Quietly Shouting

Ready, Steady, Relax

2005-07-26T15:16:00.000Z

I'm back, and as usual I could do with a holiday to recover from my holiday.

We had a bad start after some thoughtful soul decided to set the M1 on fire (or something), resulting in the M1 and the North Circular being closed. The ensuing gridlock caused us to miss our flight.

After the fraught journey to the airport, we thought that the obvious choice for relaxation would be to spend the night at Gatwick, ready for the first flight the next morning. Not in a hotel though, for that would be wasting precious house deposit funds. No, no - nothing but the finest hard plastic seat next to the loud-as-hell video game machines for us.

The only solution was to drink as much alcohol as we could before the delightful airport pub closed, and then purchase a magnetic games compendium from the 24 hour WHSmith and play drunken chess all night.

I understand chess follows the same principle as pool, in that there is an optimum level of alcohol consumption for a player to achieve their full potential. Enough to provide confidence verging on arrogance; not so much that one loses visual and spatial skills and throws up on the table/board.

Bleary eyed, and with my drunken chess victories tucked safely away for future bragging, we finally arrived in Guernsey - a mere 19 hours door to door.

The holiday was business as usual from there on in (except that we had jet lag from travelling only 2 longitudinal degrees). Swimming, gym, jacuzzi, tennis, sauna, walking, sightseeing and sunburn by day; eating and drinking too much, and sleeping too little by night.

And now I am home, I have unpacked, and I would be very grateful if you could pass me that lovely soft pillow and shut the curtains on your way out...

True Love

2005-07-16T15:30:00.000Z

Next week my husband and I celebrate our second wedding anniversary - yey! We'll be away in Guernsey, so I've booked us a meal here, and I'll be sure to pack my champagne-drinking hat and a super-glamorous outfit with a stretchy waistband to fit in all the courses I intend to scoff.

We've actually been together for almost a decade, so we're well over the honeymoon phase, but I love him more than ever (even when he does put the empty cartons back into the fridge).

After facing the very real fear of losing him to illness this year, I'm especially grateful that we made it through to see this anniversary, and hopefully many more to come.

In keeping with my anonymous blog theme, I chose the headless arty shots from the album to share here. I can assure you that a more traditional with-faces shot made it to the mantelpiece.

Ok, sentimental post over and out. Back in a week...

Doing The Happy Dance

2005-07-16T12:40:00.000Z

We've had our offer accepted on the new house! We are tentatively celebrating, but of course it's not over until the solicitors and mortgage lenders have screwed all parties concerned, so fingers crossed it all works out.

In other news, my in-laws had an unfortunate "copious amounts of champagne supplied at no charge" incident at the wedding they attended last night, ultimately resulting in my mother-in-law throwing up violently for a couple of hours and then insisting on sleeping on our bathroom floor for the night.

In a surprising reversal of fortune, I think we're going to have to lock away the alcohol when we go away tonight, and consider grounding her for at least a week.

Running Around Like A...

2005-07-14T07:15:00.000Z

I am so manic this week. We've only been home for a few days, and we're off again on Saturday.

The parents of my brother's wife have very kindly let us all use their timeshare apartment in Guernsey this year to take my Mom away as she hasn't had a holiday in years.

I also have my in-laws to stay again as they have a friend's wedding to attend tomorrow in London. They will be here with their usual mayhem this evening until Sunday.

Meanwhile we have the moving house issues to plan for, which included such gems as negotiating badly, panicking about money, and executing ninja DIY skills to get our current place ready for rental.

On top of all this, I have decided to turn over a new leaf in terms of organising my working time. On Monday I learned how to use Microsoft Project, and I fear life will never be the same again. I have timetables, schedules, milestones and deadlines - in other words, discipline - and all of it self-imposed. What was I thinking?

Missing: Negotiation Skills

2005-07-13T08:25:00.000Z

Did I mention that we found the house of our dreams whilst on our travels?

It's in just the right location - walkable to the town centre and Tatton Park, but quietly tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac.

It has 5 bedrooms, a beautifully laid out downstairs which has been designed and decorated so perfectly that we wouldn't have to do a thing to it, and best of all it has a separate study for me to work (and blog) in peace.

It's a little slice of surburban bliss - a far cry from our current 2 bed basement flat in London (not that I don't love this place too, in its own special way).

Falling in love with the house, however, was the easy part. Now we have to try and get our mitts on it while still leaving ourselves with enough money for a few of life's little luxuries, like electricity and bread.

The estate agent said they were looking for 'close to the asking price'.

We offered about 10% less.
They rejected our offer.
We decided to walk away, as our offer was already over what we had budgeted for.
We found out that they had received 2 other offers well in excess of ours, but that if we could increase ours by £10k they would accept it, since we are in the enviable position of not being in a chain (we are going to rent out our London flat rather than selling it).
Today we are going to ask them to split the difference by offering another £5k.

I don't think we've really ruled out offering the whole extra £10k.

Let this be a lesson to you children - emotional attachment and money make a very bad combination.

