keris stainton

Found photos

101_0349.jpg, originally uploaded by Keris.

When Harry was born I was using a work laptop. When I left work and had to give the laptop up, I emailed all my photos to myself in Yahoo and then, when I went to get them back, they seemed to have disappeared.

I tried not to be too upset because a) I couldn't remember what photos there were, b) I had squillions of pics of Harry, and c) I'd uploaded all the best on various blogs.

But then Flickr offered to import my Yahoo pics and I went ahead and did it, not thinking anything would come of it...

But tonight I logged on and there they were - 187 photos, most of which I haven't seen for more than two years.

I'm happy.

(Oh and you can now post direct from Flickr. Cool, eh?)

It's funny because it's terrifying

Yes, this is John Oliver again, but that's not why I'm posting it. It's very funny and extremely scary. Funny, scary and John Oliver. What more do I need? (Um... some prawn crackers would be nice...)

And, yes, those books are real. I checked.

2007 in review

I know I'm really late with this, but so far 2008 has been taken up with illness and faffing...

I pinched this meme from Ms Mac (and I think I also did it last year, but who can be bothered to check? Not me, I'm sure)...

1. What did you do in 2007 that you never did before?

Walked a half marathon.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

Didn't make any. And no.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Um, possibly. Susan - how old's Olivia? (Bad friend? Me?)

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Sadly, yes. David's granny.

5. What countries did you visit?

France, Spain and America. Get me.

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?

More than enough money. (In fact this - which Michael Neill calls "abundance" - is my primary goal for 2008. So sick of just getting by. You'll be hearing much more about this, gentle readers.)

7. What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

Dates? I rarely know what day it is, let alone the date.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Raising £1500 sponsorship for the New York walk. (Thanks again to all who coughed up.)

9. What was your biggest failure?

Failing to have a novel published. Again.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Probably. I certainly had a cough for about a month...

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Either my memory's terrible, or 2007 was particularly boring ... um, I'm rather fond of the mug I picked up with the last dregs of my spends in New York Airport (see, I can't even remember where we flew from!).

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?

All my lovely blog friends, of course. Harry, who finally - finally! - started talking.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?

Same as last year, I imagine.

14. Where did most of your money go?

Mortgage, council tax, Virgin, electricity, gas, water, preschool fees, paying off debts, buildings, contents, car, life insurances...

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Seeing my essay in Perfectly Plum.

16. What song will always remind you of 2007?

The theme to Pingu. Or New York, New York, as heard on the cruise in, um, New York.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? The same, I think
b) thinner or fatter? Very slightly fatter, probably
c) richer or poorer? Hard to say. Probably neither, just marginally more relaxed about money.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Fiction writing.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Titting about on the internet..?

20. How did you spend Christmas?

Here, there, London for a wedding.

21. What was your favourite month of 2007?

They all blended into one, really.

22. Did you fall in love in 2007?

Only more in love with people I already love. You know, like Bradley Whitford (Josh and Danny? Twice as much to love!)

23. How many one-night stands?

Heh.

24. What was your favourite TV programme?

It started slowly, but Studio 60 springs to mind.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

I don't know him well enough to really hate him, but I'm not loving Mike Huckerbee's work.

26. What was the best book you read?

Split By A Kiss by Luisa Plaja

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Musical discovery? I'm not sure I heard *any* new music in 2007, how sad is that? Oh, I tell you one music-related memory - driving and dancing to New Shoes by Paolo Nutini and looking in the mirror and seeing Harry dancing too.

28. What did you want and get?

A nice shiny new telly.

29. What did you want and not get?

Everything else.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?

Lumme. I think I only saw one at the cinema and that was Knocked Up. I enjoyed that though.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

No idea. And 36.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Having more than enough money.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?

Personal fashion concept? Much like today, I spent 2007 mostly modelling hungover tramp.

34. What kept you sane?

Blog friends - particularly Diane, Luisa and Lisa - Michael Neill, and O magazine.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

<--- Obviously.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?

I can't think of anything specific. Many, many things.

37. Who did you miss?

My mum.

38. Who was the best new person you met?

Well I met Lisa, finally!

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007

If you build it, they will come. Um, no. My laziness will expand to fit the space available?

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year

For Now from Avenue Q:

Nothing lasts,
Life goes on,
Full of surprises.
You'll be faced with problems of all shapes and sizes.
You're going to have to make a few compromises...
For now...
But only for now!

