. (I don’t count books that were read to me when I was a kid for a couple of reasons – but mainly because I don’t really remember them (except Where the Wild Things Are?, which I still love today)).
So, I believe my first phase started when I was about 9 or 10 with the complete works of Agatha Christie, moved onto the likes of My Sweet Audrina , and Kane and Able, when I was about 13, Jackie Collins and books of that ilk from about 16 or 17 for the next 10 years or so, and now chick lit. It has been one of my best friends. At times I get very frustrated with it; even (dare I say it) a bit bored now and again. But I love it from the bottom of my heart. I will defend it to the death. And even when I am old, grey(er) and smell of wee, I will still have it by my side. Now and again though, I am unfaithful and I see other friends. I know, I know. But like people, we can’t get everything that satisfies us from just one human being. We need a plethora to tap into the different characteristics, interests and passions within us. I have been known to wander into crime on occasions. I’ve done some mass market general fiction. The odd thriller. I’ve even been known to skim read the odd non-fiction title….
It will came as no huge shock therefore to report that I enjoyed Tan Lines more than is strictly necessary.
Sometimes I don’t want to have to think when I read. I don’t want to be challenged by language and grammar. I don’t want to be stretched and educated. I just wanna have a laugh, been titillated a little bit, be entertained in short sharp spurts and close the book at the end thinking “excellent”. Tan Lines delivers on every level with the main characters Liza (feminist writer), Kellyanne (beautiful wannabe actress) and Billie (off the rails rock chick) and their adventures during a summer share in the Hampton’s. With bags of hoo-hars and to-dos, a dollop of sex, drugs and rock and roll, some stalking, a gay husband, a randy old sugar daddy and a gorgeous crab fishing surfer dude – its great fun, and very reminiscent of the Queen of the Bonkbuster – Jackie Collins.
For what it is, its great - if only the author hadn’t have rushed through the ending in five minutes flat I would have given Tan Lines a 10 out of 10.
2 September 2008
Girls Weekend Away
I remember when a girls weekend away involved getting roaring drunk by 11am, snogging strange boys, eating breakfast after noon and dinner at about 2am. It always featured a fight, some karaoke, a touch of disco dancing and preferably some recreational pharmaceuticals.
My, how things have changed.
Now it involves breakfast before 9am, whole sandcastle villages being built, icecream at regular intervals, dinner at 6pm involving vegetables, a few games of cards then bed by 9pm....
Awesome.
Here are some snaps to prove that in one small pocket of Kent, the sun shone all weekend.
20 August 2008
More Rage
You may remember I got myself all worked up and in a bit of stew in January about
various things to do with travelling on public transport, open legged men with wide open papers using both friggin armrests, kids and their fucking music, dawdling old buggers, feet on seats, smelly people, sniffers, people who cant ride the escalators, ladies putting on their makeup, open mouthed eating, people who cant work the barriers, etc, etc, etc.
I can feel another one coming on.
I’ve been noticing people's habits, foibles, randomness a lot of late… and I can't help but stare. And tut. And curl my lip. And mutter “ewwww” and “yuck” and “you weird dirty fucker” under my breath.
Take Lady-Who-Eats-Her-Eyebrows for example. She seems normal. She dresses quite smart. She has an M&S shopper bag. She has gold rimmed specks. She has pale pink painted nails. But. As she reads her paper, she randomly tugs at the hair in her eyebrows, backwards, and then once she’s pulled out a few choice strands SHE EATS THEM. Oh yes she does.
Take Man-Who-Can’t-Leave-His-Crotch-Alone. He’s kind of young, maybe 32. He wears a suit and has spiky hair. He has a beaten up old brown leather satchel type briefcase that he neatly stores by his feet. But. As he reads his copy of The Economist he is forever fiddling with the creases in his trousers at his groin. Not just adjusting them once or twice as he sits down and settles himself. Oh no. Every 60 seconds or so. Literally. He neatly “arranges” himself. He reads AT MOST 3 lines of whatever article has caught his eye, then he closes the magazine and rearranges himself AGAIN. And again. And again. Over and over and over again…. Looney. Surely.
