This Weekend (13) ...

Unlucky for some!

So this weekend had a bit of a fuzzy start, what with not being at work last week, but why don't I pick it up on Thursday evening, like I usually do?

1) Pub quiz. There were meant to be six of us in our award winning team, but, for one reason and another, there were only two. In the music round we knew no answers, and were so busy sniggering at our crappness that we forgot to go back and write our guesses in the blanks on page one. Consequence ... second worst team. Ha! At least we weren't worst I suppose.

2) Friday morning, I hopped out of bed, as I did every morning last week, at an unembarrassing 8am, showered, dressed, toast and jam and lots of coffee in the back garden, then to work.

3) I met the lovely Gillian down the road for a tour of E&A Wates. I wasn't really sure what to expect, so it was a lovely surprise to discover that it was a fascinating morning. Behind the shop - a fabulously kitsch, chrome-fronted store, with some amazing (and expensive) furniture, is a workshop where they repair just about any furniture. We were talked through the art of veneering, wood turning, French polishing, upholstering, and it wasn't remotely dry. And what perfect timing! I came home enthused, and ready for a bit more DIY! (Although I did feel a bit guilty that, having been talked to about furniture restoration, I was going home to paint my own furniture. Pah well!)

4) Amelia popped 'round and we sat together in the garden with tea and Amaretti biscuits to write a press release for her forthcoming show. If you'd like to come along, you'll be able to read more about it here, in due course.

5) The Ikea flat-pack wall unit that I bought came in three boxes and said, in big letters, and in diagrams, on the side of the largest, that building it was a job for two men. I thought I'd get the bits out and see how far I could get on my own. When I'd built the frame and got the thing upright an into the alcove, with a hole cut out the back for the power socket, I decided there was probably no need to call in reinforcements to watch me screw the doors on. Am DIY woman! Grr!!

6) Saturday morning. More decorating. Are you spotting a theme? But things were starting to take shape, so it was all very cathartic.

7) I'm slightly ashamed to tell you what I did on Saturday afternoon. But not THAT ashamed. I went to see Eclipse. Now I know that I'm not really the target demographic, but sod it! The four of us went to an afternoon showing, in a screen full of teenaged girls. Oh well ... who needs pride, dignity, self respect, etc etc etc, when they have a semi-naked wolf-boy twitching his pecks on the screen? Not me!

8) My neighbour recently qualified as a plumber and has set up business with a friend. I've been putting off decorating my bedroom for ages because I couldn't work out how to work around a badly placed radiator. But today the two new plumbers came 'round and spent a day painstakingly lifting floorboards and running copper pipes and draining boilers. Bless them, it took hours! And apparently something still needs to be done tomorrow. But the radiator is now in a nice, easily worked around kind of a place, and what do you know? I've inadvertently started decorating another room, just as I was finishing the last one. Rats!!

9) So whilst the boys were grafting upstairs, I was grafting downstairs. The new wall unit got filled with books and games and almost all of my jewellery making kit. The stereo got set up and the wires run into the back of the unit, a lamp got rewired, table tops were varnished, desks were undercoated (twice) and the curtains were finally hemmed and pressed and hung. The room now looks, if not complete, then at least together. Just a top coat on the desk to go, and a few pictures and trinkets, and it'll be done. Hooray! My dining room is tantalisingly close to being too damned nice to eat in!

10) And now here I am. End of my week off. Back in the office in nine measly hours, and NOT in the mood for it! I'm already plotting another week off later in the summer to do the same happy home based pottering again. Meanwhile though, Footloose is on the telly. Marvellous! The tale of a community being brought together by rock and roll and dancing. They don't make 'em like they used to!

This Weekend (9) ...

... was a long one! (Oh, err, missus!)

Of course, because this is England, it was grey and drizzly and not as warm as it could be, but that doesn't mean that it wasn't marvellous. I mean. A long weekend IS a long weekend. And here's what happened.