For now we're healthy.
For now we're employed.
For now we're happy...
If not overjoyed.
And we'll accept the things we cannot avoid, for now...
But only for now!

Don't stress,
Relax,
Let life roll off your backs
Except for death and paying taxes,
Everything in life is only for now!

My secret shame...

Harry's much better today. Thanks to everyone for their good wishes.

My journo friend Kelly Rose Bradford wrote a fab piece for the Daily Express on guilty crushes and, of course, I had something to say on the subject!

(Click on pic to embiggen.)

You know how I want to finish my novel by the end of this week?

On the way home from Morecambe yesterday (we had fish and chips, sitting in the car, staring out to sea ... heh), Harry, who'd been on great form all day, suddenly said his ear was sore. He fell asleep for a little while, but then woke up very grumpy.

We put him in bed, but he kept waking up, boiling hot and complaining about his ear. He's never had an ear infection before, but that sodding cough's been back for the past week or so, so I thought an ear infection was possible.

Last night he slept with me, boiling hot and waking frequently to complain about his ears, ask me to sing Truly Scrumptious to his toy dog, and to recite the alphabet (poor kid should give himself a break - the SATs are years off!).

Today, of course, I kept him off school, but he was incredibly delicate and I couldn't get near the computer (he was too ill to even yell his favourite new saying, which, yes, he's learned from me: "But I just said NO!") because he was watching DVDs and whimpering about his ears, eyes and nose. (So horrible when he was saying, "Kiss it a-better" and offering me his ears. I could kiss them, but I couldn't make them better, poor lamb.)

We took him up to the pharmacist this afternoon and finally managed to get both Calpol and cough med down him and by bedtime he'd perked right up, but today was a write-off.

DickWatch I just can't call this that...

Now Archbishop Desmond Tutu (bet you didn't see that coming, did you?) is a wonderful man, I'm not arguing with that...

...and, to be fair, it wasn't Archbishop Tutu himself who offended me - it was Archbishop Tutu quoted by Richard Branson - so I could have called this DickWatch: Richard Branson, but I think Richard Branson's wonderful too.

What have they done to upset me? I'll tell you.

Branson was interviewed in the December issue of O the Oprah magazine. He's been working with Archbishop Tutu on his Elders project and mentioned to Oprah that he (Tutu) has "an absolutely wicked sense of humour" which he then illustrated with one of the Archbishop's hilarious gags:

I'm sure he's told you the one about getting to the kingdom of heaven to find two signs at the entrance: One reads for henpecked men only, and the second reads others. There's a massive queue of men lined up under the henpecked sign, and only one man beneath the others sign. God says to that one man, "You're lucky. How did you make it into this line?" "Well," the man says, "my wife told me to stand here!" And Tutu tells this joke while his wife is sitting right there next to him.

Is it just me that finds this profoundly depressing? Yes, there are far more offensive jokes out there, but the fact that Archbishop Desmond Tutu (apparently) tells it and Richard Branson repeats it ... to OPRAH WINFREY! ... makes my heart sink.

eeeeeeeeeMac

Last Friday, me and Harry were pootling around on the computer - mostly Harry, to be fair - and it froze up. Nothing to be done but switch it off at the mains. Ugh.

Harry wasn't impressed. He kept saying, "Pitou" - for that is what he calls the computer - "Pitou broken. Broken insiiiiiiide!" And I was very, very afraid that it just might be.

I switched it on again and there was a grey screen flashing a small globe icon. I rang the Apple Store. While I was waiting to get through, the centre icon changed to a folder with the Finder icon alternating with a question mark. Which I didn't find particularly encouraging.

As I waited, I thought about everything in the computer that might be lost. Novels. Photographs. Music. I cursed myself for not backing up. I cursed myself for not emailing everything to myself and uploading all my pics to Flickr.

And then a nice man answered. I explained the problem and he said, "Oh dear." And then he said, "It sounds like you need to bring it in to be looked at by the Geniuses in our Genius Bar."

The Geniuses in our Genius Bar. He really said that.

While I was chortling and he was suggesting dates and times, the Apple icon appeared on my screen and I nearly kissed it.

"It's back!" I shrieked at the Apple bloke. "Hang on!"

The Apple disappeared, my desktop appeared. I sighed with relief.

"If nothing else," I told Apple man, "It's made me realise I need to get a separate hard drive and get everything backed up."

"Indeed," he said.

