Hen Party 1: 4 days to go

The preparations for Bride 1's hen party have hit fever pitch. With the Chief Bridesmaid en route from New Zealand the majority of the work has fallen to us lesser mortal bridesmaids. My week is shaping up to look like this:

Monday

• Job interview for really good job that I'd love

Tuesday

• Get up early to buy tax for car which ran out two days previously
• Pick up parcels from Post Office (for hen party 3)
• Go to two different supermarkets to buy ingredients for baking for hen party
• Get bridesmaid dress fitted 
• Go to different shopping centre to try on potential dress for Wedding 2
• Learn how to make meringue
• Practice baking for the hen party

Wednesday

• Make up mix CDs of cheerful songs to play at the hen party
• Finish sorting out my room and do laundry

Thursday

• Bake butterfly cookie lollies for the hen party bags
• Bake mini chocolate cupcakes
• Fill party bag with goodies for the hens

Friday

• Prepare mini lemon meringue and strawberry cheesecake pies
• Decorate butterfly cookies
• Ice cupcakes
• Buy helium balloons
• Drive to Rugby with baked goods and balloons safely in the boot
• Distract Bride whilst we sneak surprise mystery guest into her house (her sister who is chief bridesmaid and supposed to be travelling in Asia on her way home from living in New Zealand for the last two years)
• Bridesmaid sleepover
• Freak out because I haven't heard about the perfect job yet

Saturday

• Get up at the crack of dawn
• Drive 4 complete strangers to the canal
• Have a lesson in driving a narrowboat
• Decorate said narrowboat with balloons and banners
• Drive narrowboat for 3 hours to the nearest pub for lunch whilst the hens drink pink fizz and eat cupcakes
• Drive narrowboat back again
• Drive 4 not-so-strangers back to Bride's house
• Cook BBQ and mix cocktails for the hens
• Be a gracious hostess (ie try not to get drunk and embarrass self in front of new friends or fall asleep in the corner)
• Wrap Bride in toilet paper wedding dress
• Play other cringingly embarrassing hen party games that I am yet to research
• Wash up and generally clean up
• Collapse into bed (hopefully!)

Sunday

• Bridesmaid day of fun (yet to be determined fun)
• Drive home again

Shouldn't be too hard or much work, right?! What could possibly go wrong?? Well I was thinking about this in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep before the job interview and wrote a little list:

1. Bride thinks it's all a lame idea, hates it and is disappointed
2. Mystery guest surprise goes all wrong or someone lets the cat out of the bag
3. Hens don't get on and are stuck on a very small boat for six hours of awkwardness
4. Boat crashes or sinks or refuses to move
5. We balls up the locks and have to get rescued, and end up looking ridiculous
6. Canal is ugly, boat is horrid and pub is non-existent
7. All the baking gets destroyed in the car or is just generally vile
8. Being unable to drink all day because of driving duties will make me very in need of a drink by the time we get back to the Bride's house and I get sloshed whilst cooking the BBQ and embarrass the Bride who promptly disowns me
9. So tired from all mad preparations, sleepless nights of worrying, getting up early and rushing around like a blue arse fly that there will be no energy left for small talk - will be miserable antisocial cow with eyebags the size of shopping trolleys and will probably cry
10. We give all the guests food poisoning with the BBQ food

Surprisingly enough writing this list didn't cure the insomnia, I expect it made it worse! To top it off I had a chat with my bridesmaid counterpart who will be joining me in this list of joy, she has chewed off all her fingernails. We make quite a pair but at least we're in it together! 

If I survive this weekend I will be giving a full report next week!

Another worrying realisation...

Last night I fulfilled my grand-daughterly duties and stayed in for dinner with my beloved grandparents. Dinner with them can be a bit of a minefield at the best of times (best of times = having siblings plus their other halves as backup), trying to dodge the jellyfish comments takes an awful lot of energy or an awful lot of wine (particular favourite, Grandma circa 2001: "you don't really have the complexion to pull off dark hair" not so much jelly fish as electric eel!) Anyway last night we got round to talking about next year and what a big one it is; the schedule of celebrations goes like this:

• Mum and Dad's 35th wedding anniversary
• Grandma and Grandad's 60th wedding anniversary (quite how they've put up with each other for that long I'll never know!)
• Sister's wedding
• Great Aunt and Uncle's 40th wedding anniversary
• My 30th birthday

Wait a minute...did I say my 30th birthday?!?!?! I'M GOING TO BE 30 NEXT YEAR. Cue severe depression. Now, I have never been very good at dealing with my birthday, the awkward moments of opening presents in front of people and having to feign sheer delight at the contents, the cringingly embarrassing singing of happy birthday whilst everyone looks at you, the endless photos that you have to be centre of....etc etc. All in all I'm just not very good at being the centre of attention and I hate it! Also there's the awful knowledge that for another year, no progress has been made whatsoever in my sad pathetic life. 

