The 2015 Book Challenge

Happy New Year blogosphere!

Somehow it always comes as a kind of surprise to me, the passing of time. I mean, I'm aware that it is passing, I just never expect it to pass as fast as it does and I feel like I've barely made any New Year's Resolutions before its December 31st all over again.
I am totally the 'oooh doesn't time fly' kind of a cliche. It's a problem that I don't know quite how to solve.

I'm making resolutions this year, as I do every year, but am still mulling them over so if you're looking for a blog post on how I plan to improve my life in 2015, well, this isn't it.

What this is, instead, is a post whereby I declare my pals to be absolute diamonds. Seriously, I must not have hit the snooze button on the day friends were handed out because mine are so excellent I can only have been first in line. (I've hit the snooze button every day since though. Waking up in a morning? Totally not my thing.)

The reason for my praising their collective excellence today, is that I received some excellent Christmas gifts, like for example the bag given to me by my BFF, that is upcycled from an actual copy of Alice in Wonderland (Those who know me like she so obviously does, know is The Book. I own more copies of it than is probably fine, I have no idea how to begin to care about that.)

A bag, made of Alice.

I'm telling you, so much pretty. I made some weird kind of squealing noise when I unwrapped it. So much pretty.

It's not the only truly excellent gift I got though (I told you, front of the line) and this one, from my pal Sarah, is one that you're going to hear a lot about this year.

Sarah got me a ribbon tied pile of sealed envelopes -  one for each month, a handful (7 actually) marked ICE - and a book.

She's set me, as she also seems to know me rather well, a book challenge! How marvellous is that!?
I don't know much about how it's going to work out, other than that each envelope contains a challenge for that month, I'm not allowed to re-read, and the book for January is Bill Bryson's 'One Summer' which I am RIDICULOUSLY excited about because Jazz Age America people: the roaring twenties. Al Capone and prohibition and the Flappers and talking movies and Atlantic flights and all that, well, jazz!
When people ask me, as people do, what decade I'd choose to live in, if it were in fact a choice, then pretty much every time I find myself thinking 'the twenties.'
I mean, there are other periods that interest me, others times I think I'd fit in with quite well, and perhaps I've just over read Fitzgerald (can you over read Fitzgerald?) but there's something about the twenties that just appeals to me. Needless to say, I cannot wait to read this book and I cannot wait to see where the rest of this challenge will take me.

I'll tag all the related posts with 'the 2015 book challenge' if you're interested - which well, it's a book challenge. Why would you not be! For now though I can't stay and chat; I have 600 pages of Bryson to read...

in which I have a wifi free weekend.

Hello folks!

I write today feeling much more relaxed than I may have been had I posted last week. Ian and I spent the bank holiday weekend in the Cotswolds with some friends and two of their three children. It was, as they say, just what the Doctor ordered. There’s just something about time spent with good friends. You know how there are some people who you just kind of click with, who it doesn't matter how long it is between visits, when you do get together it's like no time has passed? That's what it's like with these guys and the whole weekend was just full of laughter, so much that I gave myself a stitch, and finishing each others sentences and so much food.

The kids are the greatest too. Millie (she's 12) borrowed her Mum’s phone to text while we were stuck in traffic (hours and hours on theM6. Awful.)

'I'm at your service' she said 'if you want me then start your text pineapple; if you want mum then start it grapes.'  How utterly fabulous. She painted my nails, and Ian and Flynn played Top Trumps for hours and it was just, it was the best of times.

Mark is working in the Cotswolds at the moment filming the third series of Father Brown for the BBC (which you should totally watch, because it, and Mark, are excellent. The Radio Times described him as ‘a joy’ on a review of series two, which is always nice,) and we headed down for his birthday on Friday. We spent the weekend in a property owned by the Landmark Trust. The Castle, as we affectionately called it, was immense. It was actually the old banqueting suite of an old Jacobean house in Chipping Campden: the only part of the house left standing after a fire in 1645. Amazing.  When we arrived, Flynn (10) put a hand consolingly on my arm and sighed heavily. 'Theres no wifi. It's like the olden days.'