Take Pulls-The-Skin-Around-Her-Nails-Till-It-Bleeds-Lady. She is a stunning, very very attractive Indian lady. Slim, great hair, trouser suits and immaculate make up. And yet. Her hands look shocking. Genuinely shocking. The skin around her nails has been pulled and picked and torn and nibbled till it literally bleeds. And still she doesn’t stop. The whole journey she is picking. It looks so very very sore, and yet, still she picks.
Take Old-Man-With-Itchy-Scalp. He’s not really old. At least, probably not much older than my mum. And he looks average, you know, not too smart, not too casual. I don’t know what he does for a living, I couldn’t hazard a guess, but sweet god I wish he’d wash his bloody hair. Cause he is forever scratching his head. And the flakes keep on falling. And he examines the dirt, or the scalp, or the skin bits or whatever it is that get caught behind his nails. And he uses his thumbnail to dig the debris out. And he flicks it. Yep, flicks it. And once or twice it’s fallen in my direction. And it’s all I can do to stop myself hurling…
And then there are the hundreds of nose pickers and ear diggers. Do these people think they have an invisibility shield around them or something? WE CAN SEE YOU. So every time you pick your nose, examine the contents and then eat it – I CAN SEE YOU. When you dig out your ears, look at the wax, roll it into a wee ball and smear it on the seat cover – I AM WATCHING YOU. You disgust and repulse me. You turn my stomach and make me hate you. Save your toilette for the privacy of your own home. No-one wants to see you.
various things to do with travelling on public transport, open legged men with wide open papers using both friggin armrests, kids and their fucking music, dawdling old buggers, feet on seats, smelly people, sniffers, people who cant ride the escalators, ladies putting on their makeup, open mouthed eating, people who cant work the barriers, etc, etc, etc.
I can feel another one coming on.
I’ve been noticing people's habits, foibles, randomness a lot of late… and I can't help but stare. And tut. And curl my lip. And mutter “ewwww” and “yuck” and “you weird dirty fucker” under my breath.
Take Lady-Who-Eats-Her-Eyebrows for example. She seems normal. She dresses quite smart. She has an M&S shopper bag. She has gold rimmed specks. She has pale pink painted nails. But. As she reads her paper, she randomly tugs at the hair in her eyebrows, backwards, and then once she’s pulled out a few choice strands SHE EATS THEM. Oh yes she does.
Take Man-Who-Can’t-Leave-His-Crotch-Alone. He’s kind of young, maybe 32. He wears a suit and has spiky hair. He has a beaten up old brown leather satchel type briefcase that he neatly stores by his feet. But. As he reads his copy of The Economist he is forever fiddling with the creases in his trousers at his groin. Not just adjusting them once or twice as he sits down and settles himself. Oh no. Every 60 seconds or so. Literally. He neatly “arranges” himself. He reads AT MOST 3 lines of whatever article has caught his eye, then he closes the magazine and rearranges himself AGAIN. And again. And again. Over and over and over again…. Looney. Surely.
Take Pulls-The-Skin-Around-Her-Nails-Till-It-Bleeds-Lady. She is a stunning, very very attractive Indian lady. Slim, great hair, trouser suits and immaculate make up. And yet. Her hands look shocking. Genuinely shocking. The skin around her nails has been pulled and picked and torn and nibbled till it literally bleeds. And still she doesn’t stop. The whole journey she is picking. It looks so very very sore, and yet, still she picks.
Take Old-Man-With-Itchy-Scalp. He’s not really old. At least, probably not much older than my mum. And he looks average, you know, not too smart, not too casual. I don’t know what he does for a living, I couldn’t hazard a guess, but sweet god I wish he’d wash his bloody hair. Cause he is forever scratching his head. And the flakes keep on falling. And he examines the dirt, or the scalp, or the skin bits or whatever it is that get caught behind his nails. And he uses his thumbnail to dig the debris out. And he flicks it. Yep, flicks it. And once or twice it’s fallen in my direction. And it’s all I can do to stop myself hurling…
And then there are the hundreds of nose pickers and ear diggers. Do these people think they have an invisibility shield around them or something? WE CAN SEE YOU. So every time you pick your nose, examine the contents and then eat it – I CAN SEE YOU. When you dig out your ears, look at the wax, roll it into a wee ball and smear it on the seat cover – I AM WATCHING YOU. You disgust and repulse me. You turn my stomach and make me hate you. Save your toilette for the privacy of your own home. No-one wants to see you.