Last year, for my 28th, I decided that the only way to deal with the impending doom of being another year older and no further on with becoming a grown up was to run away to the middle of the desert with Kirsti and to watch sunrise over Uluru. This was a desperate attempt to feel insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, my birthday wouldn't matter compared to such ancient history and cultural wonderment. Hmmmmm can't say it worked really. I still turned 28, I just had to get up at 4:30 after sleeping in a freezing cold tent and then tramp around the surprisingly humid desert (stupid La Nina ruining the weather!) without having washed my hair. With the power of hindsight I can perhaps say that it wasn't my most brilliant plan. Still I got to see Uluru, which was fairly spectacular, I wasn't at work, I had a birthday curry and I didn't get homesick because I couldn't ring home with no signal in the middle of the desert. Result! I actually had a really good time and it's certainly one to tell the grandchildren that I'll never have (no jellyfishing from this imaginary Granny!) 

So my plan for dealing with the big Three O...well I reckon there are three options:

1. Pretend that it's not happening and hope that it'll go away by perhaps staying in with a bottle of wine and some chocolate in my pyjamas singing "All By Myself" Bridget stylee; or
2. Run off on holiday to somewhere fantastic, drink pina coladas on the beach and flirt with inappropriate backpackers and/or diving instructors; or
3. Stick two fingers up to 30 by throwing a massive party, insisting everyone brings a single man with them and having a wonderful drunken time singing along to "I need a Hero" at the top of my voice with all the people I love most in the world

I'm kind of liking option number 3, if I start planning it now with 16 months to go I might be over it by the time  it arrives. It's certainly overshadowing the impending doom of turning 29 in three and a half months (who's counting?!) which in it's self is excellent news! And how will I be celebrating this year? I'm going to someone else's hen weekend of course *rolls eyes*

The Travel Trollop did a bad/good* thing!

*delete as appropriate

The problem with being unemployed and terminally bored is that it inevitably leads to mischief; those itchy feet start itching away and grand plans start forming in my mushy brain. I’ve been home for nearly four months now and with no job in sight predictably my thoughts turn to other ways to keep myself amused. So when an opportunity presented itself, a germ of an idea took root and I had to go for it...

So the bad/good thing? I just booked flights to New York for September. Eeeeek. I’m guilty of spending money and time on something that is totally un-wedding related...bad Sara! It’s bad because I have no way of paying off the credit card and I have a millionty other things that I need to spend that money on; good because, well it’s New York and I’ve never been. Bad because I told my family that I couldn’t afford to go on holiday with them so I’ll be in the bad books; good because I get to see Kirsti (major amount of squeeeeeeeeing involved!).

Turns out that I don’t really care that I can’t afford to go. I need something to look forward to that isn’t a hen party or wedding, it’s cheaper than flying to Australia to see Kirsti and I really really want to go. Bit of a no brainer really and I completely blame Miss "I'm going to the USA in Sept, shame you can't come too" Kirsti. I was going to turn up at Grand Central Station and surprise her but it seems that I’m keeping enough secrets already and it was impossible not to blab. 

So now I have something else to be organising but at least it's something for me and will be AMAZING!

The movie of my life - Bridesmaids

On Saturday Brides 4 and 5, two fellow bridesmaids and I trundled off to the cinema to see Bridesmaids, for research purposes of course. I had heard many good things from everyone who had seen it and was naturally very excited! I wasn’t disappointed.

I have a new hero in Kirsten Wiig. She is, quite frankly, a genius. Not only is she gorgeous and her acting wonderfully funny and touching in all the right places but she co-wrote the thing so she’s really clever too! If you’ve not seen her in Whip It, I really recommend renting it, although be warned, it’ll lead you to dust off your pink Barbie roller skates and fishnet tights!

When I grow up I want to be just like  Kirsten Wiig!

Poor old Annie, it didn’t take much for me to drum up empathy for her. We seem to be in a frighteningly similar situation; single, broke, living with our mums, unemployed and with a crappy love life. We even share that Bridget Jones-esque feeling of inadequacy when faced with smug marrieds and people with careers. Luckily I don’t have to go through anywhere near the level of crap that she has to with my bridal parties. None of my fellow bridesmaids will go out of their ways to ensure the train wreckage that Rose Burn’s character Helen does and my sister would never dream of demoting me to an ordinary bridesmaid. Mind you, it ends up ok for her, she gets the girl (well girly-man Irish cop) and makes up with her BFF and totally makes bitchface Helen shrivel HOORAH! 

