It's still that time of year!

Obviously with trying to organise the work Christmas party, Christmas has been on my mind

However, I don’t seem to be the only one.

The shops have been trying to convince us it’s Christmas since about August and now nearly every shop has its Christmas goodies out and a nice shiny catalogue by the door.

I always get slightly confused by the shop’s decisions on Christmas gifts. I don’t really understand why they seem to think that every woman wants nothing more than a box set of gaudily packaged toiletries that they wouldn’t use at any other time of the year, or every bloke wants a body spray and shower gel set or a leather wallet and keyring! I wouldn’t buy these for friends on their birthdays, so why would I buy them at Christmas.

My usual routine for Christmas shopping is to wait for the pay day before Christmas and then go round the shops with a prepared list and very strict time limit. If I do it any other way, it becomes unmanageable and rarely ends well.

I may have to try a different tact this year, as the list of people I need to buy for appears to have grown at a very unhealthy rate since last Christmas and I’m not sure I can face the shops. I’m leaning much more towards the joys of internet shopping. Me, my credit card and a very large drink certainly seems much more enticing than me, cash and scary strangers with a very disturbing determination to get the last Terry’s Chocolate Orange on the shelf!

Some people seem to be much more organised.

Scarily so.

Best Friend is one of these. I know for a fact that a lot of her shopping has been completed and there is a plan in place for the rest! Best Friend adores Christmas and all the preparation for it. She buys the most fabulous presents (even her work Secret Santa ones hit the spot each time!) and revels in the whole thing. She works to a time scale and knows when she will write and send her cards (I randomly send them when I can be bothered and then inevitably have to send out more when I receive one from people I have forgotten!). She also knows when she needs to order things from the butcher and already knows what she’s going to cook on Christmas Day. I’m more than happy about this as I will be spending the day with her and her family and she also tells me what to buy for our mutual friends – thank you, that saves me another head ache!

Don’t get me wrong, I do like Christmas, though I prefer the actual lead up to it rather than the day itself.

I can get quite sentimental and, if I’m in a good mood, even smile when I hear the brass bands playing carols. I like the decorations, the parties and how people seem willing to talk to people they usually wouldn’t. However, I do long for the ease of Christmas when I was a kid, when all you had to do was send cards to your classmates, buy something for your parents and Santa did the rest!!

The musical air cooler

I think I’ve told you before that the basis of mine and Student Nutty Nurse’s friendship is arguing and playing practical jokes on each other.

Even though we have not worked together for several months now, he is still managing to play tricks on me at work.

The office where I work is in a converted garage. As you can imagine, it’s cramped and, in summer, it’s hot. We have an air cooler to help us not completely melt in summer, but obviously it’s not necessary in winter and it lives under one of the corner desks.

A couple of days ago, I was in the office with a client and a colleague, when all of a sudden we heard ‘Happy Birthday’ playing, swiftly followed by Highland music! After some investigation, we could only narrow it down to the air cooler.

By this stage, I was getting quite frustrated and decided that there was only one course of action. Watched by a very bemused client and an equally bemused colleague, I fetched a screwdriver and dismantled it. It would not shut up.

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by bits of the air cooler, I began to think I’d made a bit of a mistake. Especially when my colleague lent over, took the batteries out and silence reigned.

Ah.

I tried to figure out what had happened. Why had it been playing music? It had never happened before; I didn’t even know that it could.

There only seemed to be one possible solution.

I phoned Student Nutty Nurse.

“You know the air cooler in the office?”

“Yes!”

“Does it play music?”

“Yes!”

“Did you set some kind of timer on it to make it play?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“I wanted to surprise you for your Birthday”

“My Birthday’s not until March. You know that. When did you set it?”

“About ten months ago. I wondered why no-one had phoned me about it!”

So even though we no longer work together, he is still managing to get me into trouble. I managed to repair the air cooler, but I’m not sure it will ever work in the same way again.

However, I have found the instruction book and now I know how to set the timer. I can feel some Christmas music coming on!

Hunting in packs

I’ve heard several blokes say that one of the scariest things to see on a night out is a group made up purely by women. I have to say that a group of blokes is just as off putting.