18 August 2008
A Tonic
The Birthday Lunch Club reconvened for the third time this year, this time to celebrate Mrs Darlings (really!) day of being special.
She had requested fancy pants up the big smoke - so off we popped to J Sheekeys for some fish fabulousness, then along to Verve for some tails-of-cock.
Sweet Lord what a giggle we had. All the girls were on top form and I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard at nothing...
She had requested fancy pants up the big smoke - so off we popped to J Sheekeys for some fish fabulousness, then along to Verve for some tails-of-cock.
Sweet Lord what a giggle we had. All the girls were on top form and I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard at nothing...
12 August 2008
Further Investigations Reveal
Boo has promised that we can go for a ride or a wander every weekend we have free... how very lovely, and literally 5 minutes from our doorstep.
8 August 2008
Who knew....
that this was at the bottom of my road?
I will go on another adventure this weekend and see what else I can see...
On a separate note, not last night but the night before I got drunk. I don't mean tipsy, or squiffy or a little bit collapso. I mean inappropriate, uncoordinated, picking-a-fight-on-the-way-home drunk.
Oh it was lovely.
Gerry is back from the US for a couple of weeks to celebrate her fauxforty birthday - she last came over last year, or was it the year before, and those of us in the old Big W gang got together down an alley for some drinks.
This time a select few got together by the river for some drinks and some chips.
We also saw Harry Hill, Will Young and M'Bayo's new girlfriend who is the most biggest hottie I've seen for years. Honest to goodness, hottie hot hot. So hot that I think I blushed and giggled when she spoke to me. Yep, SHE SPOKE TO ME. I think I love her a little...
I will go on another adventure this weekend and see what else I can see...
On a separate note, not last night but the night before I got drunk. I don't mean tipsy, or squiffy or a little bit collapso. I mean inappropriate, uncoordinated, picking-a-fight-on-the-way-home drunk.
Oh it was lovely.
Gerry is back from the US for a couple of weeks to celebrate her fauxforty birthday - she last came over last year, or was it the year before, and those of us in the old Big W gang got together down an alley for some drinks.
This time a select few got together by the river for some drinks and some chips.
We also saw Harry Hill, Will Young and M'Bayo's new girlfriend who is the most biggest hottie I've seen for years. Honest to goodness, hottie hot hot. So hot that I think I blushed and giggled when she spoke to me. Yep, SHE SPOKE TO ME. I think I love her a little...
6 August 2008
Happy Wednesday
You know I said I treated myself to a sneaky bookshop shop last week… well, I finished The Second Husband by the lovely Louise Candlish at the weekend; and I have to share the love. Louise is a beautiful writer. What started out as a love affair with her chicklit style in Prickly Heat progressed to women’s fiction greatness in The Double Life and shifted up a further gear with contemporary women’s fiction title Since I Don’t Have You which left me in bits… and this latest title is just brilliant. The "brand Candlish" is well on it's way to securing it's permanent place on the Top 10 FOS shelves of all good bookshelves, with echos of Jodi Picoult in style and the love child of Katie Fforde and Maggie O'Farrell in content. My one and only negative is that the blurb on the back and tag on the front of the book reveal just a hint too much of the plot....'there are some things a mother and daughter should never share'. It doesn't really take a genius to work out what those things are.
I also finished a proof I've had lying about for a year or so Fifty Is Not a Four-letter Word by Linda Kelsey, the former editor of Cosmo and SHE. It's a sort of generation jump for Bridget Jones - Hope hits 50, gets sacked from her high powered job as a (wait for it) editor of a glossy women's mag, gets dumped by her long suffering husband, has a bit of a fling in Paris with a hunky American and feels sorry for herself for a bit... till she turns her life around for the better. As I'm closer to 50 than I am to my 20's - I did enjoy this. But thank Christ I'm not quite close enough to completely connect with the twists and turns of Hope's life.
