accessorize, accessorize, accessorize February 29, 2008

The importance of accessories was reinforced to me last night at a girly dinner out. 

Each of us (well, most of us) had fabulous items – some top yummy-mummy shoes, a complete WAG bag for another, and I had some lush butterfly earrings. 

We’re all also trying to lose a bit of weight (3 of us are B2Bs, another is post-pregnancy) and the beauty of accessories is that you can purchase these safe in the knowledge that if you put on a few pounds, your wedge shoes will still be useable and your leather slouch bag will still look great. 

Accessories aren’t a frivolous spend you see, they are a canny investment in items that have wearability when your fave skinny jeans may not be an option.  Must remember to tell the boy that before I head off to Debenhams…

I am not Keith February 25, 2008

This morning, I received an email starting “Dear Keith..”

Keith is not my name.  I am a girl.  My name starts with ‘k’ and that is the only similarity I bear to ‘Keith’.

As a one off, mis-understood or mis-spelt name incident, I would forgive it.  But this is now about the fourth time that someone has replied to an email I have sent to them, calling me Keith.  All of these respondents were independent of each other so I figure there can’t be much chance that they are colluding in changing my name to Keith.

It’s disturbing though.   Do I write my emails as if I were called Keith?  Is my manner distinctly manly?  And anyway – why Keith, why not something slightly ‘younger’ and ‘funkier’. Ummm, I can only think of Kev on that front. Or Ken – which is worse.

Wedding expo prep February 21, 2008

A gaggle of us B2Bs are off to the National Wedding Show tomorrow.

Here’s my essential preparation:

1. Flat shoes for power walking around the expo

2. Big empty rucksack to fill with freebies

3. Sharp elbows to bosh other B2Bs out the way of the free stuff I want

4. Camera to take pics of good ideas

5. Wedding notebook and co-ordinating metallic pens for scribbling ideas down

Can’t wait!

Valentines, for one February 14, 2008

Valentine’s doesn’t really figure highly on our household’s priority list.  In our first year of courtship, the boy made a huuuge effort with masses of flowers and a home cooked meal of his own doing (he’s cooked for me three times in 3.5 years, so it proved significant).  However in more recent times the effort has declined - on one occasion, he spent the night stranded in a layby in a broken down car he was rallying in, and another time I think I was away or summat. 

Tonight’s no different, he’s having to do bar duty at the rugby club, so I’m on my lonesome yet again.  It’s annoying – not because it’s Valentine’s mind you – it’s annoying because it was the first night we both had free for literally 10 days.  The past 2 weeks have been hectic and we’ve been like ships in the night.  But anyway, no point wallowing in it – here’s my plan for flying solo this evening:

1. Slippers on, wine open

2.  Very small amount of household chores, just to ensure I don’t feel like I’m living in a cess pit

3. Three course home cooked meal, comprising: Jerusalem Artichoke soup (small portion for obv reasons); black-eye bean balti and naan with lime pickle (yummers); muller crunch corner

4. Rubbish telly watching whilst flicking through the ‘Complete Wedding Planner and Record’ book my mother has got me; in preparation for the Parents-Wedding-Summit which happens this weekend.

5. Munching on a few choccies, and perusing the lush beauty salon brochure to decide what treat I am treating myself to – I’m allowed cos my knee is duff, you see.

Quite looking forward to that, plus there’s the knock on effect of the Boy feeling guilty (made to feel guilty by his mates, not me, I must add) – which means I may get a better romance deal than I would do if he were around this evening.  Huzzah, pour moi!

Feeling blue – my knee is boo February 13, 2008

Bad news today, after an MRI scan the Prof told me I’ve torn my cruciate in my right knee. Dammit! I knew I was a bit wibbley and couldn’t ‘do the twist’ very well at the Chrimbo parties, but this is a blow.

It means I’m no longer able to play rugby this season, plus if it doesn’t heal with mega physio, it’s operation time (and another season out).  Breaking my leg was less of a nightmare, at least I was back doing sport within 10 weeks (altho I had a nasty, weedy, hairy leg when it emerged from plaster)!!

