This Weekend (8) ...

It. Has. Been. Glorious!
I have basically fallen from food to sun to food in sun to food and sun, so this post might get a bit samey.

1) Thursday was a write off. The Boss turned 60 last week, so we went for lunch to celebrate, and that was really the end of the day. It was good to all let our hair down together, in the knowledge that the only people expecting us to go back to the office were also letting their hair down. Everyone around the table had a story about drunkenness turned bad. One involved naked sleepwalking in a hotel. Another involved sitting on a lumpy sofa at a new girlfriend's house, only to discover that he was actually sitting on the (now deceased) family cat.

2) Friday morning dawned bright and sunny, and my mood with it. I had a tentative plan for coffee with a girlfriend which didn't materialise, but being as I'd made an effort to wear clothes that were not just clean, but also fitted (a rare treat) I took myself to a favourite cafe for brunch, with a good book and no mobile phone, and only felt slightly guilty that I wasn't doing something more productive.

3) On Friday night I had some girlfriends around for a curry and a gossip. Living here has given me the chance to meet some fabulous ladies and make some great friends. As the fabulous Amelia observes, we're turning into a right little local gang! (By the way, you can sign up for her next experimental art e-course here) All was going well until a friend of hers popped around as we finished dinner to collect something from her, stayed for a quick drink, and left at 4am, by which time the wheels had well and truely fallen off. Of deary me!!

4) So if goes without saying that Saturday started slowly. Plans to go to the local school boot fair and plant sale went to pot, whilst I wallowed, hungover, in my pit and felt sorry for myself. A cocktail of nurofen, Twinings detox tea, and two more hours sleep was enough to prize me out of bed and into the shower, which in turn was enough to get me into the kitchen and making a jug of coffee, and after about a litre of that, I was able to face the day.

5) By that point, I'd pretty much decided that the best way to spend the day was to sit in the garden with a book and a bottle of diet coke, so that's exactly what I did. I didn't make the jewellery that I was meant to make, or clean my car, or put away my winter clothes, or paint the dining room furniture, or write to my friend or anything. I just sat. And read. And sunned. And enjoyed it.

6) Lovely Sophie and Lovely Steve (a lovely couple) invited me and three lovely friends around for dinner on Saturday. It was, as you might glean, lovely. We sat in their garden, eating barbecue and the salads that Jules and Lewis had brought, then the Eton mess that I took, and drank the pink prosecco that Matthew took (well ... I drank more coke ...) and nattered the night away.

7) With an existing arrangement to see my oldest friend in the world for lunch today, on impulse I sent a message to another old friend from our gang to see if he'd like to join us. Ten minutes later he called to say that he was on his way. I was still in my pyjamas, eating my breakfast, and got ready at break-neck speeds!

8) Sitting in the garden with Andy, reading the papers, and waiting for Angela to join us, we chatted about mutual friends, plans for forthcoming social engagements, and sometimes, nothing at all.

9) And later, with Angela, we sat around talking about her newly announced pregnancy, the terrible terrible names some people give their babies, new houses, knitting patterns and the market for maternity bridesmaid dresses. And sometimes we talked about nothing at all.

10) So now, here we are again, at Sunday evening. Slow, easy films on the telly, a warm breeze chasing through the house from the open lounge window to the open kitchen door,and a cup of tea by my side. And now ... to bed. G'night.

This Weekend ...

1) ... started early. Even earlier than usual, considering that I don't work on Fridays anyway. I had to work from home on Thursday morning to wait for my boiler repair man to come. Having been given a time slot for his arrival of 9am to 1pm, inevitably he arrived at 4pm. Thank heavens I brought loads of work home to do! Anyway, the good, if slightly embarrassing, news is that, before I'd finished making him a cup of tea, he'd fixed it, and we're now piping hot again. Phew!

2) ... I had my hair cut. My friend Amelia (of 101 Birdtales fame) was there at the same time, and our hairdresser, Crazy Martin, turned the chairs so we were facing one another, instead of the mirrors, so that we could chat. We set the world to rights, and had a lovely hand massage (well ... four of them between us) whilst we gossiped and plotted our next artistic venture. And consequently the first I glimpsed of my new Do was when I was all done! I am now asymmetric, dontcha know.

3) ... I went to see Avatar. I will acknowledge that it's very clever, but personally, I didn't enjoy it. I can't help but feel that, were it not for the 3D element, the thing would have been panned for it's simpering, moralistic clap-trap. But that's just my opinion. I did get some pleasure, however, from looking around at all the people in their 3D glasses.

4) ... I went for dinner at a friends house. She and her new husband had three of us over, plus the lovely baby Amie, with whom I got to have a cuddle and play. It was a lovely evening of fine dining ("yes" agreed Mark. "It was ... fine.") although when I made a joke about women with facial hair (which would have been hilarious in other company) it fell flat and I felt like a proper turkey.

5) ... I had house guests. I shall call them Kelly and Nathan, for those are their names. We spent the weekend bowling from one opportunity to eat to the next, since that is all of our most favourite hobby. When they arrived we had tea and cake, then went out for lunch and to stretch our legs, then back for more tea and cake before we went out for dinner. This morning, after breakfast, we walked to the pub for lunch.

6) ... we spent some time entertaining ourselves by thinking of song titles which would be made better by the insertion of the word "fart" into the title. Favourites included, "Absence Makes the Fart Grow Stronger," "Everybody's Got A Hungry Fart," and "Unbreak My Fart." I know it's juvenile, but we enjoyed it. Today we also speculated about the fact that, at any age, someone farting in the toilet cubicle next to you is funny.

7) ... I've burped a lot. I don't know why. It's most out of character, but at times it's sounded like there's a toad in the room.