On a separate note, The Mother and I had a lovely afternoon at Sadlers Wells at the end of July, watching the sell out West Side Story. You have to get up very early to beat a classic like this - but the 50th anniversary production has all the good bits you remember from the film, plus a great new set and adorable new cast. No wonder the critics that know about such stuff have had a tricky time finding any faults....
With just 9 months now to go till the Big Day (yep, I know, I know.....) Boo and I made a trip up the M4 to meet our cake lady - Lisa. Oooooh the loveliness involved in choosing cakes can't be beaten. Other than, of course, eating them. We've ripped off some creations we saw in a wedding magazine, and added our own twist and come up with 4 different designs which we hope will look adorable together. Boo likes fruit cakes, so we will have 10 of them. I like Victoria sponge; so we are having 10 of them as well. That's 2 per person, and 2 spare for me and Him to take home as reminders....or to scoff later on in bed.
Last but not least, Melly launched ParkLife (boot camp style fitness circuit training thing) last night. I did some skipping, a hint of jogging, and even won the three legged race... and now my butt hurts. She was very whistle-happy, but it was great fun despite the wet grass and passing squirrel attention. If you live in Ealing or the surroundings you should come. Every Tuesday, 6.15pm, meet at the entrance to Walpole Park outside Pitshanger Manor. Mail melbeves@hotmail.co.uk for more info.
I also finished a proof I've had lying about for a year or so Fifty Is Not a Four-letter Word by Linda Kelsey, the former editor of Cosmo and SHE. It's a sort of generation jump for Bridget Jones - Hope hits 50, gets sacked from her high powered job as a (wait for it) editor of a glossy women's mag, gets dumped by her long suffering husband, has a bit of a fling in Paris with a hunky American and feels sorry for herself for a bit... till she turns her life around for the better. As I'm closer to 50 than I am to my 20's - I did enjoy this. But thank Christ I'm not quite close enough to completely connect with the twists and turns of Hope's life.
On a separate note, The Mother and I had a lovely afternoon at Sadlers Wells at the end of July, watching the sell out West Side Story. You have to get up very early to beat a classic like this - but the 50th anniversary production has all the good bits you remember from the film, plus a great new set and adorable new cast. No wonder the critics that know about such stuff have had a tricky time finding any faults....
With just 9 months now to go till the Big Day (yep, I know, I know.....) Boo and I made a trip up the M4 to meet our cake lady - Lisa. Oooooh the loveliness involved in choosing cakes can't be beaten. Other than, of course, eating them. We've ripped off some creations we saw in a wedding magazine, and added our own twist and come up with 4 different designs which we hope will look adorable together. Boo likes fruit cakes, so we will have 10 of them. I like Victoria sponge; so we are having 10 of them as well. That's 2 per person, and 2 spare for me and Him to take home as reminders....or to scoff later on in bed.
Last but not least, Melly launched ParkLife (boot camp style fitness circuit training thing) last night. I did some skipping, a hint of jogging, and even won the three legged race... and now my butt hurts. She was very whistle-happy, but it was great fun despite the wet grass and passing squirrel attention. If you live in Ealing or the surroundings you should come. Every Tuesday, 6.15pm, meet at the entrance to Walpole Park outside Pitshanger Manor. Mail melbeves@hotmail.co.uk for more info.
25 July 2008
Catch Up
Blimey, doesn't time just fly by these days. Subjects to cover in this entry are: Queen Mum by Kate Long, being stranded at the pub, Krispy Kremes, The Banville-Smiths, house warming rubbers, walking in the sun, the host with the most, EJF, a sneaking books etc shopping spree... quite frankly the list goes on and on....
Way back when I ran the Chick Lit forum at the Big W, a member of the reading group banged on and on and on about Queen Mum being beyond super for hours and hours on end. Quite frankly she bored me to tears for so very very long, that I decided there and then to never read the damn book out of pure bloody spite. How I wish I had stuck to that decision. I mean, it was ok, you know, it pottered along about a couple of neighbours; one (Juno) who had a supposedly perfect life (perfect kids, perfect house, perfect marriage, perfect house, perfect arse) and was so confident in her perfection she applied to appear on reality TV wife swap programme "Queen Mum" with disastrous results; and her side kick Ally, rather more slummy mummy who had lost a child and with it her zest and gumption. I read it all, I did finish it, and trust me, I've read much much worse - but I really expected so much more from the author of The Bad Mother's Handbook.