No wifi; little telephone signal; overstuffed armchairs that begged to be occupied by a girl (being me) and her book; a massive dining table fit for a King (or if not a King then more than fit for us); grounds big enough that when the boys took off to try out a new boomerang they became little more than specks in the distance; and a pub within walking distance. You see why we loved it?

Access could only be gained through a padlocked gate and a walk through the fields that had once been the grounds, and as you walked, the East Banqueting House –our weekend home – loomed, both imposing and inviting in the distance.

The house, built by Sir Baptist Hicks (financier in his day of the lavish court of James I) was one of the grandest houses of it’s era and today, despite being destroyed by fire so that the gateway and the two banqueting houses are all that remain, is classed as one of the most important Jacobean sites in the country. Fancy, huh? It felt a little bit like going back in time.

The banqueting houses would originally have been used as places of retreat after a main meal, used solely for drinking wine and eating cake. This, I thought, is the life. A whole wing of a house just for drinking wine and eating cake? Clearly I was born in the wrong era.

We all ooh-ed and ahh-ed as we climbed the spiral staircase from the small kitchen to the banqueting hall.  ‘This place’ Mark said, flinging open the huge wooden doors onto what would have been the terrace and taking a seat at the dining table, ‘is crying out for a Sunday roast.’

& so we silenced its cry. Granted, it wasn’t quite as it would have been, back in the day (although it definitely felt like we had retreated, from life if not from just another wing of our super fancy home, and there was wine. & cake,) and I wonder if that old table had ever seen so much food. We ate and ate and ate, all weekend: large breakfasts and plates piled high with pasta and then Sunday lunch and SO MUCH DESSERT.  Ian has a lifelong hatred of bananas. He had three helpings of banoffee pie. This was the banqueting house after all and blimey, Emma can cook.

As there was no TV Ian commandeered my book – I was re-reading Oryx and Crake – so I decided to acquaint myself with Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Blue Flower. I say ‘decided’ but what I actually mean is Mark said ‘have you read it yet’ and I said ‘no I’ll start it right away.’

Anyway, that’s what I read. 

I liked it.

Set in 18^th century Germany, it’s the true story of (slightly crackers) philosophy student Fritz (later to become the poet Novalis) as he meets and decides he must marry ‘his philosophy,’ 12 year old Sophie – plain, simple and not at all a match for his brilliance. It’s well written and subtle. There’s no…demand for enjoyment I guess? None of the characters are written especially favourably, and there’s very little in the way of sentimentality but still, you’re drawn to the people – the Von Hardenburgs and Karoline especially – and sucked into the story. Fitzgerald’s style of storytelling is rather different, here at least; the book is short at around 225 pages and you feel as though every word has been carefully considered and placed, so at times it feels sparse and a little lacking in atmosphere and yet, and yet, at the same time it has a certain quality to it that keeps you turning the pages, you have to sort of just sit back and read it - don’t try too hard or look too deeply.

It begins, rather excellently, with the Von Hardenburg biyearly wash-day and it continues with these little insights, descriptions, snippets of dialogue that make you see just why this book is so highly thought of (nominated more than any other as Book of the Year 1995 by all accounts)

Apparently, when asked how she might celebrate the novel winning the National Book Critics Circle award, Fitzgerald replied, ‘well I certainly shan’t do any ironing today.’ I think that’s rather excellent.

It’s not my book of the year, it won’t even make the top five, but it’s a good read, and an interesting one. I’m glad Mark pushed me to read it. Cheers, mate.

[Fitzgerald didn’t publish anything til she was 60 as a by the by – perhaps there’s hope for me yet!]

In other news, before I go, I hope you’re all getting excited for The Bookshop Book! Just over a month til publication day! *happy dance*  I am very excited about this book, if you weren’t aware!

There’s all sorts of fun stuff going on over at Jen’s Facebook page of late actually, including a rather fabulous book club. You ought to check it out: www.facebook.com/weirdthingscustomerssayinbookshops 

how to surprise an introvert

You probably know, if you know me, that I am somewhat introverted. I’m a bit of a nightmare I guess, [I know I drive Ian crazy sometimes!] but it’s not my fault and it certainly doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It just means that I don’t deal well in some social situations. I’m not like, a recluse or anything; I have friends and I go lots of places and do lots of things, I just find some things harder than others.

