Perfick Weekend

OK, so we weren't going to spend any money ever again until March. 

But then Bedders was about to depart for the UK for work for a wee while and so we spent our last Saturday together for a fortnight doing All Of The Things In Brussels We Like Best. 

This consisted of the following: 

Bedders going for a haircut while I browsed the second-hand bookshop Pele-Mele (I beg of you, watch the video), then Bedders joined me and browsed too (I'd nearly gorged myself on smelly books by this point, so we only needed another 15 minutes or so). 

Then we went to Belga which is full of boys with little beards and silly hats and too-cool-for-school sailor tats but the food is luscious and the mint tea is awesome. And we saw some friends and had some craic and that was pretty sweet. 

Then we debated going to Le Petit Coin (they now have a website, which is here, but it doesn't show their current stock and you can't buy anything via it, which renders it pretty pointless, although here is some other stuff I bought there if you're interested in).  

Sometimes we go and there's nowt of interest. Sometimes, though, we go and we DIE. 

Yesterday was one of the latter instances. 

So we bought a luscious chair, and a cushion ('Eeet is made of vintage how-you-say fabrique, non?') and a blanket and bedside cabinet of my Actual Dreams (my pinterest board 'Wor Hoose' has almost turned into a homage to bedside tables, of which this particular one from Le Petit Coin is the pinnacle). And then we just had to go to Habitat for crisp white bedding and a rug and some more cushions. And a lightshade. And a rug for the living room which is kind of brown and fluro pink. It sounds totally VILE but in reality it's Beauty Incarnate. 

Gaaaah. 

And so I'm getting the newspapers Bedders gave me for our anniversary framed. We were both born on a Sunday, so he procured the Observers from the days we were born as a first 'paper' anniversary gift - I was obviously born on a bumper news day as the headline screams something about POISONOUS LEAD PAINT IN CHILDREN'S PLAYGROUNDS, and Mark Thatcher was doing some wheeling and dealing on the day Bedders entered the world. I think they'll look a treat above the bed.  

And then our new neighbours had a party last night and invited us up. Marion wore a party dress and heels and served canapes and Laurent kept topping up the champagne. Everyone was lovely and we had the easiest journey home ever, i.e. down the internal stairs. BONUS. 

It started snowing yesterday afternoon and it hasn't stopped since. It's freezing but the light is lovely. 

So really this weekend has been rather lovely. It's almost alleviated the pain that the Gatsby release has been put back till May. 

Hope you've had similar amounts of fun!

The Simple Things

Sometimes, it's the simple things.

Like being so ridiculously excited to teach a lesson because you've managed to squeeze some Irish Republicanism in there along with a visual treat in the form of Cillian Murphy.

CUE THE JURASSIC PARK THEME MUSIC.

And so tomorrow my Year 12s will watch this film trailer as a precursor to the question 'So what do you already know about the Irish Civil War?'

(not much, I fear. But I'm prepared to be proven wrong.)

And, in the process, I've been reminded of what a brilliant film it is. And the beauty of Cillian Murphy.

Strange things happen when you google 'The Beauty of Cillian Murphy'. Including this. Scroll down until you see the puppet. With a leading statement like that, how can you resist?

I have been away. Sozzatronic. But I have some photos and some book recommendations and things to share as soon as things get a bit quieter. Hopefully, a calmer period is around the corner.

Oh, how I long to sit in my pyjamas and watch The Thick of It! Roll on this weekend.

Objets Trouvé: Shopping mojo

Somewhere, sometime, I lost my shopping mojo. 

I used to be a horror for shopping. My early 20s were littered with birthday cards from my mother with 'hilarious' jokes on the front re: the amount girls spend on cardigans and bags and whatnots. 

I was one of those girls. 

Then...well, I don't know what happened. I lost a little bit of weight, and I grew up a little bit, I suppose. Suddenly H&M's Divided range wasn't all that hot anymore. I started to freak out in shops. I didn't have a clue what suited me. I forgot how to dress. 

And then I stopped really caring. 