Next, Chimmy and I got stranded at the pub a few weeks ago. We had had a lovely day together, a bit of a shop, a bit of a wander, a touch of lunch, a tub of fat free frozen yoghurt; then on the way home, we decided to stop off at one of the pubs along the river near Kew Bridge for a couple of lager and limes. The tide was either coming in or going out - who can say - but we got kind of stuck on the benches for about 45 minutes whilst the river flooded the pathway, and left us stranded, surrounded by ducks. It was fantastic, and such a nice end to the day.
I celebrated my first year anniversary at New Work with two boxes of mixed selection from Krispy Kreme. I obviously shared my celebrating, and my buns, with my colleagues - although managed to polish off 3 (yep 3, count them) of the buggers myself. Those glazed bad boys are enough to make me go boss-eyed. I swear, if it was legal to marry a doughnut - I would be Mrs Kreme in a flash.
The Banville-Smiths - life long chums of The House of Piper - hosted a lovely get together in their garden the other weekend. We only get to catch up probably twice a year, so each time it's lovely and precious. And who would have thought the offer of some chocolate buttons would create so much excitement.
Boo and I finally had The Sister, The Brother-in-Law and The Niece over for lunch. I baked bread. I made two different types of ice cream. I made spinach and ricotta lasagne (including a tomatoe sauce from scratch). I made caramelised shallot and Gorgonzola puff pastry tarts. I made a wild mushroom risotto. I made strawberry cupcakes. I made jam tarts. I pulled a salad together.... and after all that The Niece wanted fishfingers and peas for lunch. Boo and I also got special housewarming gifts. We both got a set of four rubbers. Mine were heart shaped, pink, red and purple. Boo's were shaped like tools. Apparently we can swap if we like. I think I'm going to keep mine all to myself.
It has been heaven to walk home from the station these past couple of weeks. Pottering along, headphones on, rucksack on back. Bar flip-flop-shin-ache, it's great to stride along - when I say stride, I of course mean dawdle like a little old lady...and jesus christ it beats getting the bus with all the other sweaty fuckers.
This week my lovely friend Rodney (who is also the most poshest person I know in real life) invited me to super to meet his new BF, together with my favourite lesbian couple who I haven't seen for months. Lovely posh Rodney has the most awesome flat in Vauxhall, and he is truly the host with the most - and it was lovely to relax, chit chat about book stuff, Big W gossip, old ex colleagues who we hate, old ex colleagues we still love... and not one of them made fun of the HUGE cold sore that I currently have on my lip.
This afternoon I slipped off to Walpole Park to have a quick listen to some music and eat some bread and cheese at the Ealing Jazz Festival. I haven't been to the festival for a couple of years, it still feels a bit empty going without my Dad - but I do, or at least did, use to love going - so I thought it was time for a revisit. Well, let me tell you. You now have to pay to get in. OK, it's only £1, but none the less. It's the bloody principle I tell you. Second, you are now fenced in to an area the size of a school playing field. Infant school that is. God only knows what it's like when it gets busy in the evenings. Probably like being stuck on the tube. But without the abandoned copies of Metro flying about. Thirdly, there is no bloody bread and cheese. The French market has been replaced with a bloody German bar and a jewellery shed selling stuff made out of amber. What the fuck? Who on earth wants bloody amber bracelets instead of lovely gooey cheese from French France? Nextly, the lovely soft green grass of the park has been pebble dashed. Or shingled. Or whatever it's called. Did the person who recommended that as a suitable flooring for a festival consider what those tiny little shards of rock do to the underside of your feet if you are wearing flipflops? No. That retard did not think about that. I've already got through two tubes of cracked heal balm this month trying to repair my poor old feet - and now you wanna see them... screwed they are, screwed. However, we did get to hear a set by a fella called Xantone Blacq. Or maybe that's the band's name. Who cares. He rocks. Or jazzes. Or whatever is appropriate. If you get a chance to listen; give it a whirl. Awesome.