8) ... I've finished reading New Moon by Stephanie Meyer. I'm well aware, thank you very much that it's a book about vampires, written for teenagers, but I rather enjoyed it. I think that I might be a little in love with Edward Cullen (NB - the fictional character and not that young whipper-snapper who plays him in the films). I like that he is, at once, far too old for me (109), and far too young (17).

9) ... I seriously over-catered. I do that. I have no ability to think "well, I'd eat this much, so three people would eat three times as much." Then we ate out a lot anyway, so it's all still here. I've just snacked on some toast and pate and cheese and olives and tomatoes for my tea. Grazing food is my favourite.

10) ... I have learned that I am destined to marry a thief. A couple of weekends ago I taught my Goddaughter to count her olive / cherry stones out to see who she'll marry - tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, or thief. It prompted debate about whether it's better to have a poor man or a beggar man, and exactly what a tinker does. Today my olive pits told me I'd marry a thief. Bugger it!

A Cold and Mountainous Tale

I have alluded to this tale before in my end of 2009 musings. I'll not link to it. It was a lengthy and tiresome piece. There was little need to read it once, but twice would certainly be beyond the call. You'll just have to take my word for it. There was a reference in it to the Cold Mountain Fairy. I shall now tell you about her and her wicked ways.

Some time ago ... almost exactly six years ago I believe ... there was a Girls Weekend in Reading, at the home of a lovely University pal. Four of us went to stay with her for some good chilled out lounging and gossip and It Was Good.

On the Saturday night we decided that we'd go to the cinema. The options were discussed, and, on the recommendation of someone who has subsequently been culled (not least of all because of her choice of films) we went to see Cold Mountain.

Have you seen it? If you haven't DON'T DO IT! You will NEVER get those hours of your life back. It's long. Looooooooooong. And it's dull. And it's desperately obvious and awful and terrible. (Thinks to self: they might not realise how I feel about this film. Perhaps I ought to spell it out ...). I.T'.S. S.H.I.T!

It was weak from the off, and just twenty minutes in I realised that it wasn't something I would enjoy. My friend (who you'll be hearing more about) was heavily pregnant at the time, was sitting next to me and I was trying to work out how hard I'd have to prod her to be able to use early labour as an excuse to leave the cinema.

I needn't have been so subtle, however. Five minutes later, another of our party stood up (we were sitting in the front row), stretched languorously, announced in a non-too-quiet voice, "I can't take any more of this shit" and left. Slowly. And noisily. We found her later in a nearby bar where, owing to the length of the flaming film, she was plastered. I envied her more than I can tell you.

Now, a short while later, I was in a charity shop looking at the books (as it my wont) and I saw the book of this torturous film on the shelf. In a moment of charitable thought, it crossed my mind that the book might be wonderful. I mean, something must have compelled people to think it would make a good film, so maybe the story, when read rather than watched, would be less likely to make me want to poke red hot pins in my eyes.

I bought it. I started reading it. I was not better than the film. I gave in, about five chapters in, and threw it across the room declaring as I did so, "I can't take any more of this shit". But, being a kindly sort, I loaned it to my friend. The pregnant one mentioned above, who by this time was no longer pregnant.

She returned it to me.

I returned it to her.

She hid it in my wellington boots.

I found it some time later.

I bought a second copy, sent her one, the Reading hostess one, and sat back chuckling.

They came to visit me and hid two copies in my house.

I took one copy to the first friend's house and put it in her bedding.

When I got home, it was in my luggage.

I shredded one copy and filled a jiffy bag, addressing it to her (now toddling) daughter, who obligingly spread the shreds around the ground floor of the house before it was discovered.

I took the other copy next time I visited and put it in the loft hatch.

It almost brained her (note to self: less of the death defying stuff. The film didn't kill us, so it would be a shame if the book did).

It went back into my wellies.

Oh ... you get the idea!

It's become something of a matter of pride. If they leave your house and Cold Mountain is still in it, you've not tried hard enough. If they leave your house and you haven't see Cold Mountain, they've got you, but you'll only find out a couple of weeks down the line.

Anyway, I am telling you all this story now because I've got visitors this weekend. The Cold Mountain Fairy, the daughter who was only a bump when this all started, and her younger brother are coming to stay. And I have one (or two ...) copies of a certain novel (oh ... and a special edition DVD) which are looking for a home.

Any suggestions, folks ...???

A 3BT ... Sent With Love

The rather wonderful 3BT has getting married today. Isn't that lovely?

She shares wee snippets of her life with me daily (it's one of the blogs that I most look forward to reading) and yet I don't really know much about her. I wonder if she's in a slinky, saucy number, which shows off her curves, or a big net petticoated frock. I wonder whether she arrived at the ceremony in a cab, a car or a carriage. I wonder whether her cake was fruit, chocolate, or cheese.

Any which way, I hope she's had a fabulously wonderful day. To raise a glass to her (champagne, of course darling) and to unashamedly steal an idea from the pages of Mr London Street, I give you my 3BT for the day.

1) I hop out of bed bright and early, with good intentions, but instead get distracted by a jug of coffee and a good book. At noon I look at the clock and realise that I've wasted my morning. Then realise that it hasn't been a waste at all, but a fabulous luxury.

2) Having given up finding the perfect colour for my dining room walls, I realise that it's a mix of two that I've already tried, and rejected. I spend the morning mixing and trialing and mixing and trialing until I hit on the right combo. I'm now inspired enough to not find the prospect of sanding the patchy walls a burden.

3) I hit the West End to go to the hen party of my oldest friend in the world. The very wonderful Angela gets married in three weeks, and has the dress, the flowers, the hymns and the cake sorted. How lovely to see a very old and much loved friend so excited about tying a very perfect knot.

Congratulations Clare! Hope you've had a most fabulously wonderful day!

xxx