Update: We've ended up offering another £7.5k. They're thinking about it *sigh*

We're Not Afraid

2005-07-12T20:41:00.000Z

It seems we picked a fortunate time to be away from London.

I can’t help thinking that if Mac hadn’t been off work after the heart surgery, he could easily have been caught up in the bombings. Maybe his illness was a blessing in disguise.

It’s absolutely heartbreaking to hear of the innocent people who lost their lives at the hands of these cowards. On the other hand, seeing how Londoners have reacted to this outrage makes me so proud.

They, whoever they may be, should realise that they chose the wrong place. They can’t terrorise Britain. It will only make us stronger.

Bon Voyage

2005-06-29T22:32:00.000Z

Tomorrow we set sail for the West Midlands for it is the land of my forefathers, and of my forefathers' forefathers. Well, some of them anyway.

Mac has decided he needs a change of scenery while he recuperates from surgery, so we're off visiting for a few days.

Our itinerary is as follows:

Thursday: Travel to Birmingham. Try to get some work done and fail miserably due to family chaos factor. Meet up with friends for drinky-poos.

Friday: Try to get some work done and fail miserably due to hangover from drinky-poos.

Saturday: Travel to Manchester. Try to remain sane and fail miserably due to in-laws chaos factor.

Sunday: Begin long and arduous house hunting process in anticipation of our move away from the Big Smoke. Try to enjoy estate agent banter and fail miserably due to estate agents' alternative view of reality disorder.

Monday onwards: location TBA.

My trusty laptop will be accompanying me, but whether I manage to get any blogging done in between the travelling and the chaos remains to be seen. I'll be in touch once I reach dry land.

Domestic Bliss

2005-06-29T10:55:00.000Z

The next time my dearly beloved husband decides it would be a good idea to put the empty butter back into the fridge, I am kicking him out. He's on his final warning.

Is this just a man thing, or is the pointless retention of empty food packaging not gender specific?

May I also take this opportunity to apologise to the lovely man in our local butter-selling shop, who had to suffer a pre-breakfast me, complete with yesterday's clothes and pillow creases still on my face.

This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I am grumpy from oversleeping and therefore getting no work done this morning. No sirree.

Apologies also to Mr Gandalf. I do know that there are more important issues in the world - just not before breakfast.

Use Only Under Adult Supervision

2005-06-28T13:05:00.000Z

There's been a serious cheese sandwich related incident. With blood and everything. I have to tell you, it doesn't look good.

Send plasters urgently. And antiseptic products. And maybe some gossip magazines.

In other kitchen news, don't buy decaffeinated teabags, for they are the work of the devil.

I think that about covers it.

Ground Force

2005-06-27T22:12:00.000Z

On Saturday I had perfectly manicured nails and a lawn where grass flatly refused to grow.

Now I have pebbles where the lawn was, hands that not even a builder could be proud of, and aches in places I didn't know I had places. It's a job well done.

Walking on the pebbles is reminiscent of childhood beach holidays. Loathesome beaches where sandcastle building was merely a pipe dream, and sweaty plastic jelly shoes were the only way to ease the pain.

Mac cheerfully informs me that if he could get hold of some jelly shoes now he would wear them every day. I suspect that jelly shoes in his size would only be available from the kind of establishment that sells attire for high powered business men who relax by dressing as babies.

Let's hope it's a passing phase.

Way Too Much Information

2005-06-25T09:46:00.000Z

It seems that every self-respecting blog must have one, so here it is: a list of random facts all about ME! It's a bit long winded and I do sympathise, so here's a summary for the time restricted reader: well educated, big boobs, kind of stupid.