When I was in London for the day with Mr Flirt, we ended up sitting outside a pub in Camden. It was a pleasant evening, only marred when a group of lads took up residence at the next table.

They were a typical group of lads, out on the piss and on the pull. They were quite loud, having already had plenty to drink and clearly felt, that as they were obviously undisputed Sex Gods, they were in a position to comment on every poor female that happened to walk past.

We sat and listened to their conversation for a while, not that we had much choice. After enduring a few minutes of tales about “shagging some bird” and some stuff about football that I didn’t understand at all, I turned to Mr Flirt and commented that this group of fine male specimens was an example as to why some women prefer to be single.

He just smiled.

A few minutes later, a group of girls (I can really only describe them as girls) came spilling out of the pub. By this stage, the only seats left outside were on mine and Mr Flirt’s table. They asked if they could share with us and we agreed.

We were then subjected to a mixture of screams and squeals over one of the girls’ new top, the sad news that the bloke one of them had met last week hadn’t called and the problems someone’s sister was having with her new partner. After a while, Mr Flirt turned round and informed me that this was an example as to why some men prefer to stay single.

Touche!

Delete, delete, delete!

I think I’ve told you before that I love technology and all that it can do, but that I am aware of the down side to it as well. One of the main downsides is that unless you remember to delete things you don’t want people to find, there is a good chance that someone will discover it!

Best Friend has a new mobile phone. It was given to her by another friend, who had just upgraded to a shiny new one.

The friend who gave it to her is quiet and has a certain ‘good girl’ image. She’s not. And we now have proof.

It is important to remember that if you give a friend your old mobile, removing the sim card is not enough. You need to check what has been saved on the phone itself.

And delete anything before you hand it over.

Best Friend was playing with her new toy, figuring out how it worked, when I suddenly heard a gasp and then hysterical laughter.

She handed the phone to me.

There was a message from Quiet Friend’s boyfriend. It was a picture of him in a state of…um, excitement and the (completely unnecessary) information that he was horny and waiting for her.

Best Friend doesn’t feel that she’s going to be able to look at her (or him!) in the eye with a straight face for quite a while! I think she has some excellent blackmail fodder…

An announcement and possible warning!

I thought I should let you all know now.

This way you have time to prepare yourselves.

The former Mr Playmate will be joining us on this blog. He has finally decided on his name and will be known from now on as…

Drum roll, please…

Student Nutty Nurse.

I know. But he seems happy with it anyway. His inspiration is that he is training to be a Community Psychiatric Nurse, despite his fear of needles and the fact that he faints at the sight of blood!

Student Nutty Nurse will be an occasional author and will randomly put up posts as and when he feels the urge. Please do not feel you have to be too nice to him, really, he’s not used to it and won’t know how to react. Also, I cannot impress on you enough the danger involved if his ego gets any bigger – it won’t be a pretty sight!

Having said that, he’s a funny bloke and makes me laugh a lot. He is VERY sarcastic and has a dry sense of humour. It may take some time but you’ll get used to him. Don’t be offended by him, the majority of his insults are said with a smile on his face and he likes it if people stand up to him!

Despite all of that, I’m pleased to have him around. So now all there is to do is sit back and wait for him to grace us with his presence.

One time only

This is the first and last time I will do this.

Mr Playmate and I rarely apologise to each other, no matter what we've done. Our friendship is based on taking the piss, playing jokes and fighting about anything and everything.

However, I will make an exception in this case.

I am sorry for giving you a blog name that makes you sound like a brand of condoms.

He will no longer go by Mr Playmate. Until he tells me what he wants to be known as, I will refer to him as Name Pending.

I have to go and lie down now to recover from the shock to my system that apologising to you has caused!

PG or Cert 18?

There are times when Best Friend and I wonder how we became friends and how we sustain a friendship. In some ways we are very similar and both like to be naughty, but our lifestyles can be very different. I have no responsibility and can do what I like, when I like, whereas Best Friend obviously has The Cool Kid and Bloke to take into consideration. This sometimes means I can witness two sides of her in the space of a few hours.