Last night, David was on the computer and it happened again. Have I bought my separate hard drive? Have I backed anything up? Have I uploaded my photos? Have I emailed my novels to myself?

Have I chuff.

Fortunately this morning it started again (after going through the same globe and folder icon routine). I really, really am going to get everything backed up this time. And then I'm buying a new computer. I can't take this kind of stress.

Heath Ledger

There's no way I can improve on Gabrielle's beautiful, intelligent and thought-provoking post, so I'm not even going to try.

Things That Make Me Happy No. 11: Cop Rock

"It was an attempt to combine musical theatre with police drama"

If you're an obsessive fan of Gilmore Girls (Hi, Diane and Stella!) you may have already seen this, but I only just got around to looking it up ... and I could not believe my eyes. Or ears.

Just to be clear, this is a real TV show. And not only that, this is what Steven Bochco did after Hill Street Blues.
 

This? Hasn't helped.

Warning: li'l bit rude

Excuses, excuses

Sorry to have been a bit quiet lately. There are a few reasons:

1. The letter "o" on my keyboard is loose and Harry thinks it's hilarious to pop it off and hand it to me with a big grin ... and now it won't go back on. Now typing hurts my wrists.

2. Like Claire, if I dream about someone, I generally become obsessed. The other night it was John Oliver from The Daily Show. So I can't blog because I'm busy watching clips of Mock the Week on YouTube. (Also, if you think he's another one of my dodgy crushes (how dare you!) then read this and you'll see why I love him so very much.)

3. I've got a novel to finish writing (not that I've written anything so far this week...).

4. I've got a novel to finish reading (Meg Cabot's Princess Diaries To the Nines).

5. I've got a Christmas tree to dispose of...

This picture...

Makes me happy. In my special place.

Let's get physical

A couple of weeks ago, I saw this Rosemary Conley DVD on the front of one of the trashy mags. Oh, I did laugh. Look at that "before" picture - have you ever seen Coleen Nolan looking like that? Wearing a dress like that? And the expression on her face. Brilliant. But then there's the "after" picture. First of all, I've never seen Coleen looking like that either (and I don't just mean the swimming costume). And I saw her on Loose Women a couple of days ago and, while she looks great, she's not a size 10. Allowing for the camera adding 10 lbs, I'd say she's a 14 (cos she looks like a 16 to me).

And while I'm on the subject of celebs lying about their sizes, I read recently that before her weightloss, Fern Britton was a "generous 16". I'd say she's a generous 16 now. Again, she looks great, so why lie?

Look at this Tricia Penrose cover too. Again, she looks fabulous after, but she never looked like that "before" picture. Do they think we're stupid? She's slumping, she's leaning, she's pushing out her belly. This is the pose I do in front of the mirror when I'm trying to get myself to stop scoffing. It's the "god, look how fat I am!" pose. But then you stand up straight, pull your stomach in and your shoulders back and you're a lot closer to the "after" picture. Just to be clear, I still look a lot more like the "before" picture, I'm just saying it's not a realistic representation.

A-ha! Now this Vicky Entwistle one is much more realistic ... sort of. The "before" pic is an unposed paparazzi shot, so it's a fair representation of what she looked like before (why, oh why did she wear that unsupportive bikini top?), it's the "after" pic that I've got a problem with. It's alleged - not by me, by a certain newspaper - that Vicky didn't get that teensy figure by doing this DVD, rather she worked out for something like six hours a day for something like six months.

And yet every year women go out and buy these DVDs thinking that by doing them, they'll be able to transform their bodies in the same way. Why do we buy into it? I've done it myself (most recently with Eastenders' Charlie Brooks - who I saw on Loose Women promoting the DVD and, while she was definitely smaller than in the past, she looked more like her pale and spotty "before" picture than the tanned and glossy "after").

I'm not giving up buying exercise DVDs altogether - I've got two stone to lose and I don't like to leave the house unless absolutely necessary, so I can't - but I'm going to buy the ones that are about fun rather than recreating a totally fake "ideal". I've got Dancing With the Stars. I've got Strictly Come Dancersize and I'll be buying the Dirty Dancing Dance Workout too (learning that dance will make me so happy ... though I don't know how David's going to feel about lifting me over his head...).

That stupid kid

Yesterday I took Harry to his soft play place of choice and off he went to play while I read The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl (fabulous) with a cup of tea.

