What Day is it? Happy Christmas, one and all.

I know, I know. I have been remiss. I've failed in my blogging duties and have not been here for weeks and weeks and weeks. This is because I have been everywhere else. You name it, I probably went there. The amount of time I have managed to spend at my hovel on the hill this month can be totalled in hours, not days.

I have composed some excellent blog entries in my head during that time. A very Freudian Christmas was one of the better ones, inspired my dream that I was so busy that I actually missed Christmas day entirely. At one stage there was the risk this might happen.

I am now not particularly excited about Christmas because all festive excitement is overshadowed by the prospect of January and a skeletal diary. I amy actually be able to live in the place where I live. I can move out of the car and stop eating quite so regularly at service stations. It's almost too much to think about. It may be my best Christmas present ever.

In between the jauntering around for work I have found time to deck the halls with holly, cut a tree down and throw on every decoration and make wreaths for the doors. None of this for my house but all for my parents house where I am spending Christmas. Chutney Mary and the Box of Frogs will both be here, as will Special Boy (the youngest much adored brother) and his wife, who he lovingly calls 'his nest of vipers'. Aaaa, Young Love.

So, I wish you all a happy Christmas laced with the usual family rifts, bitter looks, excess of chocolate and boxing day hangover and a tree laden with expensive presents that you actually want.

Happy Christmas.

The Bag of Joy

Here it is, the bag of joy that is all my very own. I am resisting the urge to sell it at the moment (even though they are going for over £200 on e bay!) as this is the only time in my whole life I have ever owned anything remotely fashionable and coveted.



It is also the only thing cheering me up from a hideous week of work ahead of me, a week made worse by the flu / cold / bubonic plague that has descended on me in the last 24 hours. I wish you all bags of joy - quite literally! I'm off again tonight to London, France tomorrow (just for the day you understand), then London again on Thursday before Dorset on Friday and back to Wales again on Friday night. The bag of joy is coming with me! Having said it was the only thing cheering me up, this isn't quite true. The best 12 hours of my year are lying just round the corner now.

You see, in between vast amounts of work, Thursday afternoon and evening are an interlude of great fabulousness. Princess Malice, a friend of many moons (genuinely called Princess Malice at one of her jobs which I can't be impressed enough by!!!) and I are going to The Berkeley Hotel for tea. I'm worried I won't actually be able to eat said tea because all the cakes and biscuits are in the shape of shoes, clothes and bags - designed by Alexander McQueen no less! Look -


Following this sybaritic indulgence we are going to the Annie Liebowitz exhibition and then, to round our day off we are going to see Eddie Izzard at the Lyric Theatre.

Now I love and adore Eddie, last time I saw him live I laughed so hard my stomach actually hurt, a lot, for a whole day afterwards. I am determined I shan't succumb to the plague as nothing on earth can make me miss this afternoon and evening of sheer heaven. I mean seriously - cakes, biscuits, shoes, bags, glamorous exhibitions and then comedy. Does it get any better?

Now, must head off and pack the bag of joy for my trip. Au revoir for now....

I have a big red sack - Ho HO Ho!

I went to London and back yesterday. I'm slightly unnerved by the fact that I scarcely remember the journey back. Is that a bad thing???? I was cross all the way down at the fact that I could have been at home rather than driving a 500 mile round trip for work when I have a hideous ten days of travelling ahead of me, and in fact have to go back to London on Tuesday afternoon. I grumbled to myself a lot.

The meeting was fine though in a freezing cold house filled with junk mail, repellent carpets and no coffee. It finished around 4.45 so I thought I would dash into Gap to see if I could get the 'must have' Mulberry bag that they are doing as a limited edition. For some reason I thought nobody in the world except me would know about this. Turns out it has been in Grazia, the Saturday Telegraph and probably the Martian Times and that the world had been queuing on Oxford Street since dawn in the hope of getting their little mits on one of these must have items.

I stood in the minute Gap I had chosen and looked crestfallen. I muttered about driving four hours each way to get one of these precious items and then a solitary tear trickled down my dewy cheek. The woman next to me said not to worry, nobody had got one of them and her mother had queued with a picnic and a tent all weekend and still failed. I sniffed inconsolably.

At this point I should point out that though the bag is a beautiful shade of red, and is under a £100 rather than the more usual £400 I wasn't that broken hearted. I hadn't really thought I would get one, I'd just thought it would be nice to be with the times for once, rather than so backwards I am only just buying the in things when they return to fashion for the second or third time. By this point though I was verging on earning an Oscar so I couldn't cheer up that rapidly.

The bored assistant dealing with me pointed out that they hadn't had the bags anyway - only Oxford Street had stocked them. I looked mulish and said that wasn't fair. She looked a bit more bored and pointed out that a limited edition meant 'not that many' so they couldn't be everywhere. I did see this but refused to look any happier at being thwarted in my consumerish urges.