Like the phone.

The telephone is not my friend.

My iPhone is my friend, in fact if I lost it I think I’d curl up in a ball and just cry but the telephone as a means of communication, the part that means answering a call and actually talking to people?  If I could permanently disable that then I would. In fact, if you’re not my Mum, or my boyfriend, or Helen then if you call me then I likely won’t answer.
 It’s not because I’m being rude it’s because when my phone rings my immediate reaction is one of panic: Who is calling? Why are they calling? What will I say? Can I get away with not answering right now? By the time I’ve answered all those questions it’s likely gone to voicemail anyway and I heave a sigh of relief. And then send a text asking if you’re ok. I send a text because I do want to talk to you, I just prefer to do it in a way that makes me feel less pressured: it works in your interest too – you’ll get a lot more out of me on text or email than you will in a phone conversation because unless I already feel totally sure of myself around you, if you try and talk to me on the phone I’ll just feel awkward and spend the whole time not sure what to say, with no idea how to punctuate the pauses, and trying to find a way to hang up.

Likewise if I text you first then I respond much better to a text reply. Those people that call and say ‘it’s just so much easier this way than sending texts back and forth’ are wrong: it really really isn’t. Also, I very rarely pick up the phone and make a call – not even to the people up there I said I can happily chat too, so if I never call you, please don’t take it personally.

I struggle with small talk. Unless it’s not about me. I like to listen, I’ll sit and let you talk about you for hours but as soon as someone utters the dreaded words ‘so, how are you’ or ‘enough about me, let’s talk about you’ I dry up. I’m like a deer in conversational headlights and I’ll fumble over my words and the silence will be so awkward you can taste it and I’ll just know you';ll think I’m boring when actually I don’t really do all that well when I have to just talk. I’d much rather listen to you than panic over what I’m meant to be saying.

[You know when you’ve won me over because you won’t be able to shut me up. We’ll talk shit on the phone for hours and you won’t be able to get rid of me. There are not many of you around.]

I would probably, nine times out of ten, choose my own company over that of most other people because it’s just easier. There is zero pressure on me when I’m on my own. I don’t have to worry about how I look or what I’m supposed to say or do, or who else is going to turn up and throw me off guard and am I going to be introduced to new people and end up looking like a fumbling idiot whilst they smile politely and wonder why whichever friend I’m with puts up with such an imbecile.

I’d pick a restaurant or a quiet bar over a club every single time because I am much more comfortable with an intimate gathering than in a big crowd of unknowns; I’d rather meet you for coffee [with my book safely in my bag] over pretty much anything else because it’s safe and easy and I am well within my comfort zone. I will leave my comfort zone, but you have to let me know well in advance – don’t text me [defo don’t call me ;) ] at 8 and ask me to meet you in a bar with ten folk I hardly know at half past because I won’t be able to make it. I’ll be busy sticking pins in my eyes.

Those people that make plans with me and say things like ‘bring your book’ or ‘don’t forget your iPad’ are the ones that know me best. Those people that see I’ve had a bad day and settle me on the sofa with a glass of wine and a film and no effort to make me talk about it are the ones that know me best. I will talk your ear off once we're close enough, but I'll sit in comfortable silence with you just as often. And I'll love that you'll let me do both.

When it comes to going places and seeing people I like to plan, I like to be prepared, I like to know who I’m meeting and when and where and for how long, so if the people I’m meeting aren’t in my immediate circle I can gear myself up to it. If I get the chance to prepare myself then I’m fine; I’m more than fine – I often have so much fun. It’s when things that are supposed to be fun are dropped on me that I struggle.