I know I've been banned from buying any new books till I finish the piles of proofs I've still got floating about from my days at the Big W. I know, I know.... but I happened to be in the Holborn branch of books etc the other day.... and I happened to find myself in front of the 3 for 2 table.... and the new Louise Candlish winked at me, then the Harriet Evans gave me a nudge... and then Jenny Colgan beckoned me over for a chat.... before I knew what was happening, I'd been book bashed. I've hidden them from Boo under my side of the bed for now. Thank Christ he doesn't read this blog.
This weekend we've got some more bridesmaid dress shopping - with Boo's sister and niece, and some West Side Story action on Sunday at Sadler's Wells. Bar that I refuse to cook, shop, clean or nothing. I will instead be doing lots of sitting. Lots of laying. Down. A touch of eating, maybe some drinking, and if I'm very very lucky, and ask very very nicely maybe, just maybe a bit of kissing. Who knows....
Way back when I ran the Chick Lit forum at the Big W, a member of the reading group banged on and on and on about Queen Mum being beyond super for hours and hours on end. Quite frankly she bored me to tears for so very very long, that I decided there and then to never read the damn book out of pure bloody spite. How I wish I had stuck to that decision. I mean, it was ok, you know, it pottered along about a couple of neighbours; one (Juno) who had a supposedly perfect life (perfect kids, perfect house, perfect marriage, perfect house, perfect arse) and was so confident in her perfection she applied to appear on reality TV wife swap programme "Queen Mum" with disastrous results; and her side kick Ally, rather more slummy mummy who had lost a child and with it her zest and gumption. I read it all, I did finish it, and trust me, I've read much much worse - but I really expected so much more from the author of The Bad Mother's Handbook.
Next, Chimmy and I got stranded at the pub a few weeks ago. We had had a lovely day together, a bit of a shop, a bit of a wander, a touch of lunch, a tub of fat free frozen yoghurt; then on the way home, we decided to stop off at one of the pubs along the river near Kew Bridge for a couple of lager and limes. The tide was either coming in or going out - who can say - but we got kind of stuck on the benches for about 45 minutes whilst the river flooded the pathway, and left us stranded, surrounded by ducks. It was fantastic, and such a nice end to the day.
I celebrated my first year anniversary at New Work with two boxes of mixed selection from Krispy Kreme. I obviously shared my celebrating, and my buns, with my colleagues - although managed to polish off 3 (yep 3, count them) of the buggers myself. Those glazed bad boys are enough to make me go boss-eyed. I swear, if it was legal to marry a doughnut - I would be Mrs Kreme in a flash.
The Banville-Smiths - life long chums of The House of Piper - hosted a lovely get together in their garden the other weekend. We only get to catch up probably twice a year, so each time it's lovely and precious. And who would have thought the offer of some chocolate buttons would create so much excitement.
Boo and I finally had The Sister, The Brother-in-Law and The Niece over for lunch. I baked bread. I made two different types of ice cream. I made spinach and ricotta lasagne (including a tomatoe sauce from scratch). I made caramelised shallot and Gorgonzola puff pastry tarts. I made a wild mushroom risotto. I made strawberry cupcakes. I made jam tarts. I pulled a salad together.... and after all that The Niece wanted fishfingers and peas for lunch. Boo and I also got special housewarming gifts. We both got a set of four rubbers. Mine were heart shaped, pink, red and purple. Boo's were shaped like tools. Apparently we can swap if we like. I think I'm going to keep mine all to myself.
It has been heaven to walk home from the station these past couple of weeks. Pottering along, headphones on, rucksack on back. Bar flip-flop-shin-ache, it's great to stride along - when I say stride, I of course mean dawdle like a little old lady...and jesus christ it beats getting the bus with all the other sweaty fuckers.
This week my lovely friend Rodney (who is also the most poshest person I know in real life) invited me to super to meet his new BF, together with my favourite lesbian couple who I haven't seen for months. Lovely posh Rodney has the most awesome flat in Vauxhall, and he is truly the host with the most - and it was lovely to relax, chit chat about book stuff, Big W gossip, old ex colleagues who we hate, old ex colleagues we still love... and not one of them made fun of the HUGE cold sore that I currently have on my lip.