At this point one of the Sales Girls said "Didn't somebody return one of them to us earlier today?" My little ears pricked up. "Really? you might have one? Can I get it?" Instantly, my hopes were dashed. "Sorry, it's gone". Second sales girl said there was a helpline I could ring and she would get me the number. I wondered whether there were psychiatrists lined up on the other end ot deal with disconsolate shoppers and stumped off after her as she went to fetch the number.

When I returned, number in hand, misery in my face, first sales girl came up to me and said. "What the hell. We have the returned back on hold for someone but they haven't come in and YOU CAN HAVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!". Unbelievable. I skipped down the stairs after her and watched her open a secret cupboard and reveal the lovely bag. I barged past an inept man trying to buy T shirts at the till nextdoor (turned out it was Harry Enfield - not that I noticed) and handed over my exhausted plastic. Two minutes later - the bag was mine!

Now I am the proud owner of a genuine 'it bag'. The question I have for you is this. Do I keep it or do I sell it on e bay where they are going for £160 upwards???

Aaargh decisions decisions.

Frittering away a Saturday

I was going to write a seriously ranty blog entry about the joys of being a woman and waking up at 5am to discover that you've got your dates muddled up and need to track down tampax in the dark of pre dawn, cursing and swearing all the while at life in general. I lay in bed and considered the euphemisms for 'period' and why they all feel a little mealy mouthed. Here are some that I came up with:

The Curse: popular at school as it had a cool edge to it and accurately describes how it feels sometimes
Monthlies: I hate this one. It sounds like a Good housekeeping delivery, and a little too homely for me.
Period: I know, I've sort of covered this one but I don't like saying 'I have my period'. It's clinical, completely undescriptive and it niggles me for reasons I can't fathom.
Surfing the Crimson Tide: This is nicked from the film Clueless, but I always rather liked it. It's a little lippy, has humour (which nothing else about it does) and somehow is gross in an appealing way.
Monthly Flow: Just as bad as monthlies frankly, and there is nothing remotely 'flowing' about being hunched over in agony, feeling the size of a house with an extension and wanting to hide under the duvet.

Anyway, I wasn't going to write about the joys of my monthly flows was I? I was going to write about the fact that it is, SHIT, 3.15pm and I have done absolutely nothing of any use all day.

On a normal weekend this would not necessarily be problematic as I could be a whirling dervish on Sunday and get loads done but I have to drive to London and back for a meeting (yes, on a Sunday) so that rules out any frenzied efficiency on the home front.

I am going back over to the house right now to get cracking.

How Green is my Valley?

How green is my valley? I'll tell you - VERY GREEN with just a smattering of snow left, which is decreasing as I watch. Overnight, my world has turned to literal SLUSH. Everywhere I go, there is transluscent snow that soaks through everything and then freezes your feet off. For some reason it has stayed on the road for far longer than the fields, and if it freezes now I shall be ice bound, which will make a change to snow bound, but will be equally irritating. However, I won't complain or speculate on the worst case scenario, because I'M FREE!!!!!!! I can go anywhere, do anything, the world is my oyster and I'm going to shuck it and look for pearls.

Well, actually I'm going to go to the physio, the picture framer and the supermarket - oh, and the butcher and the post office.

Ah, the joys of freedom!

Snow, snow, snow

I'm having a rubbish 24 hours. Made it back from London yesterday and got my car stuck on my drive in the snow. I can officially tell you that there is nothing worse than feeling your car slide back down a hill with you in it, no ability to steer and no brakes! I finally ground to a halt and wedged the car into place with large rocks, having fallen spectacularly on my rear carrying said rocks into place. I then walked home the last quarter mile with my luggage and the loyal hound frisking around as if it was his birthday.

With some help from neighbours I got my car out of the ditch this morning and up the hill but I can't get it back off the hill so am stuck with walking on and off the mountain and borrowing other people's cars if I want to get anything done. Grrrr. I have spent the last hour walking to the nearest grit bin and filling my trusty wheelbarrow with grit to try and salt the road to the house in the hope that by tomorrow it will have melted a path for me to extract me and my car on. Unfortunately I just looked at tonight's forecast and it said more snow and temperatures of -6 so I may have to do the whole thing again tomorrow.

What is so ridiculous is that the snow in the valley has all melted. There is nothing more frustrating than having a view of green fields and being snowed in. It makes you feel like a completely inept GIRL!!!!!

Today, I really am Single and Surviving - Just.

Awards and Luxuries, and it's only Monday!

It's a frosty morning and I am mid way through my packing, but as I have the concentration level of a gnat on drugs, I thought I would run over to the office and check out what was happening in blogging land. What do I find? An award! For me!!! Thanks Bevchen - I think you've made my week!!! Here it is.....



Katyboo has also pointed out that I forgot my luxury item on my Desert Island Meme. Shame on me! I wondered about the Loyal Hound, but then I worried that he might not like the heat, so my luxury would be.............. (drum roll please), a saucepan please Bob.

I mean how am I going to do cordon bleu cooking on a desert island without one? It's unthinkable, and since Ray Mears is already going to be living with Katyboo on her island and he wasn't an option, I think a pan may be the next best thing.

Now, must go and finish packing, defrost the car and go and earn a living. Happy Mondays everyone!