Or maybe I did, but I stopped thinking about it so much. 

I wore lots of stripes. And navy blue and grey. Like a sort of preppy sailor. 

And then, I discovered shopping in Brussels. 

Woah. 

These chassures are loafers. I know not the French for loafers, so let's make it 'loafres', oui?

They are freakin' aubergine. They are the comfiest things I have ever put on my feet. 

I am experiencing early-20s purchase-related joy for the first time in years. I love them. This deserves some sparkle. 

I have just bought an entirely new work-wardrobe. I know. I am bad. 

But it really doesn't help that everyone at my new place of work is a) a bit European and b) ergo, is a bit smart 'n' sexy. And that it's a bit less formal than my last place of work, where 'Power Dressing' translated with very few exceptions into 'Ill-Fitting Boxy Suit From Next'. 

If only those clothes could talk. 'Hello, I'm DEVOID OF PERSONALITY!' they would scream. 

So I went a bit mad. 

This is not even everything I bought. And I could have bought more. I had to come home in order to stop spending money. 

I rang Bedders. 'Bedders, I could do this EVERY WEEK!' I squealed. 

'Please don't,' he croaked. 

Ah, the irony. Last week I was writing about a feminist handbook. This morning I was tweeting about the very funny reviews for Bic's ladypens. This afternoon I'm doing a BIG SQUEALY POST ALL ABOUT CLOTHES!

I'm nothing if not a contradiction. 

Chez Bedders

Bonjour. I 'av been 'aving ze French lessons, yes? So that I can speak like the natives, yes?

Today I have been learning the language of 'Objects in the Office' and 'How To Say Where They Are In The Room'. I can, therefore, tell you that the paper bin is green and it is in the corner. I can also tell you that there were two pairs of lunettes dans la salle this afternoon and one of those pairs was purple. And I can also inform you that there is a tree outside the window.

I tell ya, when there's a paper bin emergency and you need to know where that bin is pronto, you'll be glad to have me around. 

We also talked about our likes and dislikes and what we do every day. And I now know that Lewis, my fourteen year old classmate (yes, this is what I've been reduced to) likes Greenday. Beaucoup. And Nickelback. Beaucoup. Christina, the Spanish girl who works in a Cuban bar, is my favourite classmate. She speaks approximately 70% of the time in a Spanish/Catalan hybrid and barks 'QUE?' at the teacher periodically. 

Mais maintenant, allow me to show you around the apartment, oui?

First of all, those of you in need of a 1st wedding anniversary present (that's PAPER, folks), look no further than here. You may have seen previously that, amongst other things, Bedders enlisted the help of a YouTube tutorial in order to make me some origami paper flowers for our wedding anniversary.

I repeat - a YouTube tutorial. That, my friend, is love.  

I ordered address cards from the Rifle Paper Company. We have an exciting new address, and the cards are beautiful and printed in GREEN ink. I heart them.

Heart, you say? The hearts are actually a little leaving present from a lovely lady I used to work with at my old school. She tucked them inside a card with a sweet note and I was very touched.

Alors, and here is the desk at which I type. A bargain from a Leeds-y shop. Note, paper flowers on display. And our much-loved bookcase in pride of place in the dining room. 

OK, so this is what all the Pinteresting of picture frames was all about. Clockwise from centre bottom we have an Alan Stones print (Immediate Family), our Swimming for Children book framed, a trio of Irish writers (Joyce, Kavanagh and Yeats - my brother has all 6 which makes me sick with envy, quite honestly), a Guinness advert that I found in an ancient Country Life magazine and framed and then Bedders' Bathing Places Fat-Man-Diving print which he got in the Side Gallery in Newcastle many yonks ago. The blanket is my Donna Wilson BEAUTY. 

Old faithful favourites have been finding new homes...

I'm currently suppressing my inner OCD nutbag and trying not to worry about our luscious new chair being bleached by the sun. Err, hello turning-into-my-mother! No worries - the  John Lewis voiles will be arriving soon. Err, definitely turning into my mother. 