Ho hum. Deffo need to find an alternative outlet for my pent up aggression – swimming and cycling doesn’t really hit the spot and I’m not keen on just punching bags as my arms are prone to bulking up and looking manly.

Hmmm, lateral thinking needed here.  Wonder if there’s a wheelchair basketball side I can sign up to?
 

The Whole Hog (And more) February 11, 2008

Beloved gleefully came upto me in the rugby club on Saturday, proclaiming “I’ve just sorted out all of our evening food for the wedding!”.  Gulp.

“Ah, well done (!), ok, erm, what’s the deal then?” I responded, fearful of the answer…

It turns out one of the random and slightly unkempt rugby people can do hog roasts, and not only that – he’s offered to do us a pig and a deer, just to mix it up and keep it interesting.  The pig will come from a friend’s farm – I’m not asking where the deer comes from. The boy booked it there and then, absolutely delighted to have this culinary feast on offer.  I’m slightly dubious and a tad worried that the random rugby man will forget the date, or turn up somewhere else, or get horrendously drunk and be a disaster.

But then at least I can place the blame on H2B (Husband to Be).

Clink, Clunk, very drunk February 5, 2008

At the bottle bank tonight, I realised just how good a night I’d had with the work girls over on Friday night for eats and drinks.  The five of us who were drinking managed to get through 7 bottles of wine, plus home brewed blackberry brandy and damson gin.  Ooof! 

So, I was heartened to read this article, noting how women are ‘tricked’ into drinking more than they think they are.  It’s all the fault of large wine glasses you see – we can’t do the maths to work out the quantities we are downing. 

Having said that, I had a pretty good idea how pissed we were, especially when I decided some drunken piano playing was in order (why do I always do that?  I’m a grade 8 classical bloody pianist, and yet manage to act like a pub-joanna-knees-up-kinda player more often than not. Except probably sounding worse! Must do Chopin tomorrow and be an artiste again).  Anyway, good eggs as they are, the gals all joined in, heartily belting out Sound of Music, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Elton John hits merrily into the night. 

So anyway, I’m sure there’s a point to all of this but my cognitive abilities are seriously impaired still from Friday.  Which just goes to prove it was an ace night and worth repeating! (That alcohol message didn’t really hit home with me, then)

Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory February 4, 2008

What happened to England in the second half of Saturday’s game?  Managing to go from a 13 point lead to losing the entire game, and their composure along the way, left us supporters believing that something had seriously gone wrong.

With even Gomarsall and Wilkinson losing their cool, the game took on ridiculous headless chicken moments that you see in junior rugby more than in Twickers.  Balshaw veered between greatness (some excellent high takes) and hand-wringing, forehead-slapping moments of idiocy (the chased down kick, some idiotic kicks that went nowhere) and Phil Vickery didn’t look like he was the one to pull the team together on the pitch.

The next game against Italy, should be an easier ride but England need to have a serious look at how they are playing and come up with something resembling a game plan – fast.  Something’s missing – trouble is, I’m not sure what.  Apart from James Simpson-Daniel, that is.

Magpie magic February 1, 2008

Out running at lunch, I saw a group of two magpies, followed by a group of five.

One for sorrow, two for mirth,
Three for a wedding, four for a birth,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret not to be told.
Eight for heaven, nine for hell,
And ten for the devil’s own sel’.

Appropriately enough, I won a 50p bet at work so I am full of laughter and gloating over my silver winnings!

Poor Wee Mite February 1, 2008

My bf’s (best friend) ickle baby got admitted to hospital yesterday.  It’s all very boo, the wee one is 8 months but is skin and bone and has had trouble feeding since birth, poor mite.  So, I went over to the children’s ward to see them and found it to be nothing like the old TV series I was so familiar with from my youth.

They were in a very small room which contained two other families with sick kids so there were people coming and going all the time, upset children, distressed parents and people who generally looked very tired and rubbish.  I feel so sorry for my mate and her family – it’s really hard work but amazingly their wee kid is still fantastically upbeat and jolly, it’s fantastic she has such a positive personality emerging!

Anyways, after a cry and hug with BF I headed off, leaving them amongst the wailing and neon animal print curtains.  Flippin makes me realise we must now be grown ups, dealing with this shit.