Take last night for example. I ended up going over there after work. The Cool Kid had got in from school and it was teatime. As I walked in, a plate of spag bol was put in front of me, so I settled down and joined in the conversation. I learnt all about The Cool Kid’s new school, friends and teacher and listened to reminders about P.E kits and dinner money. As much as I see the ‘Mum’ side of Best Friend on a regular basis I’m always slightly amazed each and every time – it’s like seeing the PG version, rather than the Cert 18. I even get told off when she’s in mum mode, though, to be fair, I was mucking about with The Cool Kid when we should have been eating our tea!

As it was a school night, Best Friend had sandwiches to make, but had run out of what she needed so I was duly sent off to the shops, whilst The Cool Kid had her bedtime story. I had been given a list and also picked up some things for myself. This is one of the signs of how different our lifestyles and priorities are. The list I had been given instructed me to get things like bread, milk and ham. My basket consisted of alcohol and cake!

This is one of the major differences between us. Best Friend always has a well stocked kitchen and cooks very well. I have no interest in cooking and often just have things like 3 minute noodles in. Most of my friends know that if you want a cup of tea at mine, you need to bring your own milk! I can, however, always provide a decent supply of alcohol, chocolate and take away menus – which covers all bases as far as I’m concerned…

That's (not) entertainment...

One of the things that most of us have a problem with is getting older. We all know that we’re aging and that there’s little we can do about it, but it’s something the majority of us resist. We also all have things we associate with ‘being old’. For me, its things like Bingo (though I did play once on a ‘Butlins’ type holiday and won £90!), bowling on the green, socks and sandals and anything that smacks of Saga.

It also seems worse when you don’t feel like the age you actually are and find yourself in a situation you’ve always thought of as the domain of the more mature.

One of my friends, Ms Not So Innocent, is currently going through this. As we speak, she will be cruising around the British Isles, alighting to visit some of more interesting parts and, whilst on board, being ‘entertained’.

Ms Not So Innocent is…umm…a bit older than me, though really doesn’t act like it. She is very funny, with quite a dry sense of humour, has a naughty streak and can certainly tell you some stories from her younger days. Oh, and she has a massive crush on Jarvis Cocker.

When her husband presented the idea of the cruise, Ms Not So Innocent seemed to be relatively ok with it. Sure, she had some concerns but overall liked the idea of visiting some of the places on the itinerary.

Then she read the brochure again.

Ms Not So Innocent became more and more concerned with the whole tone of the descriptions and the advice given. She recoiled at the suggestion that “Ladies often choose to wear cocktail dresses” and “Gentlemen are encouraged to wear a suit for dinner”. I think she became even more distressed when her husband actually got his suit dry cleaned!

The thought of the nightly entertainment drove her almost to distraction. Listening to someone sing covers of ‘Show Tunes’ is really not her Ms Not So Innocent’s thing. I think there was also a hint of the upcoming delights of shuffleboard and whist – though I suspect she may have blocked the full details from her mind. She did inform her husband that she may not wish to be ‘entertained’ and asked what he advised. Unfortunately the suggestion that she could stay in the cabin was not helpful. I think she may have been keener on mine to get drunk and create mischief!

I have said that next year I will take her holiday. She hasn’t said no yet…

What did you say?

Have you ever been in the situation where someone has said something that has sounded so plausible, that you haven’t realised what they’ve actually said until it’s too late? Agnes Mildew’s post on Hex My Ex reminded me of a situation that happened with Mr Playmate.

This was when we used to work together. We had been off training for the day and were on the long journey home. It was much further way from where we usually train, so Mr Playmate had driven.

The sun was beginning to set and as we were driving along, Mr Playmate suddenly said to me “Look, it’s a full sun”.

Dutifully looking at the sun, I saw that it was and agreed with him.

Silence.

Cue me, five minutes later, suddenly sitting up straight and saying “But it’s always a full sun”.

Mr Playmate looked me in the eye (very dangerous when driving – don’t do it) and said “I know”.

And began to laugh.

A lot.