After a while Harry appeared accompanied by a bigger boy with a mullet. Seriously. A mullet.

"Come on, Boo!" said MulletBoy as Harry started eating his biscuits (they come with the entrance fee).

"I'm 4," said MulletBoy, "But I'm big."

I asked him his name, but I couldn't work out his reply. I said, "This is Harry."

"Harry?" said MulletBoy. "He told me he was called Boo!"

"Boo," said Harry, smiling at me.

"Have you been playing together?" I asked.

"Yeah. I've been playing with Harry," said MulletBoy. "Not with that stupid kid in the green t-shirt." He turned and frowned at the kid in the green shirt. I half-hoped he'd shake his fist in his direction, but no. "He's a stupid kid," he said again.

Makes me laugh every time I think about it.

Bring me sunshine

I took this picture (left) in San Francisco in 2001. It looked just like I imagined 28 Barbary Lane - the book in Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City series - to look.

Isn't it beautiful?

Funnily enough, a blogging friend went to San Francisco last year and took a pic of the same house (right). (Either he's got a better camera or it's been painted! Although he did say he's a big Photoshopper...)

Check out loads more lovely painted houses here.

Little boxes

Remember when I wrote about Little Boxes?

Well last week I was sitting in the soft play place of Harry's heart and reading Through Thick and Thin by Alison Pace and I read the following:

Today she sees the buildings, as she sometimes does, as boxes. Boxes filled with other boxes, with more boxes.

And I thought to myself, "Ooh, just like Little Boxes" and then - right at that very second - Little Boxes started playing over the P.A. !!!!

There's also a great line in the book that I think I might write on my wall. The main character is struggling a bit at her first yoga class and the instructor says, "Don't try too hard. Try easy."

Try easy

I must admit, that's what I've been trying to do for the last few months and I'm definitely trying easier... still got a bit of a way to go though.

Stormy weather

I don't mind cold. I don't mind windy. I don't even mind wet. But all three at once? For two weeks? Well, that's just taking the piss.

In other news, the novel's going surprisingly well. I'm starting to feel like I'm on the home stretch and I'd forgotten how thrilling that is.

I don't think I typed "The End" at the end of the last one, but I will at the end of this one and will then celebrate by scoffing every last one of the delicious chocs lovely Stella sent me (that's if there are any left, I caught Harry trying to sneak them out of my office earlier - he was literally tiptoeing, while looking back at me over his shoulder).

An unrelated Harry anecdote: This morning he inadvertently poked me in the eye. I said, "Ow" (naturally) and he said, as he's taken to doing lately, "Kiss it a-better." He kissed it and then said, "Okay, sweetie?"

My new routine

New year, new routine. And so far it seems to be going swimmingly (well, it is only the 11th...).

I realised the other day that I always used to be the one to get up and make the tea in the morning and for some reason this job had become poor David's. So I've started getting up and making him a proper tea, while I have a herbal (more refreshing).

When Harry gets up me and him have breakfast and get dressed and then it's time for preschool. I walk back and then, before I do anything else, find a song to dance to on YouTube (this morning it was S Club Juniors' One Step Closer - marvellous).

(Yes, much to Harry's joy, the computer is still in the living room because my office is full - *full* - of books. They're piled on the desk, on the chair, on the floor. I need to sort them into a better order and I need to send a bunch out in the post, but I just haven't yet had the time.)

Once I've had my five minute dance, I put the telly on and, while I add the video to the blog (this blog!), upload a photo to the photo album (on this blog) and then write my blog (like now), I "watch" as much of Wanted Down Under as remains and then switch over to Will & Grace on Channel 4+1 (and when that's finished I've got my Gilmore Girls DVDs).

Then I make myself a cup of tea and get on with the rest of the work - a bit of the novel, Trashionista and Bridalwave until it's time to go and get Harry.

In the afternoon (Monday and Friday when me and H are home together), we play, watch DVDs, read and do the stickers in CBeebies magazine and I do some housework (to be fair, I don't usually get further than the kitchen) and drink lots of tea (me, not H, although he has been known to ask for a "brew", hehe).

I like routine and I love this new one. In fact, I'll be fed up when the weather changes and we have to go out and, you know, do stuff.

Resolutions schme-- oh, I did that one already

I was going to make some positive resolutions, i.e. things I want to do/have, etc., rather than things to give up/change, but then I started reading my old diaries and discovered that I've been making the same positive resolutions for about ten years without much improvement. 

