NotJustAHatStand

I had a bit of a shit weekend. What was supposed to be a relaxing couple of days spent with the Boy, ended up being a stressful, rubbishy, wet weekend. None of it is really worth talking about, just irritable wee things that all combined to make it, well, just a bit shit.

Maybe I've got PMT. I definitely feel narky, which is a sure sign. I bumped into a colleague at lunchtime, who asked how my weekend had been. I snarled that it had been shite, and launched into a rant about something or other. He looked a bit scared, and started backing away slowly from me, much as you might carefully retreat from a rabid dog.

The highlight of my weekend was seeing my grandad on Saturday afternoon. His wee face lit up when he saw me coming in, and he told me lots of stories about his exploits during the war. Some of the stories I've heard many times, but he treated us to a couple of new ones, and showed me an old black and white picture of himself that I'd never seen before. It was taken while he was in Saudi, wearing traditional Saudi headgear and looking for all the world like Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia. Except without the mascara.

His favourite story of the day (by this I mean the one he repeated more often than any other) was of being on the bus going down to Malvern to be inducted into the Navy, when the news came through that the war had ended. My grandad, 18 at the time, thought he'd get there, get his kit, and be sent straight 'back up the road again'. It wasn't to be though, and he served aboard the HMS Volage for 3 years before coming back up the road.

He realised he'd been talking about the war for a while, and he actually apologised for it - I had to reassure him that I was interested, and that I liked hearing about his experiences. It saddened me that he thought I wouldn't be interested. He risked his life in the Navy - he was on board when the Volage was shelled during an engagement alongside HMS Saumarez. Three crew were killed, and five wounded, and they got off quite lightly compared to the Saumarez. But one of those three could easily have been my lovely, cheeky, funny grandad, and I wouldn't have been sitting here now typing this.

My grandad thinks no-one wants to hear his memories of the war, but I'm fascinated by them. I suppose I'm trying to store up all this information because I know he's not going be here to tell his stories forever. And no-one tells em like he does.

Labels: family, weekend

Gah. I thought of a stonkin' post topic earlier, but I didn't have a notebook/back of envelope/shirt cuff to write on, and now I've forgotten what it was. I think it may have had something to do with pavement sweepers.

Maybe it's best forgotten.

Anyway, I had a nice weekend - drinks after work on Friday, shopping for Mother of the Bride outfits on Saturday (including lunch at Valvona and Crolla courtesy of my sister who had a bit of a windfall) then dinner with the Boy at our favourite Mexican restaurant, and finally, a nice walk in Roslin Glen on Sunday.

I've left it a bit late to write this (hence it being a bit shit), because I've been watching the final of the Snooker World Championships tonight - I'm cheering for John Higgins. I like snooker, it's nice and peaceful (there's no screaming like there is with football) so I can keep an eye on it and still be able to concentrate on a book. But it's getting late, and I'm up early for the gym tomorrow so I'm off to bed.

Night night, internets.

Labels: weekend

...is that it provides plenty of material for your blog.

I barely stopped all weekend, apart from Saturday night when I sat on my sofa in my jammies with a curry, watching The Queen on DVD.
On Friday night, the Boy and I went to visit my granny to wish her a happy 80th birthday. My grandad, who normally lives in a care home, was spending the day at my granny's house so it was nice to see them both together. My grandad suffers from dementia, so he can be quite hard work sometimes, but at other times, he's just like his old self. His sense of humour has always been razor sharp and this is one thing that hasn't been affected by his illness. As we were leaving, my uncle was taking my grandad into the lift and I said we'd take the stairs. Quick as a flash, my grandad retorted 'make sure you put them back'. It's moments like that you see that he's still the same man. He may ask you five times in the space of an hour what your name is again, but he still has a wicked sense of humour.

On Sunday we went to my cousin's daughter's (does that make her my second cousin?) christening. I've only ever been to a couple of christenings, so I don't really know the etiquette, but I don't know if the minister tipping holy water into the font from an Evian bottle is normal? Apparently he'd consecrated the font and hadn't noticed that there was no water in it - cue lots of rooting around in cupboards to find holy water with which to christen the baby. At least it was Evian, and not Tesco's own I suppose.

After the christening I took the opportunity to speak to my uncle to ask if he would give me away at my wedding (did I mention I was getting married this year?). I never thought I would have to ask someone to do this - of course I always assumed it would be my dad walking me up the aisle - and it was odd having to ask my uncle. When the Boy proposed, one of the first things I thought about (once I'd gotten over the shock, natch), was who would give me away. My dad's brother was the obvious choice for me - he doesn't have any kids of his own, and I think he'll be good at keeping me calm on the day. He's a fireman, so he's good in a crisis. It might be a bit weird because my uncle is my dad's double, but it was always going to be weird whoever was giving me away. Anyway, I'm glad I've asked him now, as it's the one thing on my To Do list that I've been dreading.

Oh, and he agreed by the way, so the bridal party is complete. Well, as complete as it will ever be, with the two great gaping holes left by both of our fathers.