I can be a bit stupid sometimes about really basic things. It’s like my brain just doesn’t kick into gear. As he had said it in such a plausible manner, I didn’t pick up on what he had actually said. I should have known and been paying attention. Mr Playmate will happily trip me up where he can.

Adventures in the City

I spent yesterday in London with Mr Flirt; we were both off work so went for an adventure. There was no real plan about where we wanted to go or what we wanted to do, so we spent the day following the ‘Which way looks more exciting’ trail, with the occasional ‘flip the coin, that will tell us’ when all ways looked good. I have to admit that the day was also punctuated with quite a few pub pit stops for refreshments!

We walked for miles and covered a lot of places. Neither of us felt like doing the culture thing (the extent of that was a very good classical group playing in Covent Garden and then walking past Buckingham Palace, good old Liz was there but didn’t invite us in for a cup of tea!) so we roamed around a lot, looking at the people and generally mucking about. We did go on a carousel though, you know, the old fashioned ones with the horses that go up and down. We were the only adults on there that didn’t have a kid as an excuse, but that’s never been a problem in my book.

One of the themes for the day was all things ‘Shameless’ (look here for an explanation if you have no idea what I’m talking about). Mr Flirt specialises in a fine range of accents, including a bloody good Manqunian one. We were walking through a park, deciding that we should be lager louts, when Mr Flirt realised we had neither cans of Stella or a dog. There was little we could do about the larger, but I decided that I could act like a dog and did some random barking and growling as necessary (this is always fun, I love seeing people’s faces as they try to decide whether to laugh or start worrying).

There was also the interesting moment where we realised that my bra can double up as a bungee rope. We were about to cross a road and as I stepped out, I found myself being hauled back onto the pavement with a definite bounce. I hadn’t seen a motor bike coming round the corner, Mr Flirt had grabbed the first part of me he could, which happened to be my bra. I was most impressed by the fact that he had been able to do this and make sure that it stayed done up!

Our final adventure for the day was causing a bit of mayhem on the train home. I have to admit that by this stage I was really quite drunk (Mr Flirt not so much, having sobered a bit on the long walk to the train station) and in the mood for mischief. The late trains back have always got some interesting passengers on, first we met Drunk Bloke Being Sick, his girlfriend was not amused, though we were. Luckily, Mr Flirt and I are well prepared for these situations (not based on our own experiences obviously!) and found an empty cup for him to be sick in to and then provided him with a soft drink and chewing gum. Next came Drunk Girl With The Green Mac, she was funny and provided a bit of girlie talk. As we approached home, Mr Flirt decided to treat the carriage to his special Gay Icon rendition of The Pussycat Doll’s “Don’t cha…”, complete with t-shirt knotted up to show off his midriff. I have to say, that image will stay with me for a long time to come…

Before anyone gets the wrong idea, I would just like to clarify that though some of what Mr Flirt and I got up to could be classed as non-PC, it was all completely harmless, no one was hurt or offended and no manqunians, chavs or lager louts were harmed in the course of the day.

I can see you...

One of my favourite ways to pass the time is to people watch, it can be done anywhere, it’s free and you’re pretty much guaranteed to see something or someone amusing. One of my favourite people to do this with is Mr Flirt, he really gets into it. Because we eat out a fair bit, we’re often in good places to do it and end up making stories about the people we see.

One night we went to a local restaurant that puts on live music and spent most of the night people watching. We saw many people, including Woman Waiting for Blind Date, who had obviously arrived, seen her and left (I felt sorry for her, Mr Flirt just found it amusing). We also witnessed the group of ‘I may be 60, but I can still par-tay!’ blokes and the wannabe John Travolta, who was unfortunately more porn star than film star!.

There’s also the added element of fun when we are in the same restaurant as someone with a loud voice, especially if their dinner partner is softly spoken. In this case you only get the one side of the conversation and can fill in the gaps yourself, which leads to some weird and wonderful conversations. Though half the restaurant is left wondering exactly why the two of us are hysterical with laughter.