I currently live in London. Part of me loves the hustle and bustle; the other part would quite like to kill every third person I see. You'd better hope you meet me on a good day.
Two years ago, for the sake of my sanity, I gave up a promising career in finance to make my own way in the world. Great move for my mental health; my bank balance has yet to reap the benefits.
I have been vegetarian since I was 13.
Seeing animals being killed or mistreated on TV usually makes me cry.
I am 5’4" and would not like to be an inch taller, although I would prefer trousers in some shops to be shorter.
I have size 32E boobs. I hated them until I reached my mid 20s, when I found a decent underwear shop. Now I’d be quite lonely without them.
According to a caricaturist at a wedding I recently attended, I look just like this. Seriously, it's like looking in a mirror.
I speak German. At least, I used to speak German; I’ve probably forgotten most of it by now. Scheiße.
I used to have my nose and the top of my ear pierced. I let them heal over after university in order to resemble a respectable professional.
I’m considering getting my nose pierced again. I think it must be a mid-life crisis making an early appearance.
I DIY. Admittedly I'm more proficient with the destruction than the construction, but I'm working on it.
I have 5 letters after my name: BA ACA. Eight years of my life was a high price to pay though.
I have a 2:1 degree in Economics, yet I still struggle with exchange rates when I go on holiday.
I wrote off my first car when a big lorry drove into the back of me.
I wrote off my second car when I drove into the back of a big lorry. Revenge was not as sweet as I had anticipated.
I was born in the Chinese Year of the Tiger *purr*
I am experiencing a mild biological urge to procreate. Since I’m essentially a rubbish person however, I’m seriously questioning the wisdom of Mother Nature on this one.
I am great with spreadsheets. It’s the only skill I will admit to with any degree of confidence. A bonus for job applications; not so impressive on the social front.
I hate text messaging (*grrr* stupid little keys and predictive text and lame abbreviations).
I would dearly love to own 2 Weimaraner dogs, but I’m going to see how #17 turns out first.
I have a genuine keeps-me-awake-at-night phobia about the house falling down. (How do the kitchen cupboards stay up with those little screws, how does the ceiling hold all that heavy furniture in the room above, and so on.) I don’t imagine it has a proper name. I am a medical curiosity.
I throw like a girl.
I would love to be able to sing well. I make up for it by doing a LOT of bad singing.
The best £2,000 I ever spent was on laser eye surgery.
I have a terrible memory for what I’m supposed to be doing today, what I did in recent days, financial data, all of the academic and professional information I have ever learned, and most of the conversations I have allegedly had. I have to write everything down like an old person.
I have an excellent memory for faces and song lyrics. All the essentials then.
My favourite gadget is ‘my’ coffee machine. Oh yes, freshly ground coffee at the push of a button. (Strictly speaking it was my Christmas gift to Mac, but I have since adopted it – marriage is a wonderful institution.)
I’m scared of hairdressers. They intimidate me with their crazy talk of choppy fringes and beach holidays.
I went to a single sex grammar school. Contrary to received wisdom at the time, this made me neither posh nor lesbian.
I tend to shout a lot; I can’t help it. My husband euphemistically terms it being passionate. I can also be quite shy, hence the blog title. I’m not sure if it makes sense, but I don’t care and you can’t make me ;-)

The Eagle Has Landed

2005-06-24T10:44:00.000Z

Yes, the tiny bikini has arrived and it's...well...it's TINY.

Cons:

Did I mention how tiny it is?
No matter how far I run and how many sit ups I do, my belly will never achieve that "I've only eaten a tissue since last Thursday" look that is required for such a bikini.
The waxing. Don't even mention the waxing.

Pros:

I don't have cellulite. At least I can't see any cellulite from where I'm standing, and that's the main thing.
I have more than my fair share of boobage to detract the eye away from my midriff. It's like sleight of hand but with fewer card tricks and more cleavage.
It has my husband's seal of approval.

Oh dear, I'm sure I wouldn't be this shallow if I had something meaningful like having babies to think about.

Um...

Where did that come from? Getting broody can sneak up on you at the strangest times.

How Convenient

2005-06-23T16:20:00.000Z

You Belong in London
A little old fashioned, and a little modern.
A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock.
A unique woman like you needs a city that offers everything.
No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What City Do You Belong in? Take This Quiz :-)

Visit From Mother

2005-06-22T19:20:00.000Z

When did parents become such hard work? They just never stop – all five of them (including the in-laws and soon-to-be-stepmother).

You take them out for the day - walk them for miles and miles - yet the minute they return they manage to find parts of your home that require urgent sweeping/oiling/sanding.

You cook dinner, and before coffee is served they’ve disappeared into the garden for a spot of “light pruning”.

They are wearing me out! I’m sure they weren’t always like this.

I suspect they’re all building up for a difficult retirement phase, where they wear at least two home-knitted cardigans regardless of season, eat only boiled food and buy Eminem albums because “it’s got a good beat”.

Wedding Bells

2005-06-20T09:02:00.000Z

MY DAD IS GETTING MARRIED!! After a mere quarter of a century of living in sin he’s finally decided to take the plunge again. No point in rushing into anything I suppose.

So, the lovely lunatic who I think of as being my stepsister will actually be my stepsister at long last, which is warm and fuzzy.

More worryingly though, I will have a stepmother.

My dad’s partner and I have a somewhat chequered past, but after the first horrendous decade or so, we started to get on. The last decade has been much better, and I’m happy to say that we’re pretty close now.

But – stepmother – it has such evil connotations. It sounds so mean and scheming and you-shan’t-go-to-the-ball.

Looking on the bright side, I will need a new outfit. Must dash – only around 90 shopping days to go.

Previously On 24

2005-06-17T10:41:00.000Z

The second series of 24 on DVD is ruining my life. It's worse than a crack addiction; one episode is never enough. We were up until 2.30am watching it yesterday, and it's taken large doses of caffeine before I could even think about switching on the PC this morning.

We have just 2 episodes remaining, but I have been reliably informed that there is a massive cliffhanger at the end of this series, so it looks as though I'll have to keep the diary free next week for the third series.

Prior to my 24 fix, we went to see Derren Brown who was amazing. I won't spoil it by giving away any details, but if you get the chance it's well worth the experience.

A friendly word of advice: if you do go to see Derren Brown and get picked to go up on stage, please don't try to make jokes about being a "lift and escalator consultant" that only lift and escalator consultants will understand. It's been tried, it didn't work, and it was embarrassing for all concerned.