I've had to adapt to the fricking crazy weather we've been having here. When I say adapt, I mean STOP WEARING TIGHTS. Believe me, this is a big deal for me. I swear to God, last week it was so hot I was worried about expiring. On the street. Just giving up. It was SO. VERY. HOT. It was actually a bit disgusting how hot it was, but I won't go into that. 

Another Side Gallery Print on the wall. Benefits of high ceilings (even higher than Leeds) = LOOOOOADS of picture space. 

So there we go. A sneak peek around the apartment. I am as giddy as a kipper. 

It's probably obvious. 

:D 

Oh, look-see. I did a smiley. Yup, definitely giddy as a kipper.  

More coming soon - amongst all of the reading I'm doing for school I came across MORE ADDICTIVE THAN CRACK COCAINE so I'll be penning a few thoughts on that and I'll also do a Brussels: IT EXISTS OUTSIDE OF THE APARTMENT! photo post. 

Eeeep!

The last month, in a nutshell.

Hello there.

I'm shuffling one foot awkwardly. Super-awkwardly. And avoiding eye contact.

It's been a long ol' while, hmm? My apologies. I was caught up in a nuclear holocaust - suffering with a fat-fingered disease which meant I couldn't type - doing a lot of hair-washing...actually, I was just doing a million and one necessary but dull things that HAVE to be done, it seems, when you're moving out of your house and renting it to someone else/living temporarily with the in-laws/sporadically meeting a husband who now lives in another country/going to hen dos/doing an online course for a brand spanking new qualification that you're teaching in September....

I'm going to stop there because the use of the second person is irritating me. You get my gist, though. All that is left to say is ET CETERA.

Gaaaah.

But hey - I'm back. The good news is, I've done a LOT of reading and re-reading over the last couple of months (school stuff, but grand stuff - Lolita, All My Sons, Brighton Rock, Madame Bovary, In Cold Blood - wowzer), so I shall press on with a few Recommended Readings when I get the chance to process some opinions of them and pen them in a semi-literate fashion.

Here's the me, me, me stuff, though, lazy-girl style (i.e. via instagram. I think it might just have to replace my memory when it finally gives up the game in about, oo, two years).

In June, we went to Corner of Eden. I've mentioned it before. No, I'm not on commission - I just love it.  The place has a similar effect to temazepam, although without the memory loss and slurred speech. We stayed in the Shepherd's Hut, which I can whole-heartedly recommend. There's a mad dash across the yard to the bathroom involved in the morning wearing a dressing gown, but that's half the fun, no? And when furnishings are as outrageously tasteful as this, who cares?

My beautiful, beautiful bike was also delivered. As anticipated, it is beauty incarnate.  If you follow me on twitter or instagram, you may have  will definitely have heard me crowing about it. Here is is in the flesh metal. You have permission to squeal.

And so, we packed up all out stuff to move. It was crackers. I had a random desk in the middle of the front room for a fortnight. I drank wine and packed boxes in the early hours of the morning. Bedders was in Brussels. I was like a madwoman shimmying around a desk in the front room. At one point, I cried. "There's a DESK in the front ROOM.' It was a worrisome time. Here is aforementioned desk, in the front room. 

It'll look grand in a Brussels apartment, non?

I went on a hen do. There were Sports Day-esque games and craic a-plenty. And the Ceremonial Drawing Of Moustaches On Faces. And Pimms. It was splendid fun. 

(Going Off On A Tangent Just For One Sec: It did make me think, though, about the nature of friendship, and how it will be difficult to keep in touch with friends in Brussels. Or maybe I'm a big old cynic and it will be fine. Or maybe I'm realistic and it's all grand because the important ones will stick around. Yeah? Reassurance, s'il vous plait? Oh, I booked a French course, by the way. And a holiday for August - Barcelona and Valencia. Recommendations please!) 

Then I left my job, which was a Very Big Deal as I've been there for four years ('oh, you fledgling!' I'll scoff when I've done 30 years in Brussels - mebbes) and was given lots of uber-lovely cards and presents, including the flowers below. And I drove home with the windows open listening to Luke Kelly's Free The People (not a deliberate choice, honest) pounding the steering wheel and grinning like a loon. Because Our Big Adventure Is About To Begin.