The thing with people watching is that you can make up the most unbelievable scenario for them and part of you knows that it could actually be true. It’s also an opportunity for shamelessly passing judgement on other peoples taste in clothes, partners and lifestyle. I’m always amazed by the amount of people who seem to forget that other people can see them. I’ve seen so many people do things like pick their nose, or pull their knickers out of their bum, when they think no one is looking. But that’s the thing, there is always someone looking, and yes, it’s usually me!

Not so bonded after all.

How many of you have been on those team bonding days that involve maps, games and ‘building trust in each other’. Hell, aren’t they? I’ve never liked them and have usually been the one that has been desperately trying to find a way out of it all. However, there was one that was fantastic. I can’t say that it bonded the team, but I had a brilliant time.

This was back when Best Friend and I used to work together and our boss was Mr Playmate. The bigger boss, The Wee Bald Man, had decided that we should have a staff day out to ‘regroup’. There was much debate between the active (Mr Playmate was all for something to do with boats – I heard exercise and stopped listening) and the cultural (The Posh Chav was after the theatre or an art gallery – they have their place and I do enjoy them, but this wasn’t a school trip). All Best Friend and I wanted to do was to go to Cadbury World (for those that don’t know look here, all I can say is you won’t believe the amount of free chocolate involved!). Somehow, and I’m still not sure how, we got The Wee Bald Man on our side and it was decided; we were off to Cadbury World!

A great day was not had by all. Whilst Best Friend, The Wee Bald Man and I ran around, completely hyped up on a sugar overdose, Mr Playmate traipsed around permanently attached to his mobile and The Posh Chav alternated between trying to control our manic attacks on the chocolate samples and engage our interest in the ‘very educational’ side of the history of chocolate. Near the end is a small train that takes you through a story land of chocolate heaven, there are even dancing cocoa beans. Halfway round a picture is taken automatically. We had to laugh when we saw it; in the front carriage was The Wee Bald Man, Best Friend and I, looking like we’d taken a serious amount of speed. In the carriage behind us were Mr Playmate and The Posh Chav, looking like they’d entered a new circle of Dante’s Hell (all of this was just before the train broke down and us sugar-hyped people started getting freaked out as the cocoa beans seemed to turn from happy, friendly things to something out of a horror film, but that’s another story).

The journey home was interesting, The Posh Chav was sulking as those of us full from chocolate had not been able to eat our lunch and were now crashed out from a sugar-rush comedown. The Wee Bald Man was driving, whilst fighting his and so was not in the best of moods. When we finally got back, there only seemed to be one solution – we hit the pub! Chocolate and alcohol, what a great day…

That's one way to make an impression!

There are times when it is not safe to let me out in public, especially if you’re trying to make a good impression. A few weeks ago I was at Best Friend’s new house. She had only moved in a few days before so was trying to show the New Neighbours that they were a nice family. Best Friend should have known that there were dangers to having me over so soon.

Miss Nice As Pie and I had gone round to celebrate the new house over dinner and a few bottles. All was going well, the meal had been lovely (Best Friend’s Bloke had also joined us, which is rare but pleasurable when it happens – he makes me laugh!), the weather was nice and we were suitably celebrating Best Friends rise to House With a Garden status. We were sat in the kitchen, which leads straight out into the garden, so we were only a few feet away from the New Neighbours, who were out in their garden with their little boy – it was all very ‘suburbia’.

The evening had started quite early, I had come straight from work and we cracked open a bottle more or less as soon as we got in. Because of this, the conversation got round to sex sooner than normal. We had music on and were talking about various things when the CD ended. Unfortunately this happened just at the point to allow New Neighbours to hear the end of my sentence. All they would have heard from Best Friends house was “…anal sex”. Cue shocked silence from New Neighbours, Miss Nice As Pie rolling on the floor crying with laughter and Best Friend not sure whether to laugh or apologise.