That’s what made this weekend so strange. Tomorrow is my birthday; this weekend has been full of surprises. This is a problem for me: generally, I dislike surprises, something to do with the not being prepared thing, so I’ve been a little apprehensive about what this weekend would hold. It’s not that I’m ungrateful – far from it.  I love that there are people who care enough about me to make that kind of effort. I am beyond touched. I could cry – I very nearly did. It’s just that surprises make me nervous; the unknown makes me nervous so knowing that my Friday night and Saturday day this last weekend were to be taken up by surprises? It made me nervous. I didn’t know what to wear, I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing and when I was picked up at 6pm on Friday night I had a knot in my tummy and I was so scared that I wouldn’t be able to do it – that I’d lose my words and my smile would look like a grimace and I’d come off as being utterly awful and ungrateful when I actually I was so touched at even the gesture that I didn’t quite know  how to express it. When 6pm came around I actually felt sick.

The surprise turned out to be a drink with Ian’s Mum and sister followed by a surprise meal with my family: my parents, my brother, Ian, his family, my niece and nephew. It was perfect. It was a group of people I know and love. There was a cake shaped like the Mad Hatter’s Hat. I walked into the room and Daisy launched herself at me and my parents were smiling and I just wanted to cry. I had the best night.

On Saturday I was taken for a massage and a haircut and then lunch with Ian’s Mum and sister – again a surprise, again I was nervous, and again I had the best time and then on Saturday night I turned up to an apres ski night organised by Sooty only to find Ian had organised a party. A surprise one. My worst nightmare. Except, my boy knows me. It was just in the small room at the back of the pub. It was just Ian’s sister and her husband, Helen and Dan, my brother, my Mum and a handful of other friends that I’ve known for years. There were maybe 12 people all arriving and leaving and different times,, all of whom I know and love. It was the best.

I still slept the best part of yesterday afternoon, because as odd as it sounds no matter how much fun I’ve had, I always need to curl up in my bed and recharge for a while afterwards, but I exceeded my expectations of my own self. I did not fall apart at the seams at the thought of a surprise even though I was texting Helen about my nerves.  My entire weekend was unknown and I loved it. I loved it because I am lucky enough to have people in my life that care enough about me to make the effort to make my birthday special and that know me well enough to know what special is, to me.

Once again I am here thinking that I truly am so very blessed and once again I am reminded why I prefer to keep my circle of friends so small: the people in my life are diamonds, and I’d have a handful of diamonds over a mine of coal any time.

Thank-you people that I love, for letting me love you and for loving me in return. 

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

Happy New Year!

I can't quite believe it's 2013! I don't quite know why, but it seems like a funny year somehow, like a date from the future that years ago when I was a child seemed so far away. I don't know why it should seem odder to me than 2012 but there you go; the inner workings of my brain have always been a mystery.

I'm not a fan of January, so much. It's a funny month, the excitement of Christmas has gone and it's just cold and damp and still dark outside so early and everybody is recovering from the over-indulgances of the festive season: tummies are full and purses are empty. If December is the party then January is the hangover and I never much cared for hangovers.  Speaking of Christmas, what a lovely time. I say lovely, I was struck down with the plague between Christmas and the New Year [not the actual plague - it's 2013 people, but the norovirus which I don't mind telling you felt like a plague at the time, woe is me] so it could have been better, but the before and after were lovely. Low-key, but lovely. Ian and I had a carpet picnic on Christmas Eve which involved pyjama's [and mine were festive yes, thank-you very much] and plates of food which we ate with our fingers sitting cross-legged on the rug, and Poirot's Christmas and Snowballs - made from Advocaat not from snow - and lots and lots of giggles. It was just the two of us and it was perfect. Best Christmas Eve Ever.

And now it's New Year and it's a time for reflection and planning and resolving and yes, I have made a couple of resolutions. Some that are for myself, secret resolutions that I shan't share in case I jinx them, some that are less resolutions and more hopes, wishes, dreams because God, isn't it nice to have something to hope for, to aim towards? It's a bit of a trope really the whole New Years Resolution thing; everybody makes them, hardly anybody keeps them and the whole idea is probably totally over-used but still, new year new start and all that and why not, what's wrong with trying to better yourself?

