Mork calling Orson

If Mork was calling this Orson, I really hope he'd be calling them to tell them to feck right off, and take their fecking stupid "song" with them. I hate No Tomorrow so much, whenever it comes on the radio I have to fight the urge not to repeatedly punch the next person I see. To say I hate this song would be the understatement of the year. The first time I heard it, I thought "this is pretty cool, I could dance to this, listen to the hi-hat in the chorus, it's all tss tss tss". Then I made the mistake of listening to the lyrics. It's like Orson swallowed the unabridged version of The Brian Molko Rhyming Dictionary* and puked them up. In time to the music. Booky B tried to convince me "they are like Shakespeare". I think she was joking.

The lyrics that makes me feel the most violent, are the rhyming of "shiny pants" with "romance"(what!?) and "red bull" with "school". Now the more literate amongst you might notice that "red bull" and "school" don't actually rhyme. And this, pop fans, is what makes me want to scream. Because Mr Orson sings "red bool" and those lyrics, are the lyrics I hate the most , ever!

* Oh, how I wish this actually existed.

Wimp!

Checking my RSS reader, I noticed this question on a medical Q & A feed:

Q. A 24yr old man doing survival course in Philippine jungle april this year, for 10 days what vaccinations should he have?

Vaccinations on a survival course? Surely that's cheating?

Beware! This one's about the W!

Mr L is best manning for his friend who is getting married on September 30th. Yesterday we got a beautiful, handmade invitation from them.

Us? Our invites were £3.50 for ten from Marks and Sparks, and whilst we may have written them, oh okay, written some of them, we haven't sent them yet. We don't even have stamps! And we get married in 2 months.

Oops.

Lovely hair

Ohmygod!! How fabulous is my new haircut? And the fringe! Marvellous! Look at the layers, ooh and I like the parting on a different side. Lovely, lovely hair!

You can't have your cake and eat it

Cake #3 The winner!

Or can you? Two weekends ago we trekked up to my mum and dads for a visit and The Great Chocolate Wedding Cake Tasting Competition (TGCWTC).

Now, at the W there will be three cakes. A traditional fruit cake which I am making (I'm using the family Christmas cake recipe, but with less Santa decoration), a vegan, alcohol free fruit cake which Mr L is making for the guests that don't drink, and the chocolate cake, which my mum is making, requested by Mr L but coveted by our godson. I can see it now, Mr L with one side of the cake, a 5 year old with the other, the cake flying through the air...

Anyway, at TGCWTC we tried four cakes. My poor mum was so enthusiastic at the beginning, we left her on the Saturday cheery and looking forward to trying out four different recipes. My sister came home at 10pm the same day to find her at her wits end wrestling with fondant icing. She made the cakes, cut them in half, iced half of each cake (there were two different types of icing) and numbered the cakes. Then we all (12 of us) had a piece of each cake.

Life's too short to explain everything that happened at the TGCWTC so here are the highlights;

• Godson put in charge of giving cakes marks on chart we drew together.
• We were allowed to eat the cake before our dinner - when does that ever happen? In fact my mum was encouraging it!
• Cake #4 (which we tried first, don't ask) enjoyed by all, especially godson who wolfed it all down without dropping a bit.
• Cake #2 full of booze and chocolate, yummy but the general consensus was that it was "a bit too rich".
• Cake #3 Mmm, coffee and chocolate and delicious.
• Cake #1 Mmmmm, also delicious! This is so difficult!
• Every cake preceded by Mr S asking "is this cake #1?".
• Me worrying about godson dropping brown cake onto mums new beige carpet. Guess who made more mess (clue: initials are LL)?
• Mrs S phoning up when she got home to say "don't tell your mum, but I've been sick".
• Mr L having to have the next day off work with tummy ache.
• D asking for seconds! Seconds!

You should be able to see (but not taste, boo!) the other cakes by clicking on the cake above...You'll also find the epitime of the Wedding Cake; Scott & Charlene's cake. Altogether now "Suddenly you're here with meeee".