It may have been ok until I was over there again a couple of days later. Best Friend and I had been sitting in the garden and were about to go out. As we stood up to get ready, I realised I had been sat on wet grass and now had an attractive damp patch on my jeans. As it was a nice sunny day I decided to let nature do its job and bent over, arse in the air, to let the sun work its magic. Unfortunately I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that my bum was now facing New Neighbours garden. As I glanced through my legs, all I could see was an upside down Mr New Neighbour, looking very red as he scurried back inside…

Best Friend is more than aware of this trait of mine, having been through many moments of public embarrassment with me. I’m not allowed to go to family events that include the straighter side of her family, for everyone’s safety and sanity. She normally finds it all very amusing (at my expense!), but it may have been a bit too soon to unleash me on new people!

You dancin' ?

Dancing. You’re either a natural or not, you either have rhythm or not. I am not a natural dancer, nor do I have rhythm! The only times since I was 14 that I have danced in public have been when I have been very drunk or, when I was younger, under the influence of something more chemical based! Now, the extent of my dancing in public is a chair wiggle or, if I’m feeling adventurous, I will attempt a sort of shuffling feet, shaking hips, jiggle thing – believe me when I say it’s worse than watching your Dad dance.

When I was a kid I was sent to ballet. I didn’t do well at all and my teacher was despairing. Not only could I not get the moves but I was quite a tubby kid and, in my little pink tutu, I resembled a miniature hippo stomping round the studio! When I was about 12, the school I went to then had ‘dance’ as part of the P.E curriculum. My ballet days came back to haunt me. Though I was now much slimmer, I still couldn’t dance and could only watch those blessed with talent strutting their stuff whilst I still stomped round the room, even if I was now more giraffe like than hippo.

So there’s a large part of me that can’t believe what I am about to tell you. Best Friend and I are going to do this course. It’s one of four workshops, increasing in difficulty, run by the Ministry of Burlesque. I’ve been fascinated with Burlesque for ages now and would love to learn how to do it properly, it’s really sexy but without being sleazy at all. Also, the women are stunning. I never thought I’d be able to get anyone to go with me, but a few days after mentioning it to Best Friend, she said she’d like to come too. We both know that there will be a lot of both dancing and rhythm needed so we have been trying to get me up to a bearable standard by dancing in the privacy of her kitchen. I’m now at the stage where as long as I’m only moving either my feet or my arms then I can get by, both together and I’m back to stomping! At least it’s providing Best Friend with some entertainment…

I’m really looking forward to this, but have to admit, the thought of me learning the art of Burlesque and showing off my ‘moves’ makes me giggle. But what the hell – bring on the nipple tassels!

Please give a warm welcome to...

I was thinking the other day that I should really introduce you to some of the main people in my life. The ones that appear here the most are the ones I tag ‘the important people’, so they deserve a decent introduction as you’ll be seeing more of them.

First up is Best Friend. Obviously this is one is pretty self explanatory. She is my best friend, my drinking buddy, partner in crime and one of the people closest to me. We’ve known each other for about four years now, originally met at work and have been together ever since. I wouldn’t be without her. Best Friend is pretty, sexy and clever with a love of sex, reading, music and physics. She is also the owner of Best Friend’s Bloke and The Cool Kid.

Next we have Mr Flirt. He is probably my closest male friend. We’re food buddies and eat out every couple of weeks. We swap porn links and generally misbehave. He used to be my boss but then we became friends. I’ve also known him for about four years and our friendship revolves around two of the F’s – food and flirting. He’s a family man with a naughty streak which he likes to indulge every now and again.

Then we have Miss Nice As Pie. She was originally friends with Best Friend, which is how we met. We go about as a threesome and get up to some mischief. She is a lovely person to know, always kind and good hearted but a lot of fun too. She is a single parent and the owner of The Great Ball Of Energy. Miss Nice As Pie is funny and clever, with a penchant for films, scrabble and Harry Potter.

Another person who is important in my life, but is in and out like a yo-yo is Mr Playmate. He was my boss after Mr Flirt, but we became good friends. Our friendship is based on being quite rude to each other and often results in us fighting, but neither of us takes it seriously. He is someone that even if we don’t speak in weeks, we just pick up again from where we left off the next time we meet. He is a 30 year old, middle class, public school boy who is not even trying to fight off an early middle age, giving in to his desire for dog shows, caravans and writing to Points of View!

