Keris Stainton

Knocked up

As most of you probably know by now I'm "with child".  Knocked up.  Bun in the oven.  Er ... pregnant.  Which is why I haven't been blogging much lately.  I've nothing to blog about.  All I do is sleep.  Eat a bit.  Sleep some more.  Things have been looking up slightly in the last few days in that I no longer feel like something someone's stepped in, but still, sleep is my main pastime.  So hopefully over the next few weeks all this will pass and in the "second trimester" I will, everyone keeps assuring me, feel fantastic and I'll be back on form.  But at the moment - blah. 

Some things I'm enjoying currently (well, when I say "enjoying", I mean they're making my life a little less crap): 

The internet: for Christmas shopping without having to stand up. 

The West Wing: even though it's on at 9pm (bedtime) so I had to sleep from 7 and get back up at 9, I refuse to miss it.  Loving Will Bailey. 

Worcester Sauce flavour French Fries (mmm ... potato granules): for being disgusting enough to keep me awake during the car journey home. 

The Darkness: for being loud enough and funny enough to keep me awake for the car journey to work. 

A Trip to the Stars by Nicholas Christopher: for being interesting and entertaining enough to keep me awake (briefly) at bedtime. 

Boots Lavender Sleep plug-in thingy: for giving me the first mostly unbroken night's sleep for weeks (but now I've read it's not suitable during pregnancy - why?  why?) 

The Gap Adverts: for making me feel all wintry and Christmassy. 

Pregnancy itself: for giving me a lovely dream last night featuring both Robbie Williams and Jason Orange.  Bliss.

Catholic?

Sandi Toksvig mentioned these in an article and I thought they sounded just up my street.  They are indeed "the perfect gift for every young Catholic athlete".  If only I knew any! 

The mind boggles, doesn't it.  I particularly like American Football Jesus. 

And, I have to admit I like the idea of www.catholicshopper.com.  And while you're there, you can get yourself a Clergy Cardigan.

Creepy

Now I know I've been remiss in my blogging since the clocks went back and I started finding it very difficult to get out of bed, but we moved house this weekend and all should be easy-peasy from now on. 

For some reason the previous residents of our new home have taken the little metal ends off the TV aerials so we spent yesterday going back and forth to B&Q trying to get the right thingys (coaxial somethings, they're called).  Finally got the satellite plugged in, but it still didn't work - engineer for that then.  Got the TV tuned, but not the video.  Headed off to Blockbuster and got a DVD only to find that the DVD had been squished in the move and the drive doesn't open.  Back to Blockbuster to change the DVD for a video. 

Igby Goes Down, needn't have bothered, it was terrible. 

Turned it off before the end anyway to watch Louis and the Brothel.  I love Louis Theroux.  I love the way he just stands there looking bewildered and his subjects humiliate themselves.  The Brothel - the Wild Horse in Nevada - was fascinating and also his most disturbing subject since Thai Brides (which we never managed to finish watching - too icky).  Belle who was always chosen by paedophiles because, although she was 21, she looked 12 (The Madam, Susan's, theory was that they were better off there than picking up a real 12 year old from a school yard); Hayley whose husband shot her in the ear and then killed himself and who refused to be interviewed any more unless Louis had a "party" with her; Shanice who was saving to go to college so her 3 year old daughter wouldn't have to tell her schoolfriends her mum was a "working girl".  It was disturbing. 

But the most excrutiating moment was "Humpin' Hank" who doesn't - hump, that is - instead just wants to kiss and pretend the girl is his girlfriend.  When he sat with his arm around the girl he'd just "been" with, stroking her hair and asking her if he'd managed to make her forget where she was, I had to turn away, it was too creepy.