I want my MP3

I don't smoke, I don't drink that much. My vice? My MP3 player. I can't go anywhere without it, since it arrived in the post at work 10 months ago we have been inseperable. Until now.

On Saturday night we were staying with my bestest friend, Mrs S, and I was showing off my lovely little MP3 player. My beautiful purple Zen Micro. Sob. Mrs S was saying how she wanted an MP3 player, but then admitted she didn't know what they did, or why she wanted one. I blame the continous repeating of the Balamory christmas dvd that her 2 year old insists on watching "Mummy, Mory! Moreeeeeeeeeeeey", it's obviously sent her insane.

Anyway, when we went up to bed 1.5 litres of Sangria later, I was too sleepy to actually put my player back in my bag. It wasn't until we were at my parents and leaving for the station the next day until I realised I'd left it on their bedside table! Noooooooooooooo! Double Nooooooooo!!!

I won't get it back until my mum comes to visit in THREE WEEKS!! So for now, I'm listening to my radio, my post Walkman (RIP) pre-MP3 musical accompanyment. And instead of my usual expensive fabulous, outside noise blocking headphones? I have a pair of headphones my dad stole from the open-top tour bus of London.

Sob.

Cluck. Part One.

Whilst reading his, please bear in mind that the ladies involved in this, were also involved in this. We are also mostly librarians. We like to plan. Mostly to take over the world, mwah ha haaaa. Did I say that out loud? The following has been taken from various emails sent today, entirely in work time. Names have been changed to protect the librarian sisterhood.

From: Me
To: Bookish Barbara & Miss S.

Okay, here are my musings on the Hen Night.
1. Check into hotel as soon as we can. Mrs S wants an afternoon nap, I want my moneys worth :)
2. Get ready, with at least 2 changes of outfit per person, whilst drinking lots* and having a mini buffet like at Booky B's. Lots of M&S small food. Yum.
3. Go for a few drinks, meet the others who aren't staying in the hotel (fools!). Possibly go for cocktails* in that swanky bar that I went to with Mrs D although they are £6/7 a pop, yet are huge and delicious. Classy.
4. Go and shake our moneymakers at the student union. Not so classy.
5. Get back to hotel, sleep/be sick/steal toiletries.
6. For those who want to, go for breakfast/lunch (ooh I mean 'brunch' don't I?) at Eat and 2 Veg. Mmm.
7. Go home
* = Not my non-drinking sister. Boo!

How's that sound?

From: Booky B
To: Me & Miss S

I had an email about my friend Crazy Hen's (note: this is not her real name) hen night which is on the 12th of never (note: these are not the real dates) and it sounds hideous. It's in a galaxy far far away (note: this is not the real venue) for a start, and they want everyone to dress in pink and pay £15 each to hire a pink limo, and go to some hideous meat market to get mawled. And as I'm missing the wedding I can't really miss it. Agh! Your plan sounds much better Lady L!

From: Miss S
To: Me & Booky B

Ok - I'll leave booking the hotel to you - but anything else and I'm your girl. Balloons, banners and glitter are mspecialtyty!

To be continued....

Valentine

No, I'm not a week early, this is actually a Public Service Announcement.

Stop what you're doing immediately and go here to pre-order the new single from The Delays. Because if this isn't the best thing I've heard in a good five years, then I don't know what is. Click on e-card to get a sneaky listen, and I defy you not to dance when you hear this. I don't care if you are at work! This song is so amazingly good, it makes me slightly hysterical! You may have noticed!

Too good to be true?

Hey, remember when this happened when I tried to register with a new GP? This morning I finally got round to registering with a new, new GP. I walked in, asked if I could register, the receptionist smiled (smiled!) at me, said "yes, when can you come in for an appointment with the nurse?", booked me an appointment with the nurse, gave me one (not three) form to fill in, then smiled again and that was it.

I'm still waiting to wake up/fall out of the parallel universe.