Wishful Thinking

2005-06-14T18:50:00.000Z

You know, there's just something about spending £49 on a tiny bikini that makes a girl want to lose a few pounds. Especially when she's actually planning on wearing the thing in public in a month's time.

However, with no specific diet planned, a stash of dark chocolate in the fridge, and a strong aversion to sit ups, actual weight loss would appear somewhat unlikely.

In a fit of madness I recently bought Paul McKenna's book I Can Make You Thin. It has great reviews, although so far I have been too lazy to read it, or even listen to the accompanying CD. Perhaps if I sleep with it under the pillow it will help.

In the meantime, do let me know if washboard-flat stomachs go out of fashion.

Housemaid's Knee

2005-06-10T12:29:00.000Z

I have my in-laws coming to stay for the weekend. Affectionately known as the Griswolds due to the comedy mayhem that seems to surround them, they are due to descend in an hour or so.

Of course, this means that the house has had to be cleaned. I hate housework; it’s such a thankless task. People only notice when it’s not done. Why can’t they be a little more appreciative?

...Oh my! How thoughtful of you to clean up every last piece of crud from the floor in honour of our visit. That must have taken simply ages with your crappy vacuum cleaner that has all the suction power of an asthmatic hamster with a straw. And made all the worse by your unfortunate white carpet/moulting cat/husband who insists on wearing big black fluffy socks combo. Here, come and have a sit down while I mop your brow...

Oh yes, and did I forget to mention that I have a teensy-weensy hangover?

Avert Your Eyes

2005-06-09T15:55:00.000Z

Oh, the world is a superficial place. Why must people point and snigger just because I have a coldsore?

I haven’t actually seen them do it, of course, but you can be sure it happens. Some of them even hide their children’s eyes and cross over the road to avoid me. Probably.

*sigh*

Still, at least a pigeon didn’t poo all over my jeans, t-shirt and iPod while I was dozing in the garden. Poor Mac.
( )

Doing Something Amazing

2005-06-08T14:39:00.000Z

I'm feeling very proud of myself. I gave blood this week for the first time.

It's been on my To Do list for some years now, but the fact that Mac received blood both during and after his heart surgery has finally spurred me into action.

They struggled to find a vein at first, and the sensation of my lovely blood bubbling away down the tube was not very pleasant, but it's nothing compared to everything I've seen Mac go through recently, so I didn't allow myself to feel bad about it.

In fact I didn't cry, I didn't faint, and I didn't scoff all the tea and biscuits afterwards. I thank you.

Guess Who's Back

2005-06-05T17:49:00.000Z

There’s been no blogging from me for a while now. As I slip back into normality, I have really felt like blogging about day to day life again, but haven’t known quite how to summarise what has happened over the last few weeks, so I'll keep it simple.

At the age of 29 my husband has had major open heart surgery to replace his aortic valve. He’s recovering well.

That ought to cover it for now. I'm sure I'll have more to say about it at a later date.

Wooo! Back in business!

Groundhog Day

2005-04-21T23:44:00.000Z

So, I'm travelling on the tube, returning from visiting Mac in hospital. It's late night, I'm alone and I'm on unfamiliar territory. I'm feeling uneasy, to say the least.

I have two changes to make, but the route is clear in my head. All I need to concern myself with is potential muggers, rapists and weirdos.

I make it to Baker Street, no problem. I now require a train, any train, going right (a.k.a. Eastbound) to King's Cross.

West is left, East is right, I chant to myself as I follow the signs.

I find the Metropolitan line, with the Westbound platform clearly labelled. There's no sign on the opposite side, but there's a train about to leave - no time to check - I'm sure it's fine.

I find a seat opposite an impossibly big-boned man eating a bag of crisps. Perfect! He'll be too interested in the crisps to bother me.

My next stop should be Great Portland Street. It's a long time coming. I wait patiently, trying to ignore the crisp man and his incongruous bag of sports equipment.

Ten minutes later and the station approaches and it's...Finchley Road. Arse.

I leave calmly. I cross over to the other platform. There's nothing to see here people - this happens all the time.

Luckily, my Eastbound train is soon here. Ten minutes later and I'm back with my old friend Baker Street.

Everybody gets off. Except moi. Still, I haven't been mugged, raped or weirdoed yet - that's the main thing.

More people get on. We wait. I look mean and scary and unapproachable. Eventually we depart - I'm finally on my way home.

Ten minutes later we pull into the station. I look out of the window and it's...FINCHLEY ROAD. Aaaarrrggghhh!

I am seriously freaked out. For a few seconds I actually believe that I'm trapped in a time warp / horror film / bad dream.

I snap out of it just in time to get off the train, and make my way glumly across to the other platform.

Ten minutes later I am back at Baker Street. This time I ensure that the train doesn't terminate and turn back. King's Cross, when it finally looms, has never looked so good.

Total journey time: 1.5 hours.
Distance travelled: approximately 5 miles.

The Waiting Game Sucks

2005-04-15T23:57:00.000Z

Mac’s operation has been postponed, as he is too ill for surgery. He’s been admitted anyway, so that he can get some proper care and hard core drugs. He also has his own wheelchair which is a bonus. I must take in a grubby vest and jogging bottoms for him to complete the Andy from Little Britain effect.