Perhaps there’s hope for me after all...

Anyway go and see it if you fancy a lot of laughs, some cringingly gross bits and a musical finale! 

Well durr!

Yesterday I went into the health food shop to see if I could find anything that might help me to get to sleep. I found this:

Much to my delight, last night when I went to make up a brew and read the instructions, I discovered this helpful health warning:

I genuinely laughed out loud, what use is sleepy tea if it doesn’t make you drowsy?!

Incidentally, it didn’t cause drowsiness hence why I’m writing this post at 12:23am *rolls eyes in despair*

Take That and Party (we don't need Robbie Williams)

Thursday will go down as one of my favourite days ever for it was the day that I got to revisit the early 90s, the time that fashion forgot, and do what I was never allowed to do when I was 12. I got to go and scream at Take That!

Now, I was never a huge fan of Gary, Mark, Howard, Jason and Robbie when I was in primary school. I just wasn’t one of those girls who was devastated when Robbie quit or threatened suicide when they split up (although I do remember the day it happened, weird!), I didn’t own their tapes or the dolls or have a TT lunch box nor did I have their posters on my wall. No, I was  a Boyzone fan, there was no room in my heart for anyone other than Ronan Keating. They may have featured on the odd mix tape or two recorded off the radio top 40 countdown on a Sunday evening but that was as far as it went. Well a part from making up a dance to Could it be Magic at my friend Catherine Taylor’s house one rainy afternoon, her brother had it on vinyl and we had a terrible argument because we couldn’t agree on the lyrics!

Love the fact that Nobbie was
photoshopped in as an afterthought!

Nostalgia, it turns out, does strange things to women in their late 20s, 30s, 40s......When the first tour was announced I wasn’t bothered at all about spending a lot of money on seeing a band that I never really liked who were missing a member. By the time the hype got to me it was too late. Everyone but me had a ticket and it turned out to be the most amazing night of their lives, bar none! Suddenly Take That were everywhere, all over the radio and TV, they’d released new CDs and they were doing it all without Robbie and more to the point, doing it brilliantly without Robbie. So I got sucked in and swore that next time they toured I would be there.

I was in Australia when the announced their Progress Tour, it was the middle of the night when the tickets went on sale. I was powerless in the fight to get hold of the small pieces of card that meant the difference between total bliss and crushing misery. I had arranged with Bride 3 that she and a small army of minions would try to get tickets for us, Groom 3, Chief Bridesmaid 3 and her boyfriend and that we’d go as a merry band of five. I put my trust in them and tried to sleep...

Imagine my delight when I switched on my lap top the following morning to find an email in my inbox with the subject line I GOT THEM!!!!!!!! and nothing else.  Of course when I explained to the Aussies in my office what the stupid grin on my face was for, they didn’t have a clue, but I didn’t care if they thought I was nuts, or more nuts than normal, I was very very excited!

More precious than gold dust

Nine months later we found ourselves sat on the floor of Wembley stadium with 85,116 other people that had managed to get tickets, two hours early. The sense of excitement and oestrogen levels were through the roof (not that Wembley has a roof) and it felt totally different to the last time I was there jetlagged after getting straight off a 24 hour nightmare journey from Costa Rica to watch my beloved Pompey lost on penalties to Man Utd in the FA Community Shield match 2008.

I’d never been to a big stadium gig before so I didn’t really know what to expect. It pretty much blew me away. The supporting act was The Pet Shop Boys, who I thought were a strange choice for what was essentially a grown up teenybopper party, but it worked. They were pretty fabulous and electropopped their way through 45 minutes of hits with their strange cuboid dancers!

Pet Shop Boys

By this point Wembley was nearly full, I tried in vain to hunt for some other friends that were there, that was pointless! More and more people piled in. We were squashed and couldn’t see much but we were right in the thick of it! There was a two minute countdown on the screen and then it began...

I was hooked from the beginning when they opened with Rule the World, one of my favourite new ones, sans Robbie. It was a bit touch and go when they made us sing the national anthem (at a concert, seriously?!) but I screamed, I shouted along, I waved my arms like a mad thing and I jumped up and down all with that mad grin on my face until...they brought out Robbie...