1) I was on time for the pub quiz! On time! That's note worthy in itself, but I suspect that anyone not used to my poor time keeping won't be wowed by that. The thing is that not only was I on time, but I was also useful. I was not a spare wheel who played the role of "nodding dog" at the end of the table whilst other people supplied the right answers, as I am most weeks, but I was a useful, question answering, information supplying team member. As such I can confirm that Mr Tickle is orange, post boxes in Spain are yellow, and that the punchline to the Joke Of The Week is "The stakes are too high!" (Chuckle chuckle).

2) The Lovely Gillian couldn't make the quiz (which is not good news, obviously) because she and her husband, The Equally Lovely Garry are fostering a weeny baby girl (which is good news). A baby (a proper weeny crinkly squeaky baby, I mean. Not one of these part-baked small people, but a small, one-week-old baby) must, if you are a foster carer, be the gold at the end of the rainbow, and I am just thrilled for them. I've not yet had the chance to go around for a cuddle (the baby and Gillian), but when I go, I'll obviously be smitten (with the baby and Gillian).

3) Whilst normally, on Friday, I set the alarm for a decent time and hop (fall) out of bed bright and early (slowly and resentfully) this week I decided that I needed a snooze, so I allowed myself the luxury of a lie in. I was woken by a text message from Amelia, wondering if I fancied Doing Lunch. well if that isn't the whole point of not working on a Friday, I don't know what is! So I hot footed to Sainsbury's and bought a multitude of fabulous nice things, and we decided to just graze on cheese, bread and tomatoes in the garden, with copious amounts of coke. And. We. Were. Happy!

4) There were a few things that I tried to do on Friday afternoon, but none really came off, so, tapping in on a bit of found time, I cleared out my bedroom, pulling everything out of all my cupboards and drawers, throwing away holey socks and grey pants, and putting chunky jumpers away for the summer. My room is now as ordered as it can be, given that I don't actually have any bedroom furniture still, and I know where everything is. A miracle!!

5) Saturday was the greyest of grey days. I am going on a swanky day out in a couple of weeks time (more to follow) for which I need a new frock, so I decided I'd hit Kingston and shop, shop, shop. By the time I got off from the bus stop to the town centre, the rain had socked up my jeans to the knees, and down my hair, sticking it to my forehead. Hard, under the circumstances, to think "GLAMOUR." I tried on a heap of things, but struggled to see myself promenading, champagne in hand, in any of them, so in the end bought some pick and mix and a lottery ticket and came home. Oh well. Maybe next time.

6) Amelia's smallest, the fabulous G, made a request for a sleepover at my house some time ago, and arrangement which would offer him and me a bit of playing time, and his mother a bit of quality time with her fella, Curtis. I collected him and we came home to watch DVDs and eat biscuits. (Coraline was ok, but Planet 51 was ace). In the kitchen, whilst cooking his tea, G let out a small fart, and looked at me in a challenging way. "Aren't you going to say "excuse me"?" "Curtis never does."

7) Eurovision. The annual battle of wills. I say I won't watch it ever year. It's truly dreadful. But then I click on, just for a minute, and end up watching to the end. Poor old England. Poor old us. Last position. Again. Poor old us.

8) Sunday lunchtime on a bank holiday weekend is, surely, the most luxurious time in the world. I met with some friends for lunch at a pub in Wimbledon to watch the football, have a drink and enjoy a long lunch. One thing lead to another. And I got home at 11pm. Pah well. It's a long weekend. What's a girl to do?

9) So I had a slow start to today. A nice big stodgy breakfast and a long chat with my mother on the blower. And then a nice walk to The Rookery, a secret (not very secret) garden at the top of Streatham Common with a friend, before retiring to the pub and setting the world to rights. I'm sure that Bank Holidays are meant to be about more wholesome pursuits than quenching a hangover with Merlot, but it works for me.

10) And now, as I type this, I watch Glee. I know it's trashy, and teeny, and all, but it's becoming my dirty little secret. Why was there no Glee club when I was at school? Bugger that! Why isn't there a Glee club in Tooting now?! Perhaps it can be my new project.

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 ...???