So my one resolution (if you can call it that) for 2008 is to accept myself, warts and all. (I haven't really got warts.) (Anymore.)*

On the subject of my diaries ... gawd, they were incredibly boring. Me and D often wonder what we used to do with our time before we had Harry and I found the answer in my 2001 diary - feck all. It was all "watched the football, read the papers, went to work, went to Somerfield". We went out to eat and to the cinema a lot more than we do now, but apart from that it was deadly dull. Oh and I moaned a lot about going to work (it was my last year of uni and I was working in an estate agents at the weekends) so that's one big improvement.

The only diary worth reading was the diary of our US trip (also in 2001).

The other thing it's made me realise is that life coaching is the only thing that works for me. Left to my own devices, I make all sorts of pledges and vows, but then don't do anything about them. I need encouragement and accountability. Currently, I've got (count em!) three coaches for three different things. Heh. I wish I could have a full time live-in coach like Paris had in the Gilmore Girls, but sadly that's not to be... I should've married a coach, that's what I should've done. (Have you *seen* Paul McKenna's new $6.6 million house?)

*Sorry, Luisa, I pinched this off you! (The joke, not the warts!)

Harry update

Harry's new favourite phrase (apart from "Middy!") seems to be "Look at me!" although it sounds more like "Look-a me!" He says it when he's doing something he wants me to look at (unsurprisingly), but he also says it to get me to tear myself away from the computer (the shame).

They're learning about rockets and the solar system at preschool (!) so it's all "10, 9, 8 ... 3, 2, 1 BLAST OFF!" Then he says "Up in-a sky! To the planets!" Planets? What does a 3-year-old know about planets? Mind-boggling.

He's rather concerned at where all the Christmas decorations have gone (not ours, our tree is still there, waiting for me to ring the council...). There was a massive snowman at the end of the road and every time we drive past he says, "Snowman gone! What we gonna do now?!"

David's away and Harry's definitely missing him. This morning he said, "Daddy still a-work." I said, "Yes, he is." And then he said, "It's okay. Middy here." Sniff. But then he cried when I tried to leave him at preschool for the first time in months (he cried for the first time in months, I wasn't leaving him for the first time in months).

Oh and his other new favourite thing to do is to pretend he's going to kiss me and then lick my face instead. He likes it when I go, "Bleurgh!" and I don't even have to act. It's revolting.

Oh and can I just add that I've just watched a preview DVD of Relocation, Relocation to review for TV Scoop. How cool am I?!

The writing's on the wall

This is my second YA novel, Head Over Feet, in post-its on the wall.

I've seen other authors do this and now I know why. The different coloured post-its (and they're not really that bright in real life) represent the five separate threads of the novel.

So the first quarter, up there on the left, shows the threads each being introduced gradually until all five are active.

The second quarter, on the right, is not only way too short, there's a plot hole (on that second row, the green post-it - which represents the MC's boyfriend - isn't there).

The bottom of the picture is the second half of the book and, look, it's a mess. Tons of plot holes. The boyfriend's all but disappeared. The pink post-its represent the MC's internal monologue and there's way more of that than anything else.

Plus, it's so much easier to see what needs to be moved, move the post-it and then move the relevant section in the manuscript, then just to work with the ms. And I can see the entire book at a glance.

Magic. And it'd better be since I promised my agent I'd have this to her by the end of the month. Better stop blogging and start writing, eh?

Burt. Reynolds'. House.

My mum loved Burt Reynolds. I love Burt Reynolds. I mean, who doesn't love Burt Reynolds?

And now that I've seen his house, I love him more. (Although these days when I see his super-tight face, I love him a little bit less.)

Look at that games room! And I love how he's got one of his own films playing in the screening room. You can't buy class like that!

 

 

At first...

... I thought this was funny. But then when I stopped laughing at her boobs and realised that they look so ridiculously stuck on because they're the only bits of "flesh" on her painfully emaciated body, I stopped laughing and felt sad. 

Via PopSugar

Nude is not necessarily indecent!

Reading our local newspaper the other night, I was horrified to find that a man had been charged with indecent exposure after a neighbour saw him naked IN HIS OWN HOME. The woman saw him through a window. Once she was alone, a second time her partner saw him too. Through the window.

Now, call me crazy, but if you look through someone's window and see something you don't want to see ... look away! What's the world coming to? As far as I'm concerned, I should be able to stand with my boobs pressed up against the glass and not fear prosecution (don't worry, I don't) (very often).