My heart sank, I was rather hoping that he had pulled out and buggered off to space, or prison, but no here he was arsing about on stage as if to all the world he wasn’t the most annoying and ridiculous smug git on the planet. This was all much to the screaming delight of all the mad women and some of the poor trampled on, dragged along men too. He shall be hereafter unaffectionately known as Dobbie or perhaps Nobbie for he is a giant walking penis. He swore profusely, he sweated even more profusely and he danced around with his hand down the front of his trousers. Add to the mix a sprinkling of insincere patriotism, looking old, wheezing through the routines and forgetting the words to his own songs along with lying on some moving scaffolding over the crowd so that we could touch his precious fingers and he lost me. I thought he came across as a total arsehole but perhaps that was just me, everyone else seemed to love it, and him. Luckily, after a vomit inducing rendition of Angels dedicated to those that had 'passed on' or simply weren't with us because they hadn't gotten tickets, he wheezed his way offstage and we could go back to the real reason we were there – the other four non-nobhead members of the band. Hoorah!

Look at me, I'm god! No you're
just a big nobhead with no nob!

Oh Nobbie, you're too old to
behave like a douche!

Jump, jump, jump!
Wishful thinking...

They then did some of their newer stuff which, as I hadn't done my homework since coming back from Oz, I didn't really know. But they did have some phenomenally mental dancers on ropes doing gymnastics in a wall of water though – that was pretty clever!

Weeeeeeeeee!

Then came the bit I was waiting for...a grand piano appeared and the 90s were cranked up to the max. The deep recesses of my brain where I keep useless information and song lyrics didn’t let me down and it was AWESOME! They even resurrected some of their classic retro dance moves and flung some shapes 90s style – hats off to them I say!

Watch those necks boys!
You don't want to pull something!

Really though we were all waiting for Never Forget. Pray was good, A Million Love Songs happened, Back for Good predictably went off, the snippets of Take That and Party and Could it be Magic offered some comic relief but everyone loves Never Forget, so we waited with baited breath, knowing that with each song it got closer. The giant robot made its way along the sticking out bit of stage carrying the boys until it got to the end and they started singing the choir bit a capella and everyone went nuts. Six and a half minutes of utter pleasure, 85,121 people united with their arms in the air clapping and singing at the top of their voices. It was almost worth the £60 just for that on its own, almost!

By the end of Never Forget the robot was
standing with his arms out - very clever!

Well 85,120 actually because this guy had his earplugs in...odd place to find yourself if you're not a fan!

Pink and blue shirt man is wearing earplugs
I didn't think my singing was that bad!

I've had some pretty spectacular days in my capacity as a Travel Trollop, I've been diving with Manta Rays and sharks, held a wild anaconda, seen sunrise over Uluru and Angkor Wat, abseiled down waterfalls, seen jaguars in the wild, been to Rio, hugged a 1300 year old tree, climbed Sydney Harbour Bridge but I have to say that this was right up there with all of them!

Gush over, back to reality....

Domestic goddess-ing

So today I took a leaf out of Kirsti’s book and decided to do a bit of baking. I’ve been helping out the lovely folks at my old office (for my sins) mostly as a way of catching up and having a good gossip. Ever since I got back, my ex-colleague Jordane has been bugging me to bake her cupcakes. Tomorrow I’m going in to deal with a massive mailout and taking these with me: 

Hopefully yumptious marshmallow cupcakes

From the Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook, they are ordinary vanilla sponge fairy cakes but you melt some marshmallows in a bowl over some hot water, pink ones of course, scoop out a bit of the cake fill it with the melted marshmallow and then ice with buttercream icing mixed with mini-marshmallows. Turns out that it’s easier said than done to get melted marshmallow to behave itself in any way, shape or form. I ended up covered in sticky pink mess along with every item of cutlery in the kitchen and there wasn’t much marshmallow inside the cakes at all! 

Melted marshmallow

Big sticky spidery marshmallow mess!

The long and short of it is that I was planning on making these for Bride 1’s hen party but considering the mess they made, I may have to come up with another wee plan! Suggestions on a postcard please....

A little ray of sunshine...

So it turns out that blog posts are also like job interviews and buses, so here is a second for today.  My lovely friend Kirsti (A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings) presented me with my first Blog Award today, this Sunshine Award, being new to this I was pretty chuffed! Thanks poppet! 

 

So, apparently there are rules to these things and they are to tell you all a little bit about myself and then pass the award on to 10 other bloggers. As the only bloggers I know have already had it, I’ve decided to mush together the rules and tell you 10 things about me instead.

1.       I love lists – I write them about anything and everything and find it immensely satisfying to cross things off

2.      Trees are my favourite things, the older, knobblier and twistier the better. Forests make me happy. I once found a tree that was over 8m around and therefore about 1300 years old, just imagine what it’s seen!