Raised on a diet of broken biscuits

I'm on my own in the library (I finally ran out of excuses not to do the Wednesday late). I am on a diet. I will not open these.

I will also not open these -

And I most certainly will not be opening these -

Yep. They are the biscuits we have in our library office. And you thought it was all 'sssh' and no fun, ey?

03/03/06 **BISCUIT UPDATE** After promising myself one of the yummy Cadburys biscuits when they were opened (thinking they would be opened after my diet had finished) I can confirm that I am now eating an Orange Chocolate Crunch. I realise this is breaking my diet, but they were opened yesterday whilst I was off sick, and HALF THE TIN has gone already, half the tin!! I'm on holiday next week, and at this rate they'll have polished them off and eaten the tin no doubt, by the time I am back, so I'm taking my chance now. I can also confirm the biscuit is yummy!

How may points for a ....

So, as nobody likes a fat bride (see below) and more importantly as none of my clothes fit (again) and after astonishingly both losing and putting back on a stone in 18 months, I'm back on the old diet.

Now, when I diet I do it the Weight Watchers way (other ways of losing-and-putting-a-stone-on-in-18-month diets are available). After years of attending WW meetings with my mum, I know the points system inside out. Yes, I know points is very 5 years ago, but the new ways of working things out scare the hell out of me. I am a WW luddite. I am also a human WW reference book. Seriously, ask me the amount of points in an anything, and I know. With the exception of meat & fish I know that points value of everything. Hummus? Why, that would be full fat 1.5pts a tablespoon, 1pt a tablespoon for low-fat. Avacado? Thanks for asking, 3pts for half a medium size avacado (love the precise science!). So far, so good. I lost 4lbs this week. Okay, that's 4lb of the 6lb I put on over christmas, but that's really not the point.

And the best thing about the WW points system? I can hoard my points and 'spend' them on booze! Hooray for being drunk as a skunk whilst on a diet! (That's me on a diet, not the skunk).

And I'm not at all jealous of this lucky little guy. Nope, not even one tiny little bit.

Here comes the bride

So, after ten years of saying over and over and over again how we are "never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER getting married", we're getting married. This has taken most of our family & friends by complete suprise, including those I'd told that we were thinking of it. I must say, more fun than actually deciding to get married or planning the whole thing has been telling people we're getting married.

Ways I have told people we're getting married:
1. Telling my mum and dad (who had no idea what we were planning) in a packed restuarant.
Me: "Guess what we're doing for our anniversary next year?"
My dad: "Getting married"
Me: (in a What? You weren't supposed to guess! voice) "Yes!"
My mum "Eeeeeeeeeee" (and other high pitched excited noises).
My dad: "I said the least likely thing I could think of!"

2. Dropping it casually into the middle of an email about other people's quite frankly crazy wedding planning. They had sent out pre-invite reminders (no, I have no idea what they are either) for their wedding in November 2006, in December 2005 and I just couldn't resist putting "I mean, my and Mr L are getting married in April and we haven't even told anybody yet" into the middle of an email. I got a "What?!!" and a "Sorry?" in reply.

3. Dropping it casually into conversation about dieting
Mrs D "we're eating heathily, but we're not really dieting"
Me "oh, we need to go on a diet, 'cus we're getting married in April, and no-one likes a fat bride"

4. Dropping it casually into a conversation about people visiting us
My bestest friend "And of course, we're visint you Easter weekend"
Me "Well, you could visit us that weekend, or you could come down two weeks later and then you can come to our wedding as well"
My bestest friend "What? Are you getting married for real?"
Me "Yes!"
My bestest friend "Is it real? Is it really real? Really, really, really real?"

5. Breaking the news to my ex-colleagues, who, the whole year I worked with them had to listen to me moan about weddings in general and say how I was "never, ever, ever, ever times a billion" getting married.
Me (after rather a lot of wine, for dutch courage purposes) "Ooh, you can hire this pub for a party. That's good, 'cus I'm on the look-out for a room to hire for our wedding celebrations"
Them "What wedding celebrations?"
Me (covering head for any abuse/punches that might come my way) "We're getting married, don't shout at me!"