Seriously, if you don't like it, don't look. Don't look and then call the police because you feel violated! The poor man (who said he didn't know anyone could see him) was actually found guilty and ordered to pay compensation and costs and only just avoided being placed on the Sex Offenders' Register!

While the story did horrify me, it also reminded me of this Danny Bhoy clip, which in contrast makes me laugh muchly.

Why am I not surprised?

I knew that Britney's sister was named Jamie-Lynn. I even knew her mother was named Lynne. What I didn't realise was that her father is named Jamie.

That's just mean.

(Our next child (!) will be named David-Keris. No matter what the sex.)

Things That Make Me Happy No. 10: Sesame Street

Totally fixated on Sesame Street at the moment. It started when I spotted Elmo alphabet rap and watched it with Harry. Inevitably that led to me clicking on about twenty other videos and then twenty more ... and then searching for "Rubber Ducky" and then I saw one with John John (remember little John John) which led me to this.

It sounds ridiculous, but Luis and Maria (not to mention Oscar) feel like family. God, I loved Sesame Street. I think that's where my New York obsession began...

Christmas Part III: East Finchley

The place

On the way through London, we'd passed a sign for East Finchley and I'd said, joking, "Can we go and see our old house?" East Finchley was the first place me and David lived together and we were there for two years before moving back up north in - gasp - 1997 (I can't believe it's been 11 years!).

On the way back we were driving through Highgate when David said, "We could go to East Finchley if you wanted to..." So - after a few false starts, taking the wrong road out of Muswell Hill (which is still gorgeous) and heading for the wrong retail park (while we lived there, a new retail park was built within walking distance) - we found ourselves on East Finchley High Road.

And if we'd just driven through, I wouldn't have recognised it. There was a Costa Coffee! The take-out coffee phase hadn't even begun in the late nineties. We almost drove past our street (there was a new development of flats on the corner) and I didn't even pick out the house we lived in.

The flat

We lived in the upstairs flat and downstairs was the owner's mother, Mrs Constantinou, which we shortened to Mrs C. She was so lovely. And not just because she used to bring us baklava, lemons, and kleftika (and once, some sort of rock hard biscuit that nearly broke our teeth - in retrospect, I think it was probably supposed to be dipped in coffee). She couldn't speak much English, but she loved David - she used to pat his cheek and say, "Lovely boy. Honestly." David's just reminded me that she also said "Nescafe" and "hospital" but that was about it.

Our flat was nice and it even had a roof terrace, but it cost us £680 a month. In 1995. (We thought we'd got a good deal because the agent had originally taken us to a "studio" in Swiss Cottage, which was £700 and didn't even have a bed - just a mattress.) We had a look in an estate agents and it looks as if it'd cost about £1000/month now. I was expecting it to be more, to be honest. I wanted to knock (having read Julie Myerson's Home), but David was too embarrassed. And there was nowhere to park. Every street we drove down was rammed with cars, which they  certainly weren't in "our day".

When we lived there, the area was almost entirely Greek. You'd go into shops and everyone was speaking Greek. It was like being on holiday. You could get all sorts of lovely Greek food, plus there was also a great Chinese, the best Indian I've ever been to ... and a StarBurger, where I once sat crying into my bun because I'd locked myself out, David was late home and I didn't know where he was. And, like most people in those days, we didn't have mobiles (yes, I feel old).

The StarBurger is gone now and there's a lovely cafe in its place. Not "gentrified" type lovely, but delicious cooked breakfasts (we each inhaled a full English) and mugs of tea lovely. But me and D laughed because they also had a wine list. ("What do you recommend with the bacon butty?")

The battered aubergine

One of the reasons I'd wanted to go back was to see if the takeaway where I had one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten in my life was still there. In my memory it was Greek (unsurprisingly), but it turned out to be Indian and - hurrah! - "Aubergine slice - 90p" was still on the menu.

I bought two and asked the guy how long the place had been there. 23 years. I told him I hadn't lived there for 11 years, but I'd come in because I remembered the aubergine. David called me a dork, but the guy thanked me for coming back, I thanked him for still being there and we were both very happy.

When I told my sister we'd gone back, she said, "Did I ever go there?" "I don't think so," I said. "I don't remember you coming." And then, "Oh yes! I remember getting you a battered aubergine!" "Oh yeah," she said, "I remember the aubergine."