There are many other people in my life, some more important than others, but the above are my family of friends, the people I know I can rely on, have fun with and will be around for a while yet, the ones you will hear about the most.

Rite of passage?

God, you can tell it’s the school summer holidays. Not only is the shopping centre full of roaming packs of goth wannabes and scarily young girls dressed in clothes that I would blush to wear, there is a young invasion in the pubs. The other night I was out with Mr Flirt. We went for a drink before dinner and found ourselves next to a table of 15 year olds.

Two girls and a lad, obviously trying so hard to act older, they were signing a birthday card and ordering food. They then went on to look at the cocktail menu, finally deciding on some strange combination involving WKD (some kind of weird alco-pop thing I think) and port – what’s that all about? I know trying to get served in pubs is a tradition (hell, I started drinking in pubs at 14) but, please, at least order something decent and not so full of sugary shit that you have just confirmed your appointment with the God of the Toilet Bowl.

I’m one of those people that have always looked older than they actually are (great when I was a teenager, something I’m not overly happy with now!) and have been served cigarettes and in pubs since I was 14 and then alcohol in shops and getting into nightclubs since 15, not once have I been asked for id. Best Friend was asked only a couple of weeks ago; she was embarrassed, I told her to be happy as she obviously has several years before she needs to start worrying about her looks. Mr Flirt told me that when he was younger (I guess about 15) he had two fake id’s – one to say he was 14, so could get half price bus fares and one to say he was 18, so he could get served alcohol. In his words, the best of both worlds, he could go out, get pissed, then get the bus home cheaply!

I guess none of us are happy with our ages, when we’re younger we spend the whole time wanting to be older and vice versa. I’m 27, but spend most of my time feeling (and most people will say, acting) about 17 – but it works for me!

It's a mistake to eat before dinner!

To me, Sundays are sort of non-days. They have an odd, empty feeling about them, I’m sure this stems from when I was a kid and shops weren’t open on Sundays (yes anyone under 20, shock!, horror!, shops never used to be open 24/7 and they shut for a whole day!), leaving my hometown with a sort of tumbleweed feeling. Even now, when I know I can do anything that I want to exactly the same as in the week, Sundays feel slow and empty. I know I should find them relaxing but I end up itching to do something exciting. However, today I am glad of it. Having had two hideously busy weeks at work, seeing various friends in the week and then being more or less permanently drunk since Friday night, I’m enjoying a day with nothing more taxing than reading the papers and watching Hollyoaks.

Last night was dinner at Miss Nice As Pie’s house. Best Friend and I set off with her daughter, The Cool Kid, stopping on the way to pick up some ice, as requested by Miss Nice As Pie. As we were in the shop, we spotted some sausage rolls and decided to buy them to eat before dinner (The Cool Kid suitably bribed to keep quiet!), this turned out to be a mistake. We were greeted with appetizers of mini duck spring rolls, followed by tacos and stuffed peppers, followed by homemade chocolate cake! Dinner was nice and suddenly the secret sausage rolls, eaten quietly round the corner, seemed to take up a vast amount of room, but I continued to eat as I would not want to hurt Miss Nice As Pie’s feelings. This, combined with more of the same wine consumed in vast quantities on Friday night, made for an uncomfortable, noisy night for my stomach!

On another note, Best Friend and Mr Flirt now know about this blog. Best Friend has the address but Mr Flirt doesn’t at the moment. I’m nervously awaiting their reactions…

Waxing lyrical

For some completely unknown reason I have yet again subjected myself to the nightmare that is The Home Wax. I don’t what it is about this, I know it’s going to hurt, I know that it’s not going to work as well as in a salon and I know that it’s going to get messy, but every few months I think I’ll wax instead of shave.