That's the point I think, for me at least. I want to better myself. I want to be more. I'm 30 this year and whilst I am not having the breakdown about it that I have witnessed in a few of my friends, I am aware that perhaps turning 30 is also turning a corner. It feels like the age when one has to really grow up, which is a horrific concept and I am still waiting for Peter Pan. I am aware that there are things I'd hoped I'd have done by now, and that I'm not quite in the place in my life I'd thought I might be, and whilst some things are past and lost and some things are out of my control, it feels like as good a time as ever to seize my destiny [not really seize my destiny though, because hello, really? I just wanted to use that line in an actual sentence.] I do want to 'be better' though.

I want to be fitter, healthier because yes I am a New Years Resolution cliche, whatcha gonna do?! I want to eat better because I don't eat well at all. Some days I just don't eat. That's bad. I want to be fitter, not to lose weight but to be toned and to have the better general health that comes with regular exercise.

I want to save money, because last year I didn't - last year, financially, was really tough for us, I don't want this year to be the same.  I plan to set up a Christmas savings account, and I also plan to pay regularly into my ISA. I want to live more frugally, to make better choices, to cut back in some areas so as to go forwards in others.

I want to make more of my family and my friends. I lost my Grandpa in 2012, which sucked and I regret so much that I didn't make more of him. I miss him every single day and it kind of makes you realise that life is just so fragile. You just never know. I want to spend time with my parents, my brother, my Granny, my sister-in-law, my niece etc. I want to be a better friend. I can just about count on one hand the friends that I class as 'close' (which i love actually because I'd rather have a handful of really close friends than a whole load of 'friends' you know?)and I want to be a better friend to them, better than I have been because those people? They deserve it.  I want to see them, speak to them, write to them. I want to make sure each and every person that counts, knows it. I want to make memories I can hold onto forever and take photographs that I'll always be able to look at. I want to spend 2013 with the people I love around me, and I want them to know why they're there: because they matter.

I want to pamper myself. I'd like the odd massage because, not gonna lie, I am tense. I do not know how to relax. I am snappy and stressy and I don't sleep when I am supposed to sleep and most of the time my entire upper body just hurts. My back is knotted up beyond belief, all of the time. A massage on a semi-regular basis would be nice. I'd like the odd day spent in my attic with a good book and a big bag of jelly beans, guilt-free. I'd like coffee dates and lunch dates with a glass of wine where I can make like I'm Carrie Bradshaw and duvet days where I can make like i'm a hermit crab just because. Days that are unashamedly about me because it's so easy to get up and go to work and do the same thing day in and day out and let months go past without ever focussing on who you are. It's ok to be selfish every now and then.

I want to properly reinstate Friday night date night because my boyfriend is the most awesome awesomer to ever awesome and Friday night date nights were the best thing. Also, double dates? I'm up for that. Yes. I'm looking at you, you know I am.

I want to have fun and I want to be happy and I want to be able to look back, this time next year with money in the bank and my best people by my side and say 'yep, 2013 was a pretty good year.'

You Got A Friend In Me

“I have a friendship cake that I think I might have to bake during our stay at Jane’s – is it acceptable to take cake batter on a road trip?”  Helen asked one day, via email.

“What on earth is a friendship cake?” I replied.

Her answer didn’t really clear things up, “Herman is a friendship cake – he’s German.”

‘”I’m so confused right now” I told her, “you don’t even know.”

A few days later, with my own little [gooey] Herman and a set of instructions it all became clear. Herman is a chain letter. Or rather he’s a chain cake, a sour dough cake in fact,  and he comes with no horrible consequences but rather a lot of responsibility [if you put him in the fridge he will die; if he stops bubbling he is dead; some days he gets hungry and eventually, no matter how much you feed him, he winds up starving.]

I poured him into a mixing bowl and poked at him with a spoon. He didn’t look well. I worried the outlook wasn’t good. Still, God loves a trier. “This is Herman.” I told Ian as I covered him [Herman, not Ian] with a tea-towel, “We have to look after him.” I patted the bowl and adjusted the towel,  “I hope you’ll like it here Herman.”