3.       I own over 30 pairs of flipflops, and yes I mean flipflops not thongs or jandals weirdos!

4.       I wish Julie Andrews was my extra Granny, I have an unnatural love for singing nuns

5.       Tea runs through my veins instead of blood

6.       I love cake but mostly for the icing

7.       I was born and raised by the sea, I get off kilter if I haven’t seen it or smelled it for a while

8.       There is nothing more joyous on earth than popping bubble wrap

9.       I have been in love with the lovely Oscar winning Colin Firth for over half of my life *swoons*

10.   I am the Queen of Procrastination-ville, why do something now when you can leave it to the last minute?!? 

Fascinating insight huh!? 

The thoroughly miserable truth about job hunting

Job interviews are like buses, you wait around for ages and then two turn up at once. I’m pretty sure that Monday was sent by someone not very nice to destroy me. I hate job interviews, I’m rubbish at them. I’m not one of these people who can talk for ages about how wonderful they are, I’m not very good when I’m put on the spot and I’m just about the most nervous wreck in the world when I have to meet strangers, especially a panel that want to catch you out and are sitting there judging you, what you’re wearing and your answers.

On Monday I had managed to line up two interviews one at a school in the north of the city and the second in a town about an hour and a half away by train. Frightening enough on their own, I wasn’t looking forward to having to go through two of the dreaded things. If I had known what a horrible day was waiting for me I would have climbed back under the duvet and ignored the alarm clock.

 I am a terminal insomniac at the best of times; there was no hope for a good night’s sleep before the day of doom! I woke up after about four hours sleep feeling groggy and wrong and that was just the beginning. Phase one of the day went pretty well, I got to the first interview in plenty of time so wandered up the high street to get some hayfever tablets as I had forgotten to take some. By this point after walking to the train station and then to the chemist my feet were starting to get sore in my interview heels.

The first interview was awful; I couldn’t seem to get my head together to answer the questions. It didn’t help that I couldn’t really work out what they were asking me half the time and the other half they seemed to be asking me the same questions but worded slightly differently. There’s only a certain number of times that you can say that you’re really organised, efficient and committed without starting to sound like you’re either trying to convince yourself or that you’re a bit mad! I wasn’t holding out much hope by the time they actually let me go.

I was a bit early for the train to Andover for interview two so I thought I might as well go and get some lunch from the bakery to eat on the train. By now my feet were severely protesting (considering they are happiest in flip flops or bare it wasn’t surprising!) so when I got on the train I plastered myself up. Turns out they were actually bleeding. Fun times! I get to Basingstoke where I am to change to the Andover train. By a cruel twist of fate the signals near London had broken down and no trains were getting through, the guard couldn’t really tell me what was going on and thought it would be at least 40 minutes before things got moving again. I had an hour to get to Andover and to the office. After a minor fit of indecision I decided that the best course of action would be to hop on a bus and just hope that it would get me there in time. I thought I had better call the office to explain that I might be a bit late and it wasn’t my fault but when I tried the number I couldn’t get through, I left a message on the voicemail and called the agency that set up the interview, no answer or voicemail there at all. The agency finally picked up but the woman dealing with the account was off that day, helpful! The poor woman that answered the phone must have sensed my utter distress because she went off to sort it out for me, turns out the woman taking the interviews had had a family bereavement in the night and wasn’t going to be there...great! In the meantime the office called me back so I could apologise. The bus took the phenomenally long touring route of North Hampshire villages before finally dropping me off by which point I was bursting for the loo (fun fact about the Travel Trollop:  she has a tiny tiny bladder!) I arrived at the office only about 20 minutes late (via the shopping centre toilets) and rang the doorbell. Nothing happened. I rang it for about 5 minutes and knocked on the door. Nothing happened. Resisting the urge to scream I pop downstairs and ring the bell for a different department and get them to let me in. I met the people taking the interview and they were so nice to me I could have cried. They gave me a glass of water and made me take five minutes to gather my thoughts before calling me in. This one went so much better than the other one, no curve ball questions, no repeating myself till I was blue in the face. They seemed genuinely pleased with my answers and I could see myself working there with them. All good then. The ordeal seemed to be over.

Feeling slightly giddy with relief I hobbled through the town centre back towards the train station. I decided to stop at a cafe and have a cup of tea and a breather before getting on the train. All things were fine until I got back to Basingstoke where chaos was reigning supreme. The trains were still not really getting through and there were massive massive delays. One train was over 2 hours and 40 minutes late! I was lucky; mine was only running 57 minutes behind schedule! The long and the short of it is that it took me over three and a half hours to get back to Portsmouth and I’d barely crossed the county border! Luckily I have a very kind sister who came to pick me up from the station and drop me home, handy because I could barely stand let alone walk the twenty minutes home, where I had an hour to get changed and eat before heading out to see some friends (Brides 2 and 5) for a glass of wine and a good natter, my saving grace. An excellent avoidance technique for the parents, who were just being supportive, wanted to dissect everything and make a decision about which I’d accept if I was offered both. I just wanted to curl up and not think about it for a very long time!