There’s so much choice out there and who really knows the difference. I could pick the pot of wax to melt in the microwave but this scares me and I have visions of having to go to A+E with third degree burns! So I end up with the strips. These things are strange, two strips of waxy paper that I have to ‘warm gently between my hands’ to melt it enough to rip the hair out by the roots. How the hell is this going to work? But each time I forget about the trauma from last time and take myself off to the bathroom to prepare for the torture. I follow the instructions carefully, check the ‘direction of the hair growth’ and prepare the first strip. It appears I have wiped out the rest from my memory. The next thing I know I’m sporting a rather patchy bikini line, with very attractive red blotches, somehow I have a strip attached to my foot and when I glance in the mirror I have the look a woman who has just done serious battle. I have been having flashbacks about what happened during the actual waxing, but it is too traumatic for me to write about…

Tonight is the night of the dinner courtesy of Miss Nice As Pie. Various texts have been flying back and forth and she is very excited about treating us to her culinary experimentation. Apparently she has decided what we will be eating, but she won’t let us know; she wants to surprise us! I will be picking up a couple of bottles of wine on the way. Obviously there is no ulterior motive here, its good manners to bring something to a dinner party!

Food, glorious food

I had a new culinary experience last night. Best Friend was feeling down and had had a stressful day at work, so we decided to meet up for a bit of tea and sympathy. After a few drinks and a bit of a crisis debrief, it was time for dinner. Off we went, neither really sure what we wanted, so Pizza Express seemed like a good option. Looking though the menu, I found a pizza with asparagus and egg!! I’ll try anything food wise but couldn’t quite get my head around this.

I like pizza, I like asparagus and I like eggs, but all three on one thing? It seemed like a bit of an odd and random concept. Spinach and eggs yes, but this was a new one on me. When it arrived I was a little disconcerted because the asparagus spears were just kind of strewn across the top and the egg looked like it was making its escape off the side. I was pleasantly surprised because it tasted great, certainly something I’ll order again.

Unfortunately (I think) I’ll be having another new culinary experience on Saturday night. Best Friend and I are going to dinner at another friend’s, Miss Nice As Pie, house. Now, she has never cooked for me, but has for Best Friend. Slightly worryingly I have been advised to eat before hand, or at least bring plenty of alcohol – this certainly doesn’t sound good! But, she’s trying. I fear what Best Friend is more concerned about is that Miss Nice As Pie has promised us she will be trying something new and we will be the first to taste it!

Food seems to be featuring a lot in my week. I’m also going to dinner with Mr Flirt tomorrow night, which I’m looking forward to. We always have fun and eat at some pretty decent places. All of which beat what I had for dinner tonight – 3 minute noodles and a chocolate bar, nothing like a balanced diet! Thank god for restaurants and friends…

Three's a crowd. Or is it?

A while ago I think I got propositioned for a threesome. This has been popping into my head every now and again since then and I’m still not sure what happened.

I was out with a group of friends for the night, the usual crowd for when we have a group night out, but with a couple of additions. I should probably explain that when we are out drinking, a few of us become very inappropriate and the conversation is uninhibited.

One of the additions that night was Woman I Want To Be Like, she’s hot, stylish and funny and fitted right in. I’ve known her for a while now and we’ve always got on ok. As more and more wine (and very little food!) was consumed, the conversation took its usual turn. There we were discussing sex, porn and holidays that are basically hedonistic orgies. Towards the end of the non-meal, Woman I Want To Be Like’s husband arrives. I chatted (or rather drunkenly rambled!) away with them both and was thinking how much they fitted in.

I was talking to some others in the group a bit later, sorting out whose house we were going to go back to. As I turned round to see if Mr and Mrs Woman I Want To Be Like were also coming, I saw they were leaving. When I asked, they said they were off for some fun. At that point Mr Woman I Want To Be Like said I was more than welcome to join them! Having already said I would go back to a friend’s house, I declined, making a joke of it. They then said that they could send me a DVD of their night!

When I woke up the next morning I remembered all of this and didn’t know what to make of it. Was it meant seriously? Or was it just a continuation of inappropriate (but very fun) conversations? The more I thought about it, the more I was sure that if I hadn’t already agreed to go back to another house and if I’d known they were serious, I would have certainly said yes. I’ve never had a threesome but it’s something I would love to experience. They both certainly come across as open and adventurous, so it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that they were testing the waters. I’ll have to invite them both on the next night out and see what happens!