Busy

I'm pretty busy this time of year, as I'm sure everyone is, so I thought I'd post a few pics from my recent mini-break to keep you amused. The excellent artistic camera work is that of HID's.

Grown.

He really exists!

Yesterday, I renewed my belief in Father Christmas.

I was in my local Boots, queuing to pay, when a rude lady pushed past me to get out, and an elderly gentleman trying to come in. He made a surprised face, and I caught a really good look at him as he walked past me, and I even turned round to let my eyes follow him into the store.

This is what he looked like; he had a big round belly, and a rounded face with rosy red cheeks. He was wearing a brown coat and a brown old-man-style hat with a sprig of holly in it. He sported half moon glasses on his nose, and a real snowy coloured beard. He looked even more like father Christmas than Kris Kringle in Miracle of 34th Street. Honestly, it was him! Perhaps he was buying my Christmas present, as I love Boots stuff!

Grown.

Curls

I told my baby sister this story, which I initially thought was not really blog material, until she cried with laughter. Maybe you had to be there though? I’ll let you be the judge.

The other day, I went shopping at Netto, to hopefully save a few bob. I certainly got a few bargains, amongst which was a multi-pack of curls, or to you and me, fake quavers. I always tell HID what I have bought when I got shopping, as a rarely do a "big-shop", just top-up-shops, and I like bragging about bargains.

So it’s like: "And I got X, which only cost me £Y, and X was reduced to £Y, and I got some cheap quavers."

The curls packet was uncannily alike with that of quavers, yellow with the green writing. After his tea, HID asked if he could have some quavers. I threw a packet over, he opened them, popped one in, and exclaimed:

"Hey, Quavers have changed their name to Curls!"

I found this knicker-wettingly funny. Is it a "you had to be there"?

Grown.

DIY

*Family members and persons of a nervous dispostion please take note: this post contains mild references to my sex life. Read on at your own risk/hilarity.

About two weeks ago, HID and I were invited to my parents for Sunday Dinner. Jumping at the chance of a (free) proper meal, we agreed, even though HID was very busy with DIY on our house, and his uni course. We had a lovely time at dinner, and afterwards, HID whipped out his digital camera to show them the progress he’d made with his DIY projects. (He is very handy, and had done a lot that weekend).

Now don’t ask me why, but I had a horrible feeling about what may or may not be on the memory of that camera. If I am wearing a particularly sexy outfit for a night out, before we leave the house/when we get home, HID will often beg me to let him take a few pictures at funny angles (i.e. cleveage enhancing shots, me twirling in a skirt that shows a hint of my knickers.) Everyone does that right? And I always make sure they are deleted the following day. Definitely….

So why did I get a sinking feeling when my dad suggested popping the memory card into the TV, so we could see the pics on his wide-screen? So I suddenly felt the need to be busy, and out of the room, made myself a drink, got my bag from the hallway. Finally, they dragged me in to look at the pictures. My heart was in my mouth as the slideshow clicked on, and on, but we managed to get to the end with everyone’s dignity in tact.

This weekend, the DIY tasks were pretty much finished, and we were invited round again, this time, both my sisters were there, so we got out the camera again. HID had the memory card in his hand ready to slot into the TV, when my sinking feeling returned. But this time it was more than nagging, it was serious.

“Babe, did you delete those pictures?”

Luckily, my dad was out of the room at the time. Cue a red hue playing about the cheeks of HID, and a sheepish “Oh! No.”

Now, these particular pictures were of me wearing a tutu, with fairly visible black knickers underneath, and a black basque, walking up the stairs, taken from behind. (The photo is taken from behind, for those of you with dirty minds.) From the shots, it looks as though HID has taken them without my knowledge. This is not the case….DIY of a different kind.

I spun a version of this story to my mum and sisters, the youngest of which had been dragged out of the shower to view the pics, so was none too impressed when HID had to painstakingly find and delete said pictures. She was clearly not bothered about my embarrassment. Moreover, HID was gutted he’d not downloaded the pictures beforehand, as they are now non-existant.

My suspicious mind saved me from humiliation! And probably HID getting a severe beating from my dad…..

Grown.

Praise the "21 Rule".

In the very near, and looming future, I am to be no longer a girl of 21. I have never before really thought about getting older, but I'm no more immune to it that anyone else! (Although I am a health food freak [sometimes], have an aversion to sun-exposure, being an English Rose with freckles, and have been using anti-aging products sporadically for 2 years, so I am hoping I might be immune.)

I love telling people I'm 21! Not least because of the shock factor: people swallowing their tongues at the prospect of a married 21 year old. I may resign myself to being one of those ladies that celebrate every birthday as "21 again", it might be quite fun. I do love birthdays, all the fuss and stuff; I'm no shrinking violet.

On the plus side, although shop assistants of late had stopped asking me for identification when I buy beer for my beloved, they seem to have resumed! Am overjoyed, I thought I was losing my touch. I have a real baby face, so does HID, we got jointly ID'd last night, and he's older than me! I love it, because even though they have the new "21" rule, so I must look 20, what I really want to believe is that I've been mistaken for a fresh-faced (or should that be acne-prone?) 17 year old. It's always a complement, keep them coming! Long may I require my diver's licence to buy beer, bearing a photo of my 16 year old self, taken for my provisional.

So I may be entering my "mid twenties", but I certainly don't look it. Yet.

Grown.

"I've just had the weirdest dream..."