So after all that, I was so tired this morning that I couldn't drag my sorry arse out of bed to go to the gym (#boo, hiss#). I did feel a tiny bit guilty about it, especially when the Boy ignored my attempts to persuade him not to go, but then I snuggled back into my pillow and felt a bit better.

Labels: family, Wedding, weekend

It's been a busy ol week.

I saw my mammy on Wednesday night, as I do every week. On Thursday night we had an unexpected trip to the vet with Coco, who was looking decidedly peaky.* On Friday I went to see Swan Lake on ice (which was spectacular), and yesterday afternoon we went to a lovely stationery shop and met the nicest girl ever, who's going to make wedding invitations like the ones I fell in love with, for a fraction of the price. I'm considering asking her if she'll marry me, instead of the Boy. She wouldn't fart in Tesco and blame it on me.

*She's fine now. In fact, she was fine about 10 minutes after we got her home from the vet, the little bisom.

Last night I went out with the Drama Queen, and what seemed like half the population of Brussels, to celebrate her birthday. I met the lovely Petifilou, and Phoenix (currently blog-free but hopefully not for long). It was the first time I've met other bloggers - Queenie doesn't count as she is a pre-blog friend - and it was lovely to meet them and put a face to the online persona. I was a little nervous because it's a unique experience - it's weird to know so much about people you've never met, and for them to know about you, and then to be in a room with them for the first time. But it's nice too, it kind of felt like the four of us were part of a secret society. Apart from Queenie and the Boy, none of my friends know about my blog so I didn't really know what to expect, meeting other bloggers in the company of people who don't know about this part of my life. But it was fine. And then of course, I had to start talking about farting didn't I - one area where my online persona and my real personality converge.**

**Honestly though, there was a guy in the pub on Saturday night that must've had some kind of condition. One drawback to the smoking ban - BO and other people's farts. Bleeurgh.

Today the Boy and I pottered about the house and garden and ate lots of nice food. I'm pleased to report that my carrots have sprouted. I went out to water them with my pink elephant today (which is not a euphemism, my watering can is shaped like an elephant), and was highly excited to see some green shoots coming through. Hopefully the shoots are actual carrots, and not weeds, but we shall see. I meant to take a picture as proof but by the time I remembered it was dark, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

My bed has fresh sheets on it, and I'm about to start a new book. If only I didn't have to get up for work tomorrow it would be perfect.

Labels: blogs, Farting, Garden, weekend

Have you ever tried to dance a Gay Gordons uphill?

It is not easy. I know this because I was at a wedding reception on Saturday night, in a marquee which had been put up in a field with rather a steep slope.

It's a strange experience, dancing uphill, and I had my doubts that it was safe after watching numerous guests lurching dangerously close to the flimsy back wall while doing the Dashing White Sargeant. One lady in particular had to be rescued at the last moment by her dancing partner, as she nearly ended up in the loch behind the marquee. I spent most of the evening sitting down, because I didn't trust myself to walk on the dancefloor without falling on my arse. I struggle to wear heels at the best of times, but the combination of a squint floor plus a few V&T's was just a recipe for disaster.

The first comedy moment of the evening went, appropriately, to the bride as she and her new husband joined in a lively version of Strip The Willow. He birled her round like there was no tomorrow, causing her train (which had been hoiked up into a bustle) to come loose. She took out the whole first row of the ceilidh band, knocking over all their music stands and sending their sheet music everywhere. To their credit, the band managed to keep the dancing going - the accordion player carried on without his music while his bandmates picked up the stands, gathered all the music together, then jumped right back into the song.

Later in the evening, a drunken guest at the next table provided more entertainment by attempting to sit on a chair that was approximately 2 feet to the left of his arse - he stayed in a sitting position as he fell, and ended up on the floor with his legs in the air. He did at least manage to stay inside the marquee (which was lucky as he may well have ended up in the loch due to the steep incline and our proximity to the water). He was an elderly gent and wearing the kilt - thankfully I didn't get to see if he was a true Scotsman or not.

It was a good night, if a bit unconventional. But then who wants to be conventional? The bride and groom enjoyed it, which is the most important thing. Although I suspect he might have got a bit of an ear-bashing about the incident during Strip The Willow.

The rest of my weekend passed by in a flash, and I don't really have much else to report. I'm finding it a bit difficult to blog regularly as I'm in the awkward position of being busy, whilst not doing anything interesting enough to write about...

I'll have to goad the Boy into having a row or something.

Labels: weekend

I've been choked with the cold since Friday. This morning I struggled out of bed (and it was a struggle, believe me) and into work, to be told that ALL our systems are broken. The main system I use is down for routine maintenance anyway, but our emails are now playing up as well. In fact, the only thing that seems to be working is the Internet (praise be), and Word. And I never use Word. But the good thing about having a stinking cold is that no-one is giving me any work to do - they don't seem to want to get too close to me...

Every time someone comes into my office they recoil in horror and say 'oooh, you look awful'. Which is nice. But I do look awful, so I'll forgive em.