That of course was my major mistake. Herman, along with my cars and my camper and several other objects in my life had been anthropomorphised and as such as I was obviously about to form an attachment to him– yes, my vehicles all have names and yes I refer to the garage as the car hospital and yesyesyes I got a little teary last week when Ian talked about cleaning Karina Camper ready for sale [‘she doesn’t want to be sold,’ he told me, ‘she just stopped working when I was cleaning her, like she knew….’]

So there I was forming an attachment to Herman the German, responsible for his health and wellbeing and then after ten days expected to cook him and freeze his fingers.

This was not going to end well.

And so it began.

I stirred Herman religiously, watching him worriedly immediately afterwards [should he be bubbling? I can’t see him bubbling…oh god, he isn’t bubbling, is he dead? Ian, does he look ok to you? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU NEITHER KNOW NOR CARE YOU HEARTLESS B*****D]; I fed him when he was hungry with a muttered “I hope you don’t mind semi-skimmed Herman” and a last stir for luck; I got a text message off Ian one day when I was at work [it has become pretty clear to me over that past 4 and a half years that whilst Ian may at times mock me for my quirks, there is no denying he is a total enabler] Herman has had an accident….opened the cupboard for a vimto.. And all the bags of crisps and delicately balanced mugs all fell.. Now I caught the mugs.. But a bag of crisps got away and hit Herman bang on his bonce …. Oh Eck.. to which I hurriedly replied asking whether he was ok and forcing myself not to berate my boyfriend [can you not be more careful damn you. How would you like it if I dropped a load of stuff on your head] – he was fine, thank goodness – and when, halfway through my 10 days with Herman I went away for the weekend I left Ian with very strict instructions to ‘look after Herman’ rather than just to ‘stir the cake mix.’

Herman was happy I think, with us. Ian complained that he smelt bad, which, let’s be honest he did but it wasn’t his  fault and it was pretty mean of Ian to keep commenting on it  because other than that he was the perfect house guest, and despite my initial worries it became increasingly obvious that he would survive his time with us.  This was an achievement on my part – I can’t even keep a cactus alive usually.  So Herman lived,  until day 10 of course, when he wouldn’t but I chose not to dwell on that.

Last night was D-Day for Herman, and I felt a little melancholy as I added the final ingredients and gave him one last stir before transferring him to a roasting tin and then, feeling rather like the wicked witch from Hansel and Gretel, into the oven.  

‘Poor Herman.’ I said to Ian as he leant against the kitchen counter, dipping his finger into Herman’s uncooked remains . He laughed and held out the bowl. I shook my head: I couldn’t.

But then, like a sign from the Gods there was the most delicious smell, a smell of apples and cinnamon and yumminess; a smell of home and of love and of happy ever after that permeated our house and from upstairs in the bedroom I called down to Ian ‘he smells amazing.’

He smelt amazing, and, when we placed still warm hunks into bowls and ate them with ice-cream whilst curled up on the sofa watching Glee, he tasted amazing and when I had a fully cooled slice with my coffee this morning he still tasted amazing and I figured this was Herman’s way of telling me it was ok.  It was okay that I cooked him and ate him because I didn’t let him die, instead I allowed him to fulfil his cakey destiny and, it’s not like he’s gone; his children and his brothers and his cousins live on in the homes of friends all over the country, maybe even all over the world and how amazing is that? [A tiny bit of me really hopes one of them winds their way to me because seriously. YUMMY.]

So here’s to you Herman the German, you’ll always be my favourite friendship cake.

Happy Friday. Ooo-Arrr (like a pirate)

Is there such a thing as too much Milkybar? They were selling the 'sharing' bars for £1 at the petrol station and I may or may not have bought one and well, not shared. & now I feel sick. Whoops.

Well, here we are again. Friday. Another week gone and another week closer to Christmas (which I am in no way prepared for, by the way.) I'm off to my friend Jane's this afternoon/evening where I shall play with her super adorable little girl and we shall drink coffee and gossip. Lovely.
Tomorrow is the family dinner party. Eeeek. & then I think on Sunday I shall mostly be asleep. I'm looking forward to it all. Ok, I'm slightly stressing about tomorrow but I'm sure it'll all be fine. It'll be fine, right? Right?