You can tell that you’ve had a bad day when you sleep like the dead until 11:30 the next morning without even rolling over!  I woke up on Tuesday feeling hung over (strange considering I’d had nothing but tea), jet lagged and fluey and more than a little sorry for myself.

It turns out that I didn’t get either of the jobs so the whole day was a waste of time and money. I heard from each of them within minutes of each other which made for a not very fun Wednesday morning. But after many cups of tea, lots of chocolate and some lovely messages from my dear friends I felt infinitely better. Apparently it just wasn’t meant to be and something much better is waiting around the corner for me...great. I wish it would bloody jump out and let me know so I can get on with it! 

Easter Christmas – A new holiday is born!

You may remember that I was in Australia for most of last year and therefore missed my traditional family Christmas at home. I had a lovely Christmas with my adopted second family in Melbourne, The Grahams, but, eventhough I’m not a massive fan of the festive season, there’s nothing quite like your own Mum’s Christmas Dinner. So the long and short of it is, I made her buy an extra turkey and keep it in the freezer until I got home so that we could have a re-run on Easter Sunday. Now my family being as they are got a bit carried away. Not only did she buy an extra turkey but crackers and a Christmas pudding as well. We went up into the loft at my sister’s house and dug out their box of decorations, put up fairy lights and tinsel and decorated the mini Christmas tree with wooden eggs and a chick instead of a fairy. We sprinkled Christmas confetti and baubles on the table, sat around getting merrily tipsy in our Christmas hats whilst the neighbours walking past who happened to glance through the window smirked and thought we were mad! It was lovely, so much nicer than real Christmas; no ridiculous hype starting four months before, no rushing around trying to buy presents that people won’t like or need and having to feign some joy when you unwrap the awful whatever it is that they’ve bought you, it was warm, we didn’t have to go to church or to any awful office Christmas parties and we didn’t have to invite the family members that we only see at Christmas, in fact we didn’t invite anyone else, just Mum, Dad, me, my brother, his girlfriend, my sister and her fiancé. Best of all was the cold turkey, chips and salad that we had on Easter Boxing Day, quite possibly one of my all time favourite meals and an alien concept to our antipodean cousins....

A slightly deranged looking Easter Christmas Tree fairy

Mini chocolate marshmallow Christmas puds that I made
for those of us that don’t like yucky real Christmas pudding

How an Easter Christmas table should look!

Now if all Christmases could be like this, I would be a much bigger fan!

A progress report

The last few weeks have been a total blur of catching up with people, gadding about the country generally having a marvellous time. New houses have been visited, babies cooed over, engagement rings admired, fiancés met, vast amounts of BBQ/picnic/pub food and cider/Pimms/bubbly have been consumed, all helped out by the unseasonably beautiful weather that we have been blessed with over here. I’ve even celebrated Easter Christmas (a new family tradition that involves Christmas dinner on Easter Sunday complete with crackers and decorations because I missed real Christmas last year!) and been on a living room safari camping trip with my godson, George.

It hasn’t all been fun and games though, I have also put some serious hours into planning hen parties for weddings 1 and 3 as well as trying on 30+ bridesmaid dresses. The good news is that we have chosen a dress (well a skirt and top) for wedding 3 and they’ve been ordered, (and not in size 18s either! Hoorah!) and are well on the way to having a most excellent hen party for Bride 1. I’m 10 days into a 2 week kick start diet and have lost 5 pounds already, which unfortunately means that eating no chocolate or cake really does pay off and it’s not just a vicious rumour circulated to make women feel guilty and miserable.

Is it any wonder that job hunting has taken a back seat when there’s so much fun to be had? or that I’m no further along with my moving to London plan? In fact I’m beginning to go off that idea...

Two worrying realisations...

1. I quite enjoyed watching the Royal Wedding - I thought it was going to be an horrendous tribute to everything I dislike about Britain and the monarchy but it turns out that it was a tasteful, romantic betrothal of two people that clearly love each other. Everyone looked lovely (ignoring of course Princess Beatrice's tapeworm hat) and happy and London looked wonderful in the sunshine in all it's Union Jack-ed glory (or is it Flag-ed? I can never remember which way round it goes). All in all a good excuse for a party and nice to have something less miserable in the news.