My weekend seemed to go by in a flash. I ordered my bridesmaid's dresses on Saturday, and for most of the day yesterday I huddled on my couch, oozing and feeling sorry for myself. I then got pissed off with the state of my flat - it really was a midden - so I hoovered the whole place and mopped the floors. I cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom, and tidied my bedroom. Then I collapsed in a sniffling heap on the (sparkling) floor. The Boy tried to cure my cold with a chicken curry that was almost combustible (it didn't work) while we watched Top Gear, and by then it was time for bed.

On a completely unrelated note, I've had to turn on word verification as I've been getting lots of comment spam. I've been reluctant to switch the word verification thingy on as it always, ALWAYS takes me at least two attempts to submit a comment. I don't know about anyone else, but my brain seem to have trouble translating the letters in front of me, to the correct keys on the keyboard. It started off that I'd just get the odd comment, but now I'm getting bombarded with meaningless comments from people trying to sell vicodin and convert me to Scientology. So word verification is GO.

Is it time to go home yet?

Labels: Illness, Shopping, weekend

I woke up on Saturday morning with a sore scratchy throat, and a thumping headache. Although all I wanted to do was stay in bed with my teddy bea... err... hot water bottle and lots of hot drinks, I went to visit my granny. Which I'm afraid to say wasn't much fun.

My grandmother is 93, and in the last couple of years has become (and I'm being as diplomatic as I can here), slightly difficult. She's had a number of small strokes which has left her unable to speak very well. She has always been very independent and has never shied away from voicing her opinion, so being trapped in her frail little body without the ability to communicate is a complete nightmare for her. She now lives in a care home, but unfortunately she's not happy there, not at all. When I went to see her on Saturday, she told me that she won't be here for my wedding next year. Now she says this kind of thing on a regular basis (she has pronounced every Christmas for the last 10 years that this one will be her last), but she then went on to say 'they'll see to that' - by 'they' she meant the staff of the care home. Which was a pretty awful thing to say. I don't think the staff ARE mistreating her, I just think they're busy and it's another symptom of her unhappiness. So all of this, combined with feeling a bit wabbit, didn't make for a fun afternoon visiting.

On Sunday I still felt ill but Fiance and I had an appointment to see a wedding photographer, who was lovely. Then we went to The Supermarket Where All Civility Disappears and Fiance and I fell out over a toilet brush (yes, you heard me - a TOILET BRUSH). I wanted to buy a normal plasticky one because I bought this and it's shit.* He didn't see why we had to buy another toilet brush when I spent all that money** on a fancy gimmicky one. So we did the usual stomping round Tesco not speaking to each other unless absolutely necessary and forgot most of what we went in there for to begin with. In the evening we were supposed to be going to see a wedding band in a pub in Leith but Fiance and I agreed (for the first time that all day) that it wasn't going to happen - I was feeling rough, he couldn't be arsed and the weather was ATROCIOUS.

So all in all, the only good things about my weekend were Strictly Come Dancing on Saturday night (sorry Elisabeth but I cannot deny my true feelings!) and meeting the lovely wee photographer on Sunday, who gave us each a 2007 diary with 'wedding!' already written in the 7th September. Bless.

*Hee!

**All that money = £3.97

Labels: Fiance, Illness, weekend

I had a rather strange weekend, for various reasons.

My sister and her boyfriend were going to his home town - a wee place on the West Coast - for a wedding. My mum and I were invited to go through with them on Friday, stay the night at his parents house and come back the following day. We had a lovely time, my sister's in-laws were lovely hosts and looked after us very well.

While we were there I:

1. Met various people with strange names like Chooky, Beany, Jazzy and The Badger, including a man named Corky who once stood on a rake (Sideshow Bob style) and in so doing fractured his skull. These are the kind of people I spent the weekend with.*
2. Fell hook line and sinker for the joke my sister's boyfriend played on me by telling me one of the landscape features we were looking at was called Buttock Point.
3. Visited the home of a Clan Chief (yes really - the bride was his niece) and used his loo. Hot water, soap and towel all present.

When I got back I engaged in many Martha Stewart-esque activities, such as washing, making soup, weeding the garden and mopping the floors. I retired to bed early with a migraine last night, only to be woken up at midnight by Fiance phoning me to tell me he was on his way home (he'd been in Manchester for the weekend). He did this by singing me a song he had made up.

About 20 minutes later he came crashing through the door, bumbled about the house knocking things over, and removing an item of clothing every so often, until he eventually curled up on the floor of the spare room and went to sleep. I seriously considered leaving him there, but eventually took pity on him. I gave him a good old kick in the ribs and barked at him to go to bed, which he did. Unfortunately once he got there he immediately turned into a hideous combination of the Kraken and Mr Tickle, all arms and beer breath, wanting to give me cuddles(ok, maybe not EXACTLY like Mr Tickle). Needless to say he received another blow to the ribs.

Altogether, quite an odd couple of days really.

*I am of course saying all this with fondness - every single person my mum and I were introduced to welcomed us with open arms and attempted to ply us with alcohol.

Labels: family, Fiance, giant squid, weekend