In other news, I earned £342 for doing no work, which was nice.

Consider The Fact

2005-04-14T23:09:00.000Z

Technical difficulties yesterday meant large portions of time hanging around waiting for natty little downloads to do their thing. On the plus side, this gave me chance to start reading one of my new books, A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson.

I didn’t get too far with it, as it’s definitely a take your time to think about it sort of book, but I think I’m going to enjoy mulling it over.

I did like this little snippet from the introduction:

“Consider the fact that for 3.8 billion years, a period of time older than the Earth’s mountains and rivers and oceans, every one of your forebears on both sides has been attractive enough to find a mate, healthy enough to reproduce, and sufficiently blessed by fate and circumstances to live long enough to do so. Not one of your pertinent ancestors was squashed, devoured, drowned, starved, stuck fast, untimely wounded or otherwise deflected from its life’s quest of delivering a tiny charge of genetic material to the right partner at the right moment to perpetuate the only possible sequence of hereditary combinations that could result – eventually, astoundingly, and all too briefly – in you.”

Go on, admit it – you feel pretty special now, don’t you?

Put Me Through to I.T. Please

2005-04-13T13:36:00.000Z

Evil spirits lurk within my computer. I have been trying to exorcise them, but with little effect. Where’s the Pope when you need him?

I caught one of those little Trojan fellows trying to sneak in on Monday. I thought I had put him into solitary confinement with only the most basic of provisions before he faced the firing squad a short time later.

Alas, I fear he has left behind his putrid aura, floating around my hard drive like a foul stench.

UPDATE:
What a way to while away the hours. I have downloaded and run Giant, Ad-Aware and Ewido, but I think it was CWShredder that finally saved the day.

As far as I can make out I had been hijacked, although the experience was a lot less Hollywood that it sounds.

As a result of my (albeit unplanned) IT research I have also been compelled to install Mozilla Firefox. I don’t know whether it’s Firefox or all the junk that’s now been stripped from my machine, but I am on FIRE!

I’d better dash, before a real IT person comes along and blows my cover.

More Pressing Matters

2005-04-12T20:45:00.000Z

Well, it seems that the bellydancing class was a short lived phenomenon. *snivel*

Mac has taken a turn for the worse, so I can hardly be off having fun while he writhes in agony by himself.

After almost 4 months of waiting for diagnosis via the NHS, desperation has finally forced us to go private. He’s being rushed in for major open surgery on his kidney on Friday – that’s just a week since his first private appointment.

We are so lucky to be in a position to take this option; the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.

I think I’ll bury my head in the sand about the actual surgery for a while yet though.

As for the bellydancing, it's merely been postponed...

*la la la shimmie shimmie jingle jangle*

Bellydancing

2005-04-11T23:02:00.000Z

I have made enquiries about joining a class tomorrow evening, and I’m feeling rather pleased with myself.

Enough of the paperwork and the DIY and the ill husbands (well, one ill husband to be precise, but that’s more than enough). Bellydancing is the way forward. It’s the only obvious choice.

If all goes well I shall be shaking my thang, exotic lady style, and dancing away all that ails me.

(Please let there be a place left in the class…)

Bean Counting

2005-04-05T18:37:00.000Z

In my former life (the one I lived before I gave up a respectable and well paid career to become an unsuccessful entrepreneur) I worked as an auditor. I could instil the fear of God into company directors and ledger clerks alike; armed with a calculator and a spreadsheet I could eradicate errors and change the course of company profits forever…Moohaahaahaaaa!

At the time I never understood how people could be so useless at keeping accounting records. It’s just numbers people! Do it right and do it on time – how hard can it be?

I have since been enlightened.

The reason they weren’t so interested in correctly recording their profit is that they were more concerned with actually making profit.

I have learnt this lesson the hard way. (Is there any other way?) Somehow I have made it to the end of the tax year with no orderly accounting records in sight. Far from it.

The dishevelled pile of papers that balances precariously on my desk now has to be fashioned into some sort of Inland Revenue friendly format.

Woe is me.

Falling Standards

2005-03-23T16:32:00.000Z

Mac is away on business in Germany at the moment. This does not bode well for my general standard of living. In the absence of the routine dictated by his working hours, I start to fray at the edges.

Meal times are out; random snacking on leftovers and biscuits is in. Alarm clocks are out; disguising a barely awake morning voice when disturbed by the telephone is in. Personal hygiene is out; pyjamas till midday is in.

It’s just like being a student all over again, but with central heating. And toilet paper. And fewer stolen road traffic signs.

Hello, McFly?

2005-03-22T17:07:00.000Z

Back to the Future fans may be disappointed to have missed this eBay auction for a ‘TIME MACHINE! For Time Travel?’.