Last night I had a very strange dream. I dreamt I was in a school cloakroom-type-thing having a delightful discussion with Jeremy Clarkson. Not only that, we were discussing the in and outs of studying degrees of a similar structure. (Obviously, he was not studying Psychology like me, that wouldn't make sense! He was studying motoring). He was very nice. (In real life, I think Clarkson is very cool. In a geeky way. I have a thing about geeks. Obviously, like every woman with eyes, I prefer the Hamster, he's just not as funny as Clarky.)

In the dream, the cloakroom was filled with biker gear, and towards the end of our conversation, we kept getting interrupted by bikers coming in to collect their things, perhaps after finishing work? Not sure. But Clarkson hates bikers, and being interrupted, so he kept taking the piss out of these guys, it was very funny.

Anyway, suddenly, in the same cloakroom, now filled with people, I was married to Max from Hollyoaks. I was evil, like Claire, but I was not Claire, as she was sat opposite me, giving me the evil eye for stealing her sugar daddy. Max was still ill from his heart attack, so I went to hug him, but when I did, I noticed he was wearing a floaty white skirt and matching top. He may have also turned into a woman at that point too. Then HID woke me up with his toothache.

Possible reasons for the dream: currently writing an essay about Freud, a small portion of which involves dream analysis. I think Freud might have turned in his grave if I'd have told him that dream! Freud used lots of sex symbolism, a room, like a cloakroom, is supposed to represent a womb. Well, I have been pretty broody of late, that might make sense. But Clarkson? Max in drag? I have no idea; your guess is as good as mine.

Note: I was going to put a pic of Clarkson or Claire instead of what Guinness fans (like HID) will have noticed as the dream advert. However, try typing "Hollyoaks girls" into ask.com, and you're just asking for scantily clad ladies apparently, so I couldn't find a decent one. As for Clarky, it is very weird and creepy when they take arty photos of him, trying to make him appear young and attractive.

Grown.

Festivities

I am very excited about the up-coming festive season! Christmas is one thing, but I also have a birthday, my 1st ever wedding anniversary, and a trip to Edinburgh to celebrate it all! Check out the fab apartment that HID has booked for our kinky getaway, and it's right in the city centre too. On the left here is a pic of the writer's museum, on the left hand side of the pic is a block of apartments, that's where we'll be!

I really can't wait. My Christmas tree had been up since the 3rd (I wasn't home on the 1st or 2nd, or it would have been then), my presents are all bought, wrapped, and sitting under said tree, which is my 1st big Christmas tree since the foot-high, pink and purple disco balls effort when I lived in university halls. This one's a proper grown up tree, massive with gold decorations, given to me by both sets of grandparents!

I'm even rumored to be receiving new hat/scarf/glove sets for my birthday before we leave for our Scottish mini-break, which will prevent me from needing to purchase a new winter coat for the occasion, I'll just dress up the old one with new accessories. Black never goes out of style. I will definitely be wrapping up warn after last year's winter city-break (honeymoon in Paris), when I packed 2 short, autumn jackets to look beau for my newly-nabbed HID, and it hoofed it down with inch upon inch of snow the entire 9 days. I have certainly learned my lesson that even if function doesn't necessarily come before fashion, they certainly must go hand in hand.

So I'll let you know if we enjoyed our break! I'm sure we will, it will be lush to spend some time alone together, without the stress or work ect. Although my January exams are coming up....

Grown.

Fruit Salad

I went shopping to my favourite supermarket yesterday! The reason it's such a big deal is that since we moved in with MIL, it is now much further away, thus costing what we would save in cheap food, in spending more petrol money. That wasn't the most eloquent of sentences was it? Can't think of any other way to say it. Anyway, my mum was going anyway, so I went along with her. She shops for a family of four, I shop for HID and myself, so we selected large and small trolleys respectively.

Unfortunately, due to my excitement at the bargains galore, it should have been the other way around, as her trolley was pitifully empty for a mid-week top-up shop, and mine was precariously balanced as though there were about to be a cordial/fruit/pasta sauce shortage.

Back at home with my proud purchases; I decided to make a lovely sweet and sour with my reduced-to-48p packet of stir-fry veggies, reduced-to-49p smart price peppers and reduced-to-50p fresh, whole pineapple. The only things that needed preparation were the peppers and pineapple, so off to chopping I went. Pineapple first, into a tupperware for the excess to be reincarnated as desert (with reduced-to-70p organic yoghurt), then peppers, red and yellow, just perch them atop the pineapple for now.

HID shouts "Yo!" as he comes in from work, (don't ask me why, he always does. What's wrong with hello? Thinks he's a gangster. With his ginger 'fro) and I start to add the ingredients. Chicken, then peppers, carefully making sure I get every last yellow piece from in amongst the pineapple, a handful of the chopped pineapple, ready-made veggies, sauce....done.

T'was lovely. Yummy tea indeed. I did not leave room for afters, but HID, peeking in the fridge, spots the leftover pineapple, and I direct him to pour over the yoghurt, straight into the tupperware, save washing up (or more accurately, energy of dishwasher). Mmmmm, he tucked in, marvelling my bargain-hunting skills and excellent wifey-ness in general.

He popped the very last piece of yoghurt-covered pineapple into his mouth. His face changes, contorts, gags.....yep you guessed it boys and girls, a piece of yellow pepper he had just consumed. Oh dear. Perhaps I am not the all-knowing all-powerful wife he thought I was mere seconds ago. Or am I?!

No, I wouldn't do that to HID on purpose. A) He is too nice, and puts up with me. B) I actually am that stupid as to leave the pepper in there.

Grown.