Thankfully everyone has been really pleased, and we've had none of the "I told you so"s that we expected. I don't think I'm being a wedding bore (reason to not get married # 567) but if I am, please let me know, I'd hate to be one of those brides who can only talk about the wedding (reason to not get married #245).

Speaking of genius...

Three things people have said to me at work in the last month...

1. Woman filling in library application form - "What country is this?". What? Let's just be glad she knew her name.

2. Woman on a Saturday library tour - "So, are you only open Monday to Friday?". Actual answer "Errr, no, we're open on a Saturday as well". In my head answer "No, we're closed, all these people here working are actors". Alternative in my head answer "Yes, and this is all a dream, a dream, a dream...".

3. Man sitting in library. That's in the library. "Are you open?" Actual answer (a very snappy) "Yes!". In my head answer "No. We're closed. That's why you couldn't get through the locked door".

Another story about too tight trousers

I've decided to give up the annual pre-christmas diet. Maybe 'give up' isn't the phrase I should be using, as not eating biscuits between 11am - 7pm yesterday doesn't really qualify as a diet, does it?

Anyway, this years solution will be to go shopping after work tonight and buying a pair of the next size up trousers. That way I can eat what the hell I like, and my clothes will still be a bit loose, therefore creating the illusion of thinness.

Pure genius, that's what I am.

Card Humbug!

Why, oh why, oh why, oh why card manufacturers of Great Britain?

In the name of all things festive, why?

Why do you insist on making your christmas cards for family members so goddamn nauseating? All I want, if it's not too much to ask, is a card that says "Merry Christmas Dad" or "Happy New Year Sister". And what do you give me? "I'm glad that your my special daddy" or "To my special sister" or "I've already had my christmas wish come true, I've got you as my (insert blood relative of choice here)". And don't get me started on "To my mum and her fella", "You're like a dad to me", "To my special sister and her fiancee" (who is presumably just plan ordinary). What the hell is that all about? Do you have any idea how hard it is, as a child of non-divorced parents to buy christmas cards?

Just stop it. Oh, and while you're at it, people do still have birthdays in December you know, so maybe next year, leave a few birthday cards around. Cus they can tell when you've scratched 'Christmas' off and scribbled in 'Birthday' over the top. Trust me.

You know you should get out more, when...

...you get very excited at being given an Executive Room by mistake at a librarians conference.

Return of the killer librarian

I know, I know. I'm just not blogging as much as I used to. I've decided that this is because I no longer work in the thick of it in central London. And by "in the thick of it" I mean "amongst the freaks". Seriously. You work in central London and everyday your commute involves at least three incidents that no normal person would put up with/hang around long enought to watch. But because you work in central London, you are in your London Frame Of Mind, and so anything goes.

I mention this becuase on Tuesday I was off to a conference in Oxford (woo-hoo!) and so had to go in to London to get a train. There I was, still in my Suburby Frame Of Mind, taking everything in, looking in shop windows, walking at a normal pace, having a little daydream, and do you know what? I almost got killed! Shoved out of the way by sharpened elbows, scowled at by all and run over by peoples STUPID wheely cases. One woman who ran her case into my leg and then over my foot, turned round to me and said "Don't put your foot there!". What? Here where I've been standing for the last 15 minutes with the rest of Paddington Station managing to avoid my quite frankly tiny feet? I'm sorry how inconsiderate of me, you OLD BAG.

I decided that I had better switch up a gear, and by the time I got on my train 20 minutes later I had shoved, tutted, walked everywhere purposefully and at speed and kiCked a few wheely suitcases out of the way. Mwa ha haaa!

Ah, it's good to be back!