There are some rather interesting philosophical questions raised by potential buyers, including (and I quote):

"Q: im highly interested in the time machine, but im afraid i might become a time travelen junky, similar to a drug addict. i may deside to do some out of the ordinary things, like make it so the owner of the lions isnt Mr. Ford and maybe they might win a few games. but if i do this, wouldnt it change, in essence present day. could you tell me the reprocutions that might be involved with me doing things like that, and if i was to go back in time and reproduce with multiple woman, and they get pregnant, if i return to the present day, would the be alive, but older than me, so would the legally bind me to being there father? please tell me what the rules to time travel are. i think it would be the best if you did for all of us. thanks
A: i did not invent the time machine, i just found it. so i would not know the rules of time travel.

Q: Is it safe to rub my backside on the time machine? what if my backside is REALLY really itchy? can animals use the time machine? what if i use the time machine to go into the past, but i dont own the time machine in the past, so will i be stuck there? am i now 82 years old?
A: yes,yes,no,no,i dont know

Q: Is it safe to have sex with?
A: i would not recommend it

Q: Does it make toast?
A: no"

Champagne Supernova

2005-03-21T10:09:00.000Z

Friday evening with my brother and his wife* was a fantastically fuzzy episode. Small wonder. In addition to the excessive wine 'sampling', we also made some rather dubious decisions regarding alcohol:

- In the restaurant SJP and I selected marinated olives and Kir Royale as a starter**

- Later in the pub we asked the barman to amaze us with an exciting girly drink of his choice, so he returned with ‘honey vodka’. This smelled and tasted just like whisky. Conclusion: it probably was whisky. What a wise guy. (Unfortunately, this didn't stop us from drinking them.)

- Back at home in the wee small hours, SJP mixed a special cocktail named Tangerine Surprise, the surprise being that it contained a whole tangerine. (Recipe available upon request.)

Consequently, Saturday was a relatively quiet affair.

* Known here as SJP after her idol Sarah Jessica Parker, on account of her Carrie style shoe obsession.

** Note to self: champagne is not a recognised food group.

Spring Has Sprung

2005-03-18T09:39:00.000Z

Please excuse the low quality photography. This looked so much better in my imagination.

Artistic shortcomings aside, the sun is out, my daffodils are flourishing, and my little brother and his wife are coming to stay for the weekend.

All is well, except that I must now begin the sacred Preparing For Visitors ritual. This includes such gems as:

- cleaning corners of the house which not even the dust mites know about, let alone the visitors;

- washing more clothes than Liz Hurley could get through in an evening, and

- buying enough food and alcohol to sustain a large family of alcoholics through an extended siege.

Right, no more time for blogging. I've got anally retentive matters to attend to.

Oops

2005-03-17T09:27:00.000Z

I ate a whole Easter egg last night. I was young, I was naïve and I didn’t consider the consequences of what I was doing. I feel some apologies are now due:

Firstly, to the Archbishop of Canterbury for being so premature in my chocolatey celebration of the resurrection.

Secondly, to Gillian McKeith. I’m sorry Gillian, really I am, but a bowl of sprouted mung beans was never even an option while watching Desperate Housewives.

Finally, to Mac, who didn’t get a look in.

I’m off for a run now by way of penance. Forgive me Gillian, for I have sinned.

You're Not Singing Anymore

2005-03-16T17:52:00.000Z

How the mighty have fallen. Only one puny appointment made today. One appointment’s better then a poke in the eye with a sharp stick though, I suppose. Marginally.

The Milky Bars Are On Me

2005-03-15T19:33:00.000Z

Let there be rejoicing and merriment! Declare a public holiday and bring forth the suckling pig! Let the dancing begin, for I have had a fantastically productive day!

I made 6 appointments today. To put that in context, my all time personal best is 8 in one day, and last week I managed only 4 in total.

I’ll spare the tedious details of my work, suffice to say that my main source of income currently comes from commission on any sales generated at these appointments.

On top of that, I went running again for the first time in several weeks. Well, I say running… that elicits images of Paula Radcliffe or Kelly Holmes at the peak of physical fitness, which would be wholly inaccurate.

Think more of the London marathon runners at the back dressed up as chickens or teapots, then reduce the distance travelled by tenfold, and remove the cumbersome costume excuse. That’s much more like it.

Still, 6 appointments! Permission to shout "Bravo" at an annoyingly loud volume?

Rumbled!

2005-03-13T14:04:00.000Z

DAMN! I have been forced to confess the existence of my secret blog to Mac.

For some reason my furtive typing has aroused suspicion, so I have had to come clean, although the location and content of my blog remain classified.

Funny, I don't remember relinquishing all rights to privacy as part of the marriage contract. It must have been hidden in the small print somewhere.

You Are What You Eat

2005-03-12T16:38:00.000Z

Well, it's certainly been an interesting few days. My husband (hereafter known as Mac, on account of his Scottish roots) has had a cancer scare. This is clearly something that should only happen to other people, so it was a horrible shock to hear the word mentioned in the context of our own lives.

We are very fortunate though, as the suspected lymph cancer seems to have been ruled out so far. The latest theory is that he has some kind of kidney disorder, which may require surgery. The next step is to see a kidney specialist (that's a nephrologist for word-of-the-day fans), who will hopefully make a definite diagnosis.