2. I'm not finding being involved in 5 weddings all that painful. I thought it would be a never ending misery-fest but so far I'm actually quite enjoying myself. I love planning things and writing lists so it's not surprising really that hen party organisation is turning out to be quite good fun. Although that might all change as the blessed events draw closer...

Clearly I'm broken and need to find a job as soon as possible in order to reawaken my jelly-like brain and get some sensible perspective!

Wedding 0.5 - Royal Wedding themed mini-madness!

My Mum is officially mad – today she made me go into her class of 5 year olds and be the official photographer whilst they acted out the royal wedding. There was Will and Kate, Harry as Best Man, four bridesmaids and the father of the bride, a ring, a cake, flowers, balloons and bunting. She even managed to rope in our poor local priest to take the ceremony. They walked down the aisle to the wedding march in front of the whole school and cut the cake in the playground reception which involved crisps, pink wafers and jammy dodgers! She even made me wear a dress for the occasion. Needless to say the children loved it, I wasn’t so sure.....

Wedding 1: 21 weeks to go DOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Wedding number one takes place on 3^rd September in Shrewsbury which is just under 5 months away.  Having been in Australia since the happy couple became engaged I’ve not really been involved in any planning. I was consulted over the bridesmaids’ dresses which will be floor length and, hunter green (otherwise known as St Edmund’s bogie green, the colour of my school uniform).

A week or so ago I received an email from my bridesmaid colleague stating that she had ordered her bridesmaid dress and that I should probably get a move on if I want mine altered in time for the big day. Grudgingly I dug out the old tape measure and did a quick 1, 2, 3 of bust, waist and hips. Balking slightly at quite how large they sound when in centimetres I called the wedding shop and prepared to put in my order. Now, I am not by any means skinny and I did put on a fair bit of weight, about a stone in fact, whilst I was in Australia (I blame homesickness comfort eating and my insatiable sweet tooth); but normally for a dress I would fit in about a UK size 12 so imagine my shame, disgust and outrage when the helpful and slightly baffled shop lady told me that I would have to order a size 18!! She clearly sensed my misery when she suggested that perhaps I would like to pop into the shop and have her measure me ‘properly’ (clearly I can’t be trusted with something so complex as a tape measure!) I reluctantly agreed and made an appointment for the following Monday.

I can, it turns out, use a tape measure effectively after all, those five years spent at university clearly paid off! Triumphantly I pointed out that those were the same measurements that I had given over the phone not realising that in fact that meant that I was indeed the dreaded size 18. The kind lady, still slightly baffled, pointed out that when ordering a dress order the dress in the size that fits your largest sized part so in my case although my bust is only a mere size 12, I have a size 18 waist and so the dress must be ordered in a size 18. I just don’t understand how, in the short space between my bust and my waist, and it is short I am only 5ft 2inches tall; I can jump up three whole dress sizes. It just doesn’t make sense. Clearly there is a conspiracy amongst bridesmaid dress makers to make bridesmaids feel rubbish and brides feel smug and skinny. All in all it’s very upsetting for a body-conscious weight obsessed permanent dieter. Contrary to all strong urges I didn’t give any creative suggestions as to where the dress could be shoved nor did I run to the hills screaming at the top of my lungs, I didn’t even scarper to the nearest airport and jump on the first available flight to a far flung destination. No, I sucked it up and dutifully handed over my credit card only flinching once or twice when the poor woman wrote out the receipt...perhaps I am developing a mature sense of inner poise, it is only a number after all...nah I went home and, rather counter productively, drowned the inner poise in half a box of Celebrations. HOORAH!

Five Weddings & No Funerals

Writing about five different weddings is going to get pretty confusing so I'm going to make it easier for myself and anyone silly enough to read my nonsense by giving a run down of each wedding and the key players.

Wedding 1 - Sept 2011
This is the wedding of one of my housemates from university, for simplicity we'll call her Bride 1. She met her intended, Groom 1, whilst we were in our final year at Bath University. She is currently training to be a doctor and is therefore uber busy and impossible to get hold of. I am one of a trio of bridesmaids, the other two are her sister, who lives in New Zealand, and our other ex-housemate, who is also Bride 3. Bride 1 announced her engagement and asked us to be bridesmaids via a Facebook message and since then I've hardly heard a peep out of her. To be fair, I have been living in Australia, so am mildly out of the loop despite this being the electronic age of communication. Bride 1 is slightly hopeless at keeping in touch at the best of times, I think we've all been together a grand total of 4 times since we left Bath 6 years ago so me and Bride 3 were a bit baffled to be asked to be bridesmaids to be honest. My key responsibilities on the day will be to wear the dress (hunter green, strapless and floor length), hold the flowers, smile and then not get too drunk, cry or fall over. I'm waiting for my proper brief at a weekend of planning to be held in May.