Dear Mrs Ritchie,

or can I call you Madonna? I love your new single, it's the best thing that you've done in a long while, it rocks. I suspect this is largely down to the excellent 'Gimme Gimme Gimme' sample, however I'll let this pass, 'cus it makes me want to dance like a crazy lady. And 10/10 for the Saturday Night Fever meets Agadoo arm movement at the the end of the vid. Inspired.

I have a comment to make about this song however. Would it have hurt you to have gotten a leotard that wasn't so high cut in the leg area for the video? Really, you are the same age as Mr L.'s mother. Put it away dear.

Yours, learning to dance in new killer heels,

Lady Librarian.

P.S. Really, put it away.

Shoe porn

Well if you can't buy yourself these to celebrate a) coming home with holiday spending money left and b) your friends 30th upcoming birthday, when can you?

I'm wearing them right now. With my pink p'jamas. Foxy or what?

What I did on my holidays...

Day One: Woo-hoo! Look at me all not scared of flying! Hypnotherapy rocks! The weather? Sunny and warm.The accomodation? Why, it's the skanky Hospedaria Verde Esperança. On several websites it says that this Guest House was renovated in November 2004. Hmm, usually when you "renovate" you do things like, oh I don't know...put locks on the doors, fill in cracks in the wall, remove newspapers with a date of July 2004 from the wardrobe, make sure the kitchen you provide has a working fridge, and hey! call me crazy, but a cooker as well. What they mean is, this place had new windows in November 2004.
Day Two: Ah, a relaxing start to the day with a lie-in before climbing literally hundreds of hills whilst out and about in Lisbon. I now have the not very attractive calf muscles of a mountain goat.
Day Three: Zoo! You gotta love the Zoo. A day that includes wobbly cable cars and a kiss each from a sealion. What more do you need from a holiday?
Day Four: Turns out the bites we have aren't from mosquitos, but bed bugs. Mr L wakes in the middle of the night to find the blighters fat and full of his blood. Gross. When we ask to change rooms we are roundly ignored by the "Hotel" owner, who even turns down the chambermaids request to change the bloody sheets (I'm not swearing, I mean the red stuff).
Day Five: Ooh, itchy itchy ITCHY. Also, rainy rainy RAINY. We go to the biggest aquarium in The Universe (or Europe, one of the two). We see lots of fish, cute sea otters and get shoved out of the way several times by an incredibly rude French family. (Rude, or stupid. One of the two. Probably both.)
Day Six: I.T.C.H.Y. That's itchy will a capital everything. Today we say a fond "F*ck You" to the Skanky Hospedaria Verde Esperança and head to the coast and a new hotel. Mmm, 4 star hotels, gotta love 'em. Cascais, lovely town, shame about the rain.
Day Seven: Buffet breakfast, rain, 4 star hotel.
Day Eight: Ditto. I don't think God knows we're on holiday. Or he hates us big time.
Day Nine: Train to Porto. In England to get on a long distance train with a ticket costing less than £1,000,000 you have to buy it 67 weeks in advance on the internet and travel in the middle of the night, standing on one leg, wearing stripey socks with a companion called Fred. In Portugal you ask for tickets an hour before the train leaves, and it costs 17.00 Euros. I have no idea how much 17 Euros really is, but it just sounds cheap, doesn't it?
Day Ten: Portuguese bank holiday. Everything shut. Even stuff that says it will be open. It's still raining by the way.
Day Eleven: Across the river to the Port warehouses. Free port at every turn and super steep hills. And yet we returned home with nothing broken. A miracle. It's still raining.
Day Twelve: Continuing this years series of Comedy Related Injuries (TM) I slip in the shower. I do what any normal person would do and grab hold of the shower curtain to steady myself. The shower curtain rail is in no way fixed to the wall, it is just ledged against the tiles. Really. Two seconds later I land flat bang on my bum with the shower curtain and rail over my head for good measure. Ouch. Although it did make me laugh and cry at the same time, which is always impressive.
Day Thirteen: On the way to the airport, the sun comes back out. Oh, ha ha HA.