Does Mother Hen click with drunken chicks? May 14, 2008

After a hilarious Hen weekend in a sodden, drenched Spanish resort (whilst the UK baked of course), my thoughts are turning to my own hen do next year sometime.  The Spanish excursion was a great laugh, a good bunch of girls came along and we all bonded over huge cocktails and girly chats.

So, how many people will be on mine?  Where will we go?  Activity or pampering? Crazy clubbing or beers and curry?  So many questions!

Then there’s another, more sensitive, question in the mix – Mum, or no Mum?

I spoke to Mother today and was telling her about the weekend just gone; and she quickly responded with some ideas of her own (pre-thought out no doubt).  Her first suggestion was a night out in Milton Keynes (where I work) – No.  Her second thought was camping – not a baaaad idea.  Then – she mentioned she could bring the caravan if we camp, therefore assuming, probably rightly, she’s coming along. 

Now, my Mum’s not a prude but I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with her witnessing drunken rugby songs, general rudeness expected on hen dos and a lot of drunk girls…But I also realise she probably wants to come along and celebrate with me.

So what’s a B2B to do?  Are two hen do’s the answer – one for drunks; one slightly tamer?  I’m on tour this weekend with the rugby girls, one of whom is my sis, so I think the first stop is to pick her brains…

I had no idea wedding preparation was sooo much about diplomacy and politics – there seems risk of offence at every turn with guest lists, duties on the day and who does what and who goes to what…

I feel I could take on international relations with Burma after all this!! 

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)

my friend, my carpet’s friend January 24, 2008

Whilst walking haphazardly through my lounge at 3.30am on Saturday morning last – after a particularly long and heavy rugby girls night out – I went completely arse over tit, falling backwards over my coffee table.  Normally, this would be comedy value but on this occasion I was unlucky enough to be carrying a plate laden with turmeric laced curry.  Not good.

The foodstuff landed in a massively spread pile on my beige carpet so in a completely drunken state I attempted to scrape it up with a spoon, then went to bed.  The morning dawned, and so did my realisation that I had seriously stained said carpet which now had orange goo all over a big patch of it, just in front of a sofa.

After a bit of t’internet research I tried a diluted solution of lemon juice and warm water, patiently dabbing away whilst downing pints of squash and paracetamol.  No go – the goo wouldn’t budge, the colour was still distinctly orange.

Rather than go to the supermarket with a raging hangover, in my dazed state I opted to give Barkeeper’s friend a go. I use this for general surface cleaning and decided a paste of it, spread over the offending area, may do the job.  I also noted that I was prepared to buy a rug if it didn’t work. 

Luckily, a few mins later, the paste was dabbed off to reveal – beige!!  OK, there’s a few darker bits still but it’s oatmeal carpet really so it’s blended in ok.  Sigh of relief, threat of angry other half diminished, rug buying trip deferred.

Nowhere on the internet forums I looked on was this particular remedy recommended – cue me feeling like a household stain removal trailblazer! I’m off to order tonnes of the stuff now – got another few dinner parties coming up where similar misfortune could occur…

Enough of all this! December 12, 2007

I do love a good panto and particularly our rugby club’s annual effort, which is cobbled together by a few of the usual suspects, who take a break from supping cider at the bar to write dubious scripts loosely based on a popular production.

This year’s effort is going to be just as good as past shows and I was pleased to see the prolific use of that ever-popular script-tool: “Anyway, enough of all this!”, to move the story on at frequent intervals, basically when the writers couldn’t think of a funny enough link line.  I myself as a main character say it at least five times in the three scenes I am in, so I’m sure the audience will be sussing out that we aren’t the best crafters of a quality script by the time the panto ends.

Mind you, that’s assuming we get our lines right and actually say, “Anyway, enough of all this!” when we should!  Going on past productions, by the time we get on stage (after an afternoon drinking away the nerves) we’ll be lucky to walk straight and slur out a rough idea of the plot line.  Kids still seem to love it though…