This afternoon I slipped off to Walpole Park to have a quick listen to some music and eat some bread and cheese at the Ealing Jazz Festival. I haven't been to the festival for a couple of years, it still feels a bit empty going without my Dad - but I do, or at least did, use to love going - so I thought it was time for a revisit. Well, let me tell you. You now have to pay to get in. OK, it's only £1, but none the less. It's the bloody principle I tell you. Second, you are now fenced in to an area the size of a school playing field. Infant school that is. God only knows what it's like when it gets busy in the evenings. Probably like being stuck on the tube. But without the abandoned copies of Metro flying about. Thirdly, there is no bloody bread and cheese. The French market has been replaced with a bloody German bar and a jewellery shed selling stuff made out of amber. What the fuck? Who on earth wants bloody amber bracelets instead of lovely gooey cheese from French France? Nextly, the lovely soft green grass of the park has been pebble dashed. Or shingled. Or whatever it's called. Did the person who recommended that as a suitable flooring for a festival consider what those tiny little shards of rock do to the underside of your feet if you are wearing flipflops? No. That retard did not think about that. I've already got through two tubes of cracked heal balm this month trying to repair my poor old feet - and now you wanna see them... screwed they are, screwed. However, we did get to hear a set by a fella called Xantone Blacq. Or maybe that's the band's name. Who cares. He rocks. Or jazzes. Or whatever is appropriate. If you get a chance to listen; give it a whirl. Awesome.
I know I've been banned from buying any new books till I finish the piles of proofs I've still got floating about from my days at the Big W. I know, I know.... but I happened to be in the Holborn branch of books etc the other day.... and I happened to find myself in front of the 3 for 2 table.... and the new Louise Candlish winked at me, then the Harriet Evans gave me a nudge... and then Jenny Colgan beckoned me over for a chat.... before I knew what was happening, I'd been book bashed. I've hidden them from Boo under my side of the bed for now. Thank Christ he doesn't read this blog.
This weekend we've got some more bridesmaid dress shopping - with Boo's sister and niece, and some West Side Story action on Sunday at Sadler's Wells. Bar that I refuse to cook, shop, clean or nothing. I will instead be doing lots of sitting. Lots of laying. Down. A touch of eating, maybe some drinking, and if I'm very very lucky, and ask very very nicely maybe, just maybe a bit of kissing. Who knows....
3 July 2008
10 Months?!
In exactly 10 months time I will be getting married. What the fuck?! How on earth? Where on earth? What?!
It has dawned on me, that my constant "I've got ages yet" mantra has expired. I don't have ages. I have 10 months.
Obv, am really excited. And in organisation heaven. All the planning, all the booking, all the researching. Heaven.
But, come on now. 10 months? 10 months to loose all the weight I've been trying to loose for the past 20 years. Really?! I mean, really?
Right, that's it. If you see me within half a mile of a bun, I beg you, I urge you - beat me round the head with something heavy, hard and metal....please!
2 July 2008
Miss the Face?
I’ve taken myself off Facebook. I just can’t bear it any longer. The poking. The chucking stuff. The messaging… It’s exhausting. And a little bit boring. A few of my real life friends are on facebook. But just as many aren’t. The one’s that are, I see and speak to in real life much more than I do via facebook. The one’s that aren’t on it, I see no more or less of than I would if they were. But I am regularly messaged and poked by people I once worked with 10 years ago that I haven’t seen since. Or went to school with 22 years ago… and haven’t seen since. Or fell out with many moons ago – and have been avoiding ever since….
I will miss my trivia quiz application for friends though….
And perhaps I will miss the random surfing and snooping when bored.
I deactivated yesterday. It says I can reactivate at any time.
How long do you reckon before I miss being tagged in a photo when drunk, shiny and cross eyed?
I will miss my trivia quiz application for friends though….
And perhaps I will miss the random surfing and snooping when bored.
I deactivated yesterday. It says I can reactivate at any time.
How long do you reckon before I miss being tagged in a photo when drunk, shiny and cross eyed?