In the meantime, doctor's orders are to ensure that sure he eats extremely healthily to give his body the best chance of fighting back.

Now, I thought that we were already pretty healthy. I'm vegetarian and I do make an effort to have a good diet, although I'm not obsessive about it. I tend to think that a little chocolate, pizza, alcohol and so on can't do any harm in moderation, and since I've never had any weight problems, there's been no impetus to change.

Never one to do things by halves though, I consulted this book by the formidable Gillian McKeith for some serious advice.

What an eye opener! Whilst I don't think that any sane person could follow this kind of diet to the letter, it has certainly made me think about making some permanent changes in our diets.

This week we've breakfasted on fruit and berry smoothies, snacked on a variety of nuts & seeds (the non roasted and salted kind), and generally chomped our way through plenty of organic vegetables, wholegrain bread, pasta and rice. In just a few days I lost a couple of pounds without even meaning to, so I decided to supplement the regime with some alcohol and chocolate (purely for their anti-oxidant properties, you understand).

Incidentally, the doctor also advised that as a vegetarian I should read up about vitamin B12, as supplements may be required to avoid long term damage to the nervous system. Also, everybody should consider their intake of the mineral selenium, since we are quite likely to be deficient, and this has been linked with an increased risk of cancer. Apparently just one brazil nut a day should sort you out.

Anyway, the health clinic is now closing for the day. Now, where did I put that Creme Egg...

Thank You

2005-03-01T22:02:00.000Z

What started out as a fairly innocuous visit to the GP yesterday afternoon ended up in a four hour stint at the A&E department of our local hospital.

In a bid to ease my husband’s current position, either by medication or a sick note for work, we went to the doctor together, but unfortunately she was fairly clueless. Very nice, but clueless.

Two hours, several phone calls, and a couple of dog-eared magazines later, she had referred us to the general surgeon on call at the hospital.

What an amazing guy he turned out to be.

After blood and urine tests, x-rays, poking, prodding and in depth questioning, and with theories ranging from kidney stones to TB (yes, TB), we are still no nearer the cause of his illness. We now await appointments for an ultrasound and a haematologist to hopefully shed some light on the situation.

The thing that amazed me was the surgeon's attitude towards us. Surrounded by seemingly awful working conditions, he was bright, enthusiastic and personable. He was clearly competent, to say the least, but he also genuinely cared about our plight.

Amid the fiascos and controversy which often surround the running of the NHS, we shouldn’t forget about some of the incredible people who help us when we need it most. From the depths of my secret blog I'd like to send out a respectful thank you to all of those people.

Girl Racer

2005-02-27T22:49:00.000Z

Still under house arrest today (my heinous crime being the inability to nurse my husband back to health), I happened upon an old episode of Top Gear on some random Sky channel.

I am by no means a petrol-head, far from it in fact. I know less than your average person about car makes, models or engines.

I do, however, have a penchant for driving fast - I know it's not big or clever but I just can't help it. I exhibit a hard accelerating, hard braking, take no prisoners style of driving, with a liberal dose of horn-honking thrown in for good measure (apart from when my Mom's in the passenger seat, as she's a sensitive type with a moral objection to driving over 35mph).

This information may lead you to imagine that I have a spangly car with a big engine, but alas my 1.0 litre VW Polo does not live up to expectations. Much as I love that little car, it doesn't really cut the mustard in the fast lane of the M1 when the bullies come cruising along at 120mph.

The point is that when I see Jeremy Clarkson and co. racing those cars around the track I feel my heartbeat quicken and the adrenaline starts to pump around my body. I WANT A GO!

It's not worth getting another car while we live in London. We share the Polo at the moment, and it mainly sits around, parked two or three streets away from the house, gathering scratches and prangs from passing idiots, and getting broken into once every few months just to ease the monotony.

Once we move away from the Big Smoke though I've now got my eye on a cheeky little MX5 - a sporty little two seater, not too expensive, and with a boot just big enough to keep my handbag in. What more could a girl ask for?

Education, Education, Education

2005-02-27T00:45:00.000Z

Today has been a complete non-starter due to extended Florence Nightingale duties.

Still, it's not all bad - at least my English GCSE efforts have finally paid off.

You are a GRAMMAR GOD!

Congratulations! If your mission in life
is not already to preserve the English tongue,
it should be. You can smell a grammatical
inaccuracy from fifty yards. Your speech is
revered by the underlings, though some may
blaspheme and call you a snob. They're just
jealous. Go out there and change the world.

How grammatically correct are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

An Addiction Is For Life

2005-02-25T23:47:00.000Z

God that felt good. I just bought a pack of cigarettes for the first time in five and a half years.

Don't get me wrong - it's not the first fag I've smoked during that time. I belong to a particularly annoying and, dare I say it, hypocritical brand of ex-smoker. I really can't tolerate people smoking around me, particularly in restaurants, but very occasionally when I get drunk with one of the (literally) dying breed of people who haven't yet managed to kick the habit, I'll "borrow" the odd one. Or six.