And so it begins with an anniversary (I've outstripped all previous efforts and bought The Very Best Card EVER. Just wait). And a baby (nephew or niece? I'm going with nephew. And BY GOD I hope that they call it Hugh). And it really began this weekend when we sloped off to Kirklington in North Yorkshire to gatecrash a very hospitable fellow's jazzy Village Hall fundraiser and ate and drank and talked with good people. It was joyous. And the house, Mike (if you're reading), is beautiful. I am a little in awe.

Sooo...that's me. What about you? Does anyone have any thoughts on the keeping-in-touch-with-people-when-you-move-away thing? Or friendships with sell-by dates? Or (happy, happy thoughts!) recommendations for Barcelona or Valencia? Gracias.  

"Her voice is full of money." Homage to Gatsby.

OK, so I had a lengthy post planned about friendships and weirdness and feeling out of place and how things don't get easier as you get older...

But then I saw The Great Gatsby trailer and it was impossible to write about anything else. WATCH IT. Watch it NOW.

Baz Luhrmann and The Great Gatsby. When you think about it, how did it take so long to happen? The decandence of the novel lends itself perfectly to Luhrmann's O.T.T. theatrical all-the-mayhem-of-a-circus style. And the trailer is a Feast For The Eyes.

I love how Luhrmann stays true to to the original text - or did with Romeo + Juliet, anyway, in the most obvious way, i.e. sticking with Shakespeare's language - but puts his own entirely appropriate modern slant on it. It doesn't detract at all, I think - it just shows how bloody universal a book like TGG is.

So, here's what I LOVE about the Gatsby trailer:

• THE MUSIC CHOICES. Kanye West and Jay-Z? Oh, Mr Luhrmann, you're spoiling us. I've been listening to No Church in the Wild aaaall weekend (and feeling a little bit gangsta). "There's something that the pastor don't preach, that's something that a teacher can't teach." Woah. Amezzin. And Love is Blindness by Jack White is a stroke of genius. "Love is blindness/I don't wanna see/Won't you wrap the night around me?" I love the desperation of Jack White's voice - no matter what he's singing about, he always sounds on the brink. Oh, I love it.

• The racial mix of the characters. Way to bring the film up to date immediately.

• The swimming pool. That logo at the bottom? Sumptuous.

• The zebra in the fountain. What's not to love?

• Carey Mulligan. Annoying as hell in Shame (which was not at all arthouse in my humble opinion, but actually just a bit gross) but pretty perfect for the part of Daisy. Who'd have thunk it? Way better than Knightley, who was in the running for it (allegedly) and irritated me no end in Atonement.

What I'm WONDERING ABOUT at the minute (N.B. NOT a hate list. Not yet.):

• Leo - apologies, but yer narr. He's supposed to be 32, and he's actually coming up 40. I'm a DiCaprio fan, don't get me wrong - he just doesn't match up with the image of Jasy Gatbsy I have in my head. Hmm. I did wonder whether Tobey Maguire might have made a pretty good Gatsby rather than Nick. Anyway, I predict once I've seen it Leo will have completely won me over - the clip of him throwing shirts over the mezzanine is almost enough to make me eat my words Right Now. Anyway, reserving judgement. 

• I'd have really liked Tom Buchanan to have been played by Ben Affleck, also said to have been in the running for the part. He has Prick Factor in spades, but sadly it wasn't to be. Sniff.

The realisation that the release date is in December (I knoooow!) is, I'll be honest, a crushing blow, but  I'm holding on in there. I reckon I can get at least three more weeks of constant trailer-playing enjoyment out of YouTube.

You say apartment, I say flat.

I did a whole post on a selection of my instagram photos from Brussels (I did, I really did) and I didn't include this bad boy - one which sums up Brussels - the beer, the bread and the honey-coloured slightly holiday-y feel of it all. Ahh.