1 July 2008
Summer Holiday
We had a week off last week, me and Boo. We did nothing. Almost literally. We didn’t make it to the seaside for a couple of days. We didn’t make it onto the London Eye for the day. We didn’t even go to the cinema or out for a meal.
It was lovely.
We did lots of sitting around. Lots of lounging around. Lots of sofa curling up on action.
He also moved all his bits and bobs into the flat. He is officially living with me. We are living together. Co-habiting.
Lord help us!
I did some Summer Reading action as well. Not a lot, cause it’s rude to ignore your new flat-mate for hours at a time (apparently), but I did finish I Did a Bad Thing which I started the week before – and polished off Something Blue which has been sitting around since 2005 waiting to be read; Lucy in the Sky which I should have read well over a year ago; and Look the World in the Eye another three year old book, which I am ashamed to say I told someone the other day I had read, when I blatantly hadn’t.
All four were good value for money. But if I was in a 3 for 2 situation I would have probably put I Did a Bad Thing back on the table. It just didn’t feel right somehow… the bad thing wasn’t really bad, it was a sad thing, and upsetting thing, a selfish thing maybe. But bad made it sound childish or naughty in a fun way – and it wasn’t fun. Only my opinion I know, and obviously many people will thing I’m as wrong as wrong can be – but, sod off, it’s my blog.
Look the World in the Eye was lovely. All about sisters, family connections, love and laughter. A sensitive subject written without an overwhelming helping of sugar – it was really enjoyable, up until about the last 10 pages or so. I knew what was going to happen; the author knew I knew what was going to happen. Hell, you haven’t read it and yet you probably know what’s going to happen – and when it did happen I was like “yeh, yeh, whatever”. Disappointing, but it didn’t spoil the rest for me thank God.
Lucy in the Sky was grand. Pure chick lit on an epic scale from the lady who reviews books for Heat magazine; published by New Work. I can’t wait to get stuck into Johnny Be Good (her next one), cause I loved this.
I really didn’t think I’d like Something Blue as much as I did. Very American, god awful leading lady (Darcy), and a story about a lady being up the duff. However, it was actually great fun, and I skim read it in an afternoon. I still didn’t like Darcy at the end, but I was happy with how things turned out for her…
It was lovely.
We did lots of sitting around. Lots of lounging around. Lots of sofa curling up on action.
He also moved all his bits and bobs into the flat. He is officially living with me. We are living together. Co-habiting.
Lord help us!
I did some Summer Reading action as well. Not a lot, cause it’s rude to ignore your new flat-mate for hours at a time (apparently), but I did finish I Did a Bad Thing which I started the week before – and polished off Something Blue which has been sitting around since 2005 waiting to be read; Lucy in the Sky which I should have read well over a year ago; and Look the World in the Eye another three year old book, which I am ashamed to say I told someone the other day I had read, when I blatantly hadn’t.
All four were good value for money. But if I was in a 3 for 2 situation I would have probably put I Did a Bad Thing back on the table. It just didn’t feel right somehow… the bad thing wasn’t really bad, it was a sad thing, and upsetting thing, a selfish thing maybe. But bad made it sound childish or naughty in a fun way – and it wasn’t fun. Only my opinion I know, and obviously many people will thing I’m as wrong as wrong can be – but, sod off, it’s my blog.
Look the World in the Eye was lovely. All about sisters, family connections, love and laughter. A sensitive subject written without an overwhelming helping of sugar – it was really enjoyable, up until about the last 10 pages or so. I knew what was going to happen; the author knew I knew what was going to happen. Hell, you haven’t read it and yet you probably know what’s going to happen – and when it did happen I was like “yeh, yeh, whatever”. Disappointing, but it didn’t spoil the rest for me thank God.
Lucy in the Sky was grand. Pure chick lit on an epic scale from the lady who reviews books for Heat magazine; published by New Work. I can’t wait to get stuck into Johnny Be Good (her next one), cause I loved this.
I really didn’t think I’d like Something Blue as much as I did. Very American, god awful leading lady (Darcy), and a story about a lady being up the duff. However, it was actually great fun, and I skim read it in an afternoon. I still didn’t like Darcy at the end, but I was happy with how things turned out for her…
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