I used hate people like me when I was an avid smoker. Have you got a spare fag? No, I'm planning on smoking the whole packet, but thanks for your concern.

My husband's illness is back with a vengeance. He's had some kind of viral infection going on since before Christmas, similar to the 'flu (and I mean the real deal, not man-flu a.k.a. the common cold). He came staggering home from work tonight, close to death's door, and requiring large doses of TLC.

Unfortunately he makes for a terrible patient, and I'm not the greatest of nurses, but I have given it my very best shot.

After spending all but about 5 or 6 hours of the week by myself though, all I want to do at the weekend is let off a bit of steam, which I'm clearly not going to get the opportunity to do. Again.

Anyway, I was sent out on a mission to buy salt & vinegar crisps, since that's the only thing he could face eating.

En route I had an overwhelming urge to be 15 again. I had such a great time around then; it was my coming of age. The biggest issues of the day were dry or sweet cider, The Wonderstuff or The Stone Roses, B&H or Silk Cut (the former being the answer in each case, although The Stone Roses came a very close second). Back then our futures were so uncertain. We could have turned out to be anyone, doing anything.

Of course, it was probably as scary as hell most of the time, but that's not the way I remember it.

Now I've just turned 30 and I have a husband, a mortgage, a screwed up career and a biological clock to concern myself with, all of which are looking pretty certain.

Armed with these jumbled thoughts I somehow found myself at the front of the queue in Tesco's asking for 10 Marlboro lights and a box of matches, and feeling extremely pleased with myself, not least because if my husband knew he'd be really pissed off.

I smoked just one on the way home, and got such a nicotine rush from it I really did feel 15 again, if only for those few minutes.

Fuelled by a couple of glasses of Pinot Grigio I may nip outside and relive the moment shortly. It's not quite the same as a 2 litre bottle of Strongbow, but it may just do the trick.

Armchair Crime Fighting

2005-02-24T20:48:00.000Z

I prevented a crime today, just by my very existence. A pretty impressive feat, I'm sure you'll agree.

While sitting at my desk this afternoon I was suddenly aware of a man peering in at me just a few feet away over next door's fence. Then another popped up for a peek. I shot them a filthy glance and turned away, assuming it was their latest batch of workmen, doing their caveman thing ("ug...you wo-man").

It took me a couple of minutes to realise that this was not quite right. Living in a Victorian terrace I can hear my neighbours through the wall, and the absence of that infernal screaming baby surely meant nobody was home.

After much snooping, I came to the conclusion that there were no neighbours at home, there was no building work being done, and that I had in fact foiled the evil plans of would be burglars - TaDaah!

Upon hearing the news of his talented wife, my husband came over all protective and called the local police station. Within a few minutes they were storming through the house like a SWAT team, although of course the culprits had long since disappeared.

They shouldn't escape the long arm of the law for too long though, due to my superlative powers of observation. Watch out for them on a wanted poster near you: Two white males, one wearing a hood. Pure genius.

Tea for One

2005-02-23T19:10:00.000Z

The trouble with working from home is that you don't see anybody else. This has its obvious benefits, in that you aren't forced to collaborate with the various misfits and miscreants that form an integral part of any self-respecting work environment.

On the other hand, there is something about putting on a nifty suit and getting down and dirty with the office gossip which can blow away the cobwebs, and give you that little spark to get your day started.

Pyjamas and a quick conference with the cat on her way out for a hard day's stalking just don't hit the spot somehow.

All of which leads me to confess that I've had a rather introspective day; one in which I've shied away from the phone. In fact I've made about 7 calls. I should have made 100 or more.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a better day.

No Surprises

2005-02-22T21:30:00.000Z

Well, as predicted I've spent a large part of my day on blog-related issues, namely searching endlessly for a fabulous template.

Nothing, however, seemed to match my exacting standards. I was left with no choice but to customise a standard one, meaning I had to tinker about with CSS (which frankly scared the bejeezus out of me - I'm more your "HTML circa 1999" kind of web developer). But then the resulting splash of pink text was so worth it.

Consequently very little "real work" as such has been undertaken today.

Meanwhile, my poor husband isn't even home from work yet. He's had to work late, and is probably now wrangling with tube delays caused by London's 10 minutes worth of snow today (which, incidentally, doesn't fall underground - someone really should mention this to TFL so it can be removed from their Lame Excuses list).

Birth of a Blog

2005-02-22T14:10:00.000Z

I have decided to start a blog about my life as an entrepreneur. It’s entirely possible that I will find it motivating to document my successes; therapeutic to purge myself of my failures, and challenging to write creatively about my endeavours.

Of course, it’s much more likely that I will deviate from the intended subject matter, and use it mainly as a place to store all those pointless links with which I usually clog up my favourites list. And to be honest, whilst I love starting new projects, I’m not really known for being a "finisher", so the chances of my blog lasting past week two are fairly slim.

No matter. I like the idea, and since I work by myself, for myself, I can do whatever I feel like doing. I just need to suppress that nagging feeling that this is merely my latest tactic of procrastination, doomed to stop me from being a successful entrepreneur.