3rd August, here we come. Moving Day. The Eurostar is leaving, baby, and I'm booked on board. This is REALLY happening (see? I said it again!)

So, how does one go about moving to another country? Problem is, I don't really know. I went to a bank and opened a bank account (or an account de BONK which, in heavily-accented French, I personally thought was hilarious but my sister thought was, well, a bit juvenile) while I was over there. That was a step towards becoming a legitimate citizen, I felt. Go me! Although our lack of French (our or reluctance to speak really shite, half-remembered GCSE French) is still seriously letting us down.

We entered the ING bank (bonk) and the fella behind the counter, glasses balanced on the end of his nose, looked up, clearly disgusted by our Englishness.

"Err, we've an appointment to open a bank account," said Adam. He's marginally less embarrassed about speaking in English to French-speaking Belgians than I am. There's not much in it, mind.

He sighed. Theatrically. A full five seconds elapsed before he lowered himself to respond. With no words, but a dismissive wave towards our (much friendlier) advisor-blokey.

Intensive French course, here we come.

So we have a bank account. I have sussed out the tramline to school. We spent what felt like five hours in a Belgian Habitat buying a bed. Like any another self-respecting Brussels-based ex-pat, I have a folding bike. We've sorted out some (very nice) tenants to pay us rent in the UK (thank Christ). We need to go to the local commune (some sort of local council-type office from what I hear - not the cult-like organisation it seems to suggest) and apply for our ID cards (ID cards - remember those? Gordon Brown was sweet on them once upon a time - for ID-card-related funnies, click here) and there's the small matter of packing up all of our earthly possessions, putting them into a big van which in turn will shunt them into a mahoosive container and pop them on a boat. And we need to make sure Bedders is on the other side to greet it.

And then we need to get them into our new 'apartment'. I've resisted saying 'apartment' as I think it sounds a bit wanky alongside 'flat', but maybe I just need to lose that paranoia, yeah? Because it IS an apartment. And it looks like this.

 It's a bit grey and drizzly (that's because it WAS grey and drizzly), but it's purdy, no? It's the first floor. That bay window you can see is a bedroom. Then working to the right the next window is the kitchen. The next two windows along belong to the dining room, but it's all an open-plan kitchen/diner anyway. Then if you had your back to the dining room windows, you could walk towards the back of the house into the living room and the French windows and the roof terrace. Yah-huh. And the rest of the apartment weaves back from the front bedroom - there's a bathroom, a separate loo, a laundry room and another bedroom. And I love it. And Bedders did very well not to have a mental breakdown finding it after viewing 573 apartments*. Bravo, husband.

*slight exaggeration

Lazy Picture Post

***

Sooo....I've been to Brussels for half-term (really, Laura? You didn't mention it...) My third time in Belgium and I'm moving there in...oo, six weeks or so? Yikes. It's all starting to feel very real (how many times will I actually write that before I go, 'JESUS, WE'RE MOVING AND I HAVEN'T PACKED A THING!'?)

The Good News: WE HAVE A FREAKING APARTMENT! And it is luscious. Spacious and awesome windows and on a handy tram line AND a roof terrace. The boy did good (even if it nearly killed him with stress finding it). And it's above a speech therapy office so, you know, I'll be properly taken care of if I develop a lisp. Phew.

The Other Good News: I went into my New Workplace and everyone and everything was charming. I've returned with a load of exam specifications and a poetry anthology and a copy of I'm The King of the Castle by Susan Hill. Reading a-go-go.

The Rest Of The Good News: I saw my sister (avec bump) and brother-in-law and all is well in that department, had a beer every day (and an icecream almost every day), went to Bruges (nice) and Gent (even nicer), was inspired to use Instagram a little more (I'm missmacdonner, as per the twitter - come and have a looksee - I want more people to follow!) and was forced by a couple of days of poor weather to buy a pair of Eurohipster trainers (see above). Well, we all have our cross to bear.

In fact, everything was so ruddy lovely I'm not even going to mention the fact I was nearly bitten to death by mozzies in Europe. Nope. Not a word.