I just have this fear that the food will be a disaster and that the whole affair will be punctuated by awkward silences that I don't know how to break. STRESSSTRESSSTRESS.

Let's not think about it.

Let's instead celebrate the start of the weekend with a little bit of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow because everybody knows that makes everything better.

Also, Darren Criss Glee is back next week. Dance with me?

Happy Friday.

in which i am feeling jolly (if not a little cold)

I can't believe we're halfway through the week already! Seriously, this week seems to be flying by. I looked at my watch at about half past 11 this morning and nearly keeled over; I honestly expected it to only be about 9.30.
I shall have to work faster I think if I don't want time to get away from me. I could always just sit back and let it go of course, but that's hardly productive is it?

I am in a good mood today bloggers, because I am planning a weekend in London town with the rather spesh Jen, not til after Christmas but since I haven't actually seen this girl since our summer excursion in '09 I think I'm entitled to get excited now. I have no idea what the weekend will entail but I suspect there will be winter Pimms and yummy food and books and giggles and photographs aplenty. I also suspect we shall walk on Hampstead Heath (and not get lost like we have maybe been known to do before!) Whatever happens it will be lovely lovely and the prospect of it is making me very happy because look how much we love each other *points to photo*

In other news, this weekend I am having a meeting of the families. Ha. By that I mean that I have taken it upon myself to cook for my parents and brother and Ian's parents and sister. I think I might have taken temporary leave of my senses if not only because there will be 8 of us present and I only have 6 dining chairs.....

Better off in Abersoch

I actually believe I could deal quite easily with retirement. A cottage by the sea; a cute little puppydog to walk on the beach; all the books I could read and then some. Yes, I think that would suit me just fine, or at least that's the conclusion I've come to after my weekend away.

Talk about a lovely time. It's funny, some people might think we're excruciatingly boring, after all we were tucked up in bed for midnight, but I don't care. I've had a lovely relaxing time and feel totally recharged (and a lot less healthier than I did before I left. We've eaten a lot of junk.)

It's been superbly low key. Village pubs and bottles of wine; hot chocolate on the beach; lazy mornings and early nights; sofa picnics; snuggling under blankets whilst storms rage outside; Ugly Betty; single track country roads; lots of reading and even more laughter. I'm so glad I went.
It makes me realise, times like this weekend, just how lucky I am to have the people that I do in my life. People that just get me. People I can laugh with and drink with and sit in silence and read with and visit places just because we like the sound of the name with. Friendship is valuable and once you find those people who you can relax and be your own quirky self with, well you should hold them tight and never let go. I'm lucky enough to have a handful of those people and I love them all, very much.

That is all.

It's Friday and it's not unusual.

It's Friday and I am going on holiday. A mini-break. A girly mini-break with my BFF Helen and ourfriend Clare (although Clare is a teacher and so can only come for one night.) We're setting off on Saturday morning and coming back on Tuesday and I cannot wait. Helen's brother has a caravan in Abersoch. There will be walks on the beach and cider and lots of reading and giggles and gossip and yummy pub food and I think it will be just lovely. As long as the sun shines. In fact, you know what, even if there's some kind of monsoon it will be fabulous. It will be so so nice to spend some time, with Helen especially. Even though we're in touch most days I feel like I haven't seen her in ages.
We'll be taking our Kindles so it will be a paper free weekend I think, unless you count postcards. Some people might get postcards. & even though I love my Kindle bucket loads, I haven't gone that far over to the darkside; I promise you those postcards will be real, not some fake old e-cards!

I’m still reading the Woolf. This week has been all kinds of insane so I haven’t read more than 2% (I still get a kick out of the whole percentage thing. Hurrah for Kindle love) but that will be rectified this weekend and then next week when I get back I shall read Prisoner of Azkaban. I am excited about that.

Soon I shall finish work then I am off to visit my Grandparents and visit Kez and then take my beautiful God Daughter out for her birthday surprise – if somebody had taken me to see Avril Lavigne for my 13^th birthday I’d have been bowled over. Let us hope Beth is too – and then I am ON HOLIDAY.