Wedding 2 - October 2011
Bride 2 and I have been friends since we were eight; we went to the same primary school, secondary school and college, Brownies, Guides and tennis lessons. I am meeting Groom 2 for the first time later today, they got together whilst I was away so I haven't had the pleasure yet. My main responsibility for this one is to do a reading but I also have a few more; look fabulous in a dress of my choice (woop woop to not being a bridesmaid), not get too drunk, cry or fall or fall over and generally have a marvellous time with all my lovely friends.

Wedding 3 - December 2011
I'm excited about this one, it'll be my first winter wedding and between two of my favourite people. Bride 3 is another housemate from university and she met Groom 3 whilst we were in our first year. I'm going to be bridesmaid along with her sister, we start dress shopping this weekend. Apparently my main responsibilities are to prevent the hen night from devloving into a horrible sordid affair with naked waiters, strippers and sex toys and to look after Mother of the Bride 3 on the day and stop her freaking out. The usual try not to not get too drunk, cry or fall or fall over also applies.


Wedding 4 - Aug 2012
This is the BIG one - Bride 4 is my little sister and bestest friend. I have so many responsibilities for this one that I can't list them. Mostly though I am the Chief Bridesmaid, hen weekend organiser and general wedding planner. The other two bridesmaids are our best friends that we grew up with, also sisters and we have a flower girl who is Groom 4's goddaughter. It's going to be great fun with all our family and friends there. Groom 4 is in the Navy so there will be officers in uniform everywhere complete with ceremonial swords (used for cutting the cake!?!) and they're going to have the reception in a lovely old building in the dockyard. It's going to be a beautiful day...


Wedding 5 - Sept 2012
Last but in no way least, is the wedding of one of my best friends. There aren't many details yet but it's going to be lovely. The best thing is that I have no responsibilities at all, as long as I'm there she'll be happy!


So they're the weddings in a nutshell, apologies that it doesn't make very interesting reading. More wedding based humiliation to come soon.....

Notes on being a Bridesmaid – The proposals...

I have been asked to be a bridesmaid at three out of the five weddings.  Well I say asked, does a Facebook message count as being asked? That was Bride 1, Bride 3 did it properly with an intercontinental Skype conversation and Bride 4 didn’t need to ask me, she’s my sister so naturally I am the Maid of Honour or Chief Bridesmaid or whatever it is these days. Actually I prefer Chief, it appeals to my ego and gives me a sense of power rather that making me feel like the tragic spinster I am! Bride 2 is making me do a reading. I’m not a natural choice considering public speaking of any kind makes me break out in hives but, as she keeps pointing out much to my dismay, I am her oldest friend. By that she means I’ve served the longest, over 20 years actually, so naturally I must read in the church. The only request that I’ve received from Bride 5 is that I dress up as a slug for her hen party...she was under the influence of many cosmopolitans at the time and therefore can’t be taken seriously...I hope.

Can you sense my excitement at the prospect of being so involved on these special days? The more I talk to people the more the feeling of dread grows. There is a multitude of stories about vile dresses, unreasonable bridezillas, excessively expensive hen weekends etc etc etc. Firstly I am not a girly girl, I’ve never had so much as a manicure in my life. I don’t feel at home in dresses or heels with mad hair and too much makeup; I like jeans and trainers.  Secondly I do not like people looking at me and judging, which is of course what all guests do at weddings, I myself am guilty of doing it. Lastly I don’t have a plus one to bring along to make the whole experience more bearable. I will be flying solo which is perhaps the toughest part especially at the weddings where I don’t really know anyone other than the happy couple. There’s nothing quite like celebrating how happy other people are to make you feel a bit alone and crappy.

That’s not to say that I’m not touched and honoured to be asked, I love all the brides dearly and there’s no way that I would refuse any of them anything. I don’t want to appear the ungrateful bitch; I know that they didn’t have to ask me, that out of all the people they know, it’s me that they want standing next to them on the biggest day of their lives, what could be a greater tribute to friendship? If they really want me tottering up the aisle behind them, getting drunk and crying whilst dancing to Tragedy on my own, then that’s what they shall have. I will wear the dress and the shoes, let them put hairspray in my hair and 3 layers of mascara on my lashes, I will hold dresses up in the toilet, I will chat to grannies and dance with small children, hell I’ll even catch the bouquet if necessary and I’ll do it all with a big happy smile on my face because that’s what best friends do!

I draw the line however, at dressing like a slug...