Ch-ch-ch-changes.

Ages ago, I wrote about having a complete existential crisis being a bit stressed out. After the wedding. Suddenly, you see, there was no longer ‘the wedding’ to consume maybe not every, but certainly lots of, my waking thoughts. 

Honeymoon in Northumberland? Bye bye. You were fun while you lasted. I've never eaten so much M&S party food in my life.

Sister Clare’s wedding? (basically, for us, an extension of our own nuptial celebrations which gave us the opportunity to bask in the glory of love and say a proper ‘how are ye?’ to everyone we managed a brief nod to on our own wedding day) Over and done with.

The Bedders descend on India for Narahari Wedding Number 2 and some Extended Honeymoon Fun? Been there, done that, didn’t buy any T-shirts (but DID purchase a range of rather nice souvenirs including a weird door handle in the shape of a hand offov a random Free Tibet market stall. Seriously, we did.)

 And then it was January. And it was terribly bleak and depressing. Everyone said that life ‘post-wedding’ would be a bit of a crash landing after riding on a morphine-like high for so long. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t ready to fling ourselves off the Tyne Bridge or anything – but we were certainly left a little bit grey after 2011: The Year of Joyousness and Fuzzy Moments.

Ah, but we know ourselves well, Bedders and I. We’d sort of anticipated our massive freak out. A storm had been a-brewing in the run-up to our wedding. We’d probably been having conversations along the following lines since this time last year.

Laura: When we’re married, what’ll we do?

Adam: Hmm?

Laura: Well, you know, like what’s our plan? Di at work has a five-year plan. I think we need a five-year plan.

Adam: Well-

Laura: But then a thought of a five-year plan totally FREAKS ME OUT because, like, what are the options? Keep going at work, maybe go for a promotion, pop out a couple of babies, job’s a good ‘un? That makes my hands go clammy. Years and years and years and years of doing the same job and...

Adam: I see-

Laura: I feel like Renton in Trainspotting. "Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a starter home and dental insurance, leisure wear and matching luggage. BUT I CHOSE NOT TO CHOOSE LIFE!"

Adam: Right.

Laura: My hands are clammy.

Adam: My hands are clammy, too.

And so we considered our options. We needed to do something different. We referred back to our list of likes and dislikes. We recalled our aversions to driving long distances (Adam's) and periodic feelings of rising panic (mine).

We bought a book called Living and Working in New Zealand. We did our 'points'. We seriously, seriously considered it. We decided it wouldn't be right for us for all sorts of reasons pertaining to distance and family and the big fat danger that we'd never come back.

So then we struck on the idea of VSO. It ticked loads of our boxes, namely:

TRAVEL
BIG ADVENTURE
EXPOSURE TO OTHER LANGUAGES (not going to write 'we'll become totally and utterly fluent in other languages' - maybe a bit ambitious)
A MORE INTERNATIONAL OUTLOOK
WORTHY
DIFFERENT

And we persued it. We had an interview in London. We met Alice the 'women's campaigner', who was nice if a bit scarily earnest and Debbie, a primary school teacher with grown-up sons who wanted to 'do something different'. We did some excruciating icebreakers and teamwork activities. We had gruelling (separate) interviews where they asked us about how often we argued (NEVER!), our attitudes to and history with drugs and how we'd cope with being outsiders. Yikes.

We were accepted. We nearly asphyxiated.

We started planning where we'd like to go and when.

We started planning a 'final hurrah' of a summer, doing the Coast to Coast and having a big pub-based fundraiser.

And then, well...they got a bit rubbish.

We were a bit spooked by the fact that they couldn't guarantee Adam a placement. If I went as the 'main volunteer', we'd have had no problem. But then Adam'd be out of related employment for a year (or two years, as became more likely after the interview), and when you work in agricultural policy, that's kind of a long time.

As I said, teachers do crazy lefty things like working in the developing world for a year or two all the time and it doesn't seem to damage their employability. We didn't think it'd be the same for Adam.