Oh, I nearly forgot. Have a Friday photo.

I think I love Darren Criss. Like, actually. I can’t help myself. He’s so beautiful, and when he sings I come over all peculiar and then when he dances (which he does, a lot) my tummy does funny things and it’s a bit ridiculous. I have such a crush. Ha. I was a little crazy about him in the last season of Glee; the Warblers album is the most played on my iPad (This is not cool. I know. I don’t care.) & then he danced past me at the Potter party and then he told me I was tiny and I realised our outfits were co-ordinated and then he danced down the stairs and Ian just laughed at me because I was in an actual daze and then last night I watched the first episode of the new Glee and oh my days Jesus Christ on a bike. Gjgfhklgfjhklfngfxlg. Yum. Yum yum yum. So here. Happy Friday.

(Also how cute are Blaine and Kurt please. Helen, if you’re reading this, shush.)

Today is technically Thursday, but it's actually my Friday as I'm away for the weekend. Hurrah! Ian and I are off in our Camper to Stratford to watch some drag racing. Usually Ian would be racing himself at this event, but since his race car is currently being fitted with some kind of go-faster business and is in many pieces in the garage, this year we will just be spectating. I don't know much about cars I must admit, all I can tell you about Ian's is that it's a Beetle and it's blue and it costs a lot of money. It makes him happy though so *shrug*
Anyway, we're off down to Stratford with these lovely people: (I wish my eyes were open on this photo. Curses.)

And I have to confess to being quite excited. I like going away and I like my Camper and I like spending time with Ian, and Mark and Emma and I like catching up with all the racing people who are a lovely if slightly bonkers bunch and I very much like the BBQ's and the cider. Especially the cider. I expect a couple of the girls will sneak into Stratford for a proper coffee and a wander on Sunday which will be lovely, although my friend Sarah is threatening me with a rowing boat. Clearly she is not familair with my Dordogne experience. (I had to tie my canoe to my Uncle's and ride 10k down the river perched precariously on the back of somebody elses. Ha.) Still, the whole weekend will generally be quite a nice time.

I'm reading 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy' at the moment. So far so good, although I'm only 6% in. It's fairly easy to read and whilst I admit the fact that I have Gary Oldman wandering around my imagination as I read might mean I like it that little bit more, I think I'm going to really enjoy it. I plan to see the film once I've read the book so I might well report back.

In the spirit of the weekend I am also going to grab this opportunity to put some Hugh Laurie on my blog. Hands up if you love Hugh.




Ha. He does make me smile. Have a lovely weekend peeps.
xxx

in which i ponder upon friendships

They say the friends you make at university are the friends you keep for life. If you didn’t go to university then I suppose the friends you made when you were of university age – late teens and early twenties - will be your equivalent.

Your friends mean the world to you. They are the people you want to share things with, good news and bad; the people you want to make memories with; the people who feel like an extension of yourself. With these friends, time and distance doesn’t matter: no matter how long it’s been, the moment you get together it’s like no time has passed at all. You are connected. Wired.

Life moves on. Of course it does. Nothing stays the same. None of us are the same person we were when we were 18, 19, 20, even 24. People get married, or change jobs, or have children, or move house. Priorities change. Time is forced to be divided up differently. Are friendships affected by this? I think the answer is yes and no. You still care. You still love each other. You still have that connection, but the dynamic is different. Dancing ‘til dawn four nights a week is replaced by one night a week with trashy t.v and maybe you don’t talk as much, meet as much, but you know what? That’s ok.

It stops being ok when you realise that for the most part you are the one that always calls. It stops being ok when you realise that for the most part you are the one that always emails, texts. It stops being ok when you realise that those calls, emails, texts are very rarely returned. It stops being ok when you feel like you are the only one to really make an effort. It stops being ok when you feel like you bend over backwards to help these friends out, and yet they appear to have time for every other person in the world bar you, and it stops being ok when you stop to think before you make that call, or send that email, and wonder why you’re bothering.

Does that mean that you’ve moved on, and if it does, what do you do about that?