After a particularly discouraging two hour conference call in which our placement advisor told us she didn't know anything about agriculture or agricultural placements, that someone else would have to ring us with information (they didn't), that a three month notice period isn't workable, that they can offer no guarantees about placements until the 11th hour and that secondary school English teachers can work in either Ethiopia or Papau New Guinea (deep breath), we decided reluctantly that we couldn't do it. We have a mortgage, man. We couldn't give up our jobs with a view to leaving in September and then have no placement and a house full of tenants. Uh uh. 

And then a job came up at Adam's work. 

A job that he'd really, really fancy.

In, err, Brussels. 

And he might just have got it. Yesterday. 

Let's just re-check the list, shall we?

TRAVEL - yup.
BIG ADVENTURE - yup.
EXPOSURE TO OTHER LANGUAGES - time to brush up on that GCSE! In French, not Flemish. Or Dutch. Obv.
A MORE INTERNATIONAL OUTLOOK - yup,
WORTHY - not so much. But there's a possibility we could ask for a sabbatical/some unpaid leave and do a short-term project somewhere. My feelers are out...
DIFFERENT - YAY!

Oh God. My head is in a mess. But a good mess.

  

Pen Do.

So the weekend saw the advent of Pen Do. And, by Christ, Sunday saw the advent of New Lent. I will be alcohol-free for forty days and forty nights.

It's fine to start Lent a week in. Chris Evans said so. He did - on Monday's breakfast show (for the record, he's cutting out beer and bread. I swear, a significant part of my carb-related paranoia is down to Mr Evans.) No, I don't know what the Pope's official line on it is. But if the Big Man himself did 40 days in the desert, so if that's good enough for him, it's good enough for me.

But I digress. The reason for enforced sobriety? PEN DO WAS STONKING, MAN.

Although that combination of gin, red wine and apple sours (why?) was not. Gaaaaah.

Sunday was a Day of Twos. two hot cross buns. Two naps. Two Panadols. Two lime and sodas. One of anything just wasn't doing the job.

Anyway, so PenDo. Penny has written about it. Anna K has written about it. And now I shall write about it. Oh yes I shall.

I will put links in to their witty write-ups when I'm not on the iPad - oh yes, DID I MENTION I BOUGHT AN IPAD?! And years of being scathing about Apple have come to an abrupt end? - mainly so that you can read and internally vomit about 'intimate pink' being used as a colour description for any kind of branding purposes and for Anna's rather lovely sum-up of everyone. Aw, shucks. It's all true.

If this was Guide camp, we'd be hugging right now.

First of all, let it be known that it was like a massive blind date. Oh god. I haven't been in the back of a taxi wearing a pretty dress and trying to ignore sweaty palms for Quite Some Time. I didn't enjoy that bit. Wasn't dating exhausting? Cilla lied to us. Our Graham and his quick recap lied. Dating isn't exciting. It's overrated and stressful and leads to whiny existential conversations with female friends.

Secondly, let it be known that they are all REAL PEOPLE. I know, I was surprised, too. But they are. And they live up to their personas. Because, let's face it, prior to Saturday, they were all personas. Rebecca was the epitome of swan-like elegance. Anna was a Quip Machine with incredible pouting abilities. Penny was an edgy rock goddess. And so on. But on Saturday they came to life from the moment I found Amy, Anna, Gemma, Kirsty, Bex and Lucy at the bar and uttered the immortal words, 'Pen Dooooo?'

There was a pause that in reality was about four nanoseconds. At that moment it felt like aeons. Then Amy said, 'Yes!'

Halle-flipping-luiah.

So Rebecca and Penny appeared. And Neon Cactus fed and watered us. And we sang karaoke. And Daniel by Elton John was on the machine. Ah, me. And someone took lots of photos (apparently. I was doing too much Elton-loving to really notice, it seems.)

And do you know, it was bloody marvellous? Completely and utterly out of my comfort zone if I'm totally honest - all gob, no trousers, me - but actually ace. I was reminded of Baz Luhrmann and that 90s hit Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen) - 'Do something each day that scares you.'

Although I think what scared me, on reflection, wasn't actually the meeting up, but the measuring up. I don't think I've ever hung out with such a gang of Ridiculous Over-Achievers. Errr, girls, I think it would do you some good to, like, FAIL AN EXAM or NOT BE SO DEVASTATINGLY STYLISH or HAVE A BAD HAIR DAY. You're showing the rest of us up.

Thanksbye.

"Though lovers be lost, love shall not."

That's a Dylan quotation right there. Dylan Thomas, that is. Yes sirree, I have been in the land of one of the greatest Masters of the Simile of all time - unconvinced? "Smiling like a razor blade." Wowzers - as well as the land of Charlotte Church and her cheeky Vimto shots. The land of sheep and mining choirs. The land of Mr Tom Jones.

And we had a lovely pre-Valentine's/thank-God-above-it's-half-term break.

We walked and talked and made some plans and put the world to rights.

We spent a full hour on Sunday morning in bed with a coffee and the Saturday papers. That was a little bit glorious.

And I played with the camera.

We stayed at Pennant, near Llangollen. There was freezing fog when we arrived. It felt like we were on top of the world, although not in a euphoric way. More like a 'can't-actually-see-if-this-road-is-tarmac-or-a-dirt-path' kind of way. Look at that ice formation, I told Bedders. A theist would use that as part of a teleological argument for the existence of God.

Mmm, said Bedders.

There were woodland pigs at Chirk Castle. They were utterly monstrous.

They were definitely representative of the colour palette of the weekend, though.

We saw a sliver of blue sky in the gardens at Chirk.

But was it enough to make a pair of sailor's trousers? Bedders wanted to know.

Thank you, Paul and Claire for our National Trust membership-as-a-wedding-present. The perfect gift for a pair of utter nerds. You know us well. 

The animals on the farm had pretty Welsh names. This chap's girlfriend was called Beti.

We did a bit of hiking in between all the wine-drinking and blue-cheese-eating (obvs), for which we needed a map. I once again marvelled at how studiously Adam consults maps. I'm happy to wander*; he, alas, is not. 

My new walking boots are wicked. Merrell, don't you know. And I bought them with a wedding voucher**. Gerrin! Free boots!***

And then I did something very reckless.

On the way back, we stopped in Manchesterrrrr, land of the nasal twang. The land of the Gallagher brothers. Land of-OK, ENOUGH ALREADY!

And I purchased one of them ol' iPads. And I am clearly destined to be completely obsessed by it. Cue a lot of laborious faffing about with my photos from the weekend.

But I'm fulfilling my promise to work out how to make photos look prettier (I did actually vow that. Here)! Surely that must be worth a 69p app and a hell of a lot of fiddling?!

* OK, so I mean dither.
** Thank you, English department colleagues.
*** Well, significantly subsidised.

Oh Baby

I'm trying to find a present for some lovely friends of ours who've just had a little 'un. And I want to buy them some REALLY AWESOME baby clothes.

Now, I appreciate that dressing your baby like a gangster isn't for everyone. But how amazing are these?

No, indeed she isn't.

I appreciate a good pun as much as the next girl.

Actually bought this for a work colleague once upon a time. Well, for his child. He WAS a Dylan fan.

And these are my ACTUAL favourites. Love and Hate scratch mits!

Sadly, I don't think gangster wear is what our dear friends have in mind. They farm. They are wholesome. They are uber-lovely.

So...those Scandinavians. They're bloody cool, aren't they? Just type 'Scandinavian Baby Clothes' into Google (you know, if you're bored, like) and see what comes up.

In fact, you don't need to bother. Look - I'll show you.

I like the psychedelic LSD-inspired surrealness of this one. It's all a bit Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

This baby's daddy is a farmer! How perfect is this?

get your baby farmer-gear here

Oh, hang on. Not as perfect as this! (although secretly I suspect this might be a little bit ugly and I'm being sucked in by the kitsch factor).

When I have a child, it's going to be EXQUISITELY dressed.