I ate one on the way home and the other for my dinner that night. It's a good job they're a few hundred miles away since the paper bag they came in was entirely transparent and soaked with grease, so they'd need to be an occasional treat. Maybe more than once a decade though...

The whole visit

I was so thrilled that we'd decided to take the detour, I can't even tell you. My memories of living there are mixed. Of course, me and D were happy together, but we had no money and not much of a life. Like I've said before, Sundays were spent in the laundrette and we couldn't afford to enjoy the area. Plus every weekday there was the trudge down the High Road to the tube station for the trip down the Northern Line to work. Yawn. Oh and we both had more than one visit to hospital (mine in an ambulance - yay me!). But all that aside, it was our first home together and our last home in London.

We're so much happier now. Our quality of life is better. We own our own home (and our mortgage is less than our rent was back then!) We've been married for almost 12 years and, not only are we still together, we're happier than we were then. We're both much happier in our work (I'm much, much happier!). And we've got Harry.

I try not to take anything for granted, but sometimes you have to remember how things were to appreciate how things are. Walking around East Finchley, my stomach was bubbling with excitement. But not because we were there. Because we were on our way home.

Christmas Part II: the Wedding

Remember that hen night I went on? Well, the wedding was on the 29th December. So with barely time to unpack our pressies, we packed up again and headed London-wards (only stopping to drop Harry off with the in-laws and pick up a hire car ... long story).

Seven hours later we arrived at the Canary Wharf Hilton. Seven hours. Yes we stopped once or twice for coffee, hot chocolate, wildly overpriced sandwiches, but still. Seven hours. It wasn't bad (for me, I don't think David enjoyed it much) since I was reading this, but still. Seven hours. Lucky I hadn't been able to get tickets for Avenue Q since we wouldn't have made it!

So we fetched up at the hotel and I asked where we should park. The car park was full. They didn't guarantee parking, didn't we know? But it was okay, we could park at a nearby hotel for just £6 per night extra. Since we'd already anticipated paying £15/night for parking, this idea didn't thrill us.  (They also tried to convince me it was actually the same price, but with the magic of reading, I saw through that!) Walking back to the hotel in the rain, dragging our cases and thinking about the £12 extra we'd had to pay for the privilege had me spitting feathers before we'd even checked in. What kind of customer service is that?! They'd never get away with it in the US.

Anyhoo. The room was absolutely gorgeous (there was a speaker in the bathroom so you didn't miss stuff on the telly when you were doing your business). So we headed downstairs to the restaurant. Which was only serving a buffet for £24.95 each. Each! We weren't that hungry, curse them. So after having a drink in the bar, we went back to the bedroom and ordered room service. I've never had room service before (I'm such a hick), but it was marvellous. And half the price of the stupid buffet and I could eat it in bed. In my pajamas. Result.

After a terrible night's sleep - terrible! - we went out for breakfast (in the Canary Wharf shopping centrey place - roof and Chrissy lights pictured!) and then into the Big City. I've written before about how when I used to go back to London it made me unhappy and then, more recently, I've started to see what I liked about it ... well, this time I could totally see why I was so desperate to live there. I'm not sure if it was Christmas or what. Luckily I've got David to remind me how grim it was actually living there...

The wedding was at Westminster Registry Office and it was lovely. I was looking at Sarah's mum as Sarah walked in and seeing her trying to not to cry made me fill right up. Probably the fact that Sarah is my second oldest friend (in years, not in age) didn't help.

From the wedding we got a Routemaster bus (so cool driving through London) to the reception at Browns in Covent Garden. Champagne (and wine) flowed, delicious food was scoffed (sticky toffee pudding!), the happy couple danced and then so did everyone else. Dancing to Don't Stop by S Club 7 should be compulsory for everyone. God, I love that song. My shoes were murder, of course, but I'd taken a little pair of ballet slipper things (£2, Matalan) and kept switching to them. Of course wearing them made me four inches shorter so I had to keep switching back.

Before we turned into pumpkins we trundled back to the hotel and had a marginally better (but still surprisingly crappy) night's sleep before hitting the road again (after rejecting the £19 each buffet breakfast). But before leaving London, we had a stopoff ... which I will tell y'all about in Part III!

Christmas Part I: um, Christmas

Yep, Christmas was in three parts this year! (Actually, probably more than three parts, but I'm combining so as not to bore you all *too* much...)

We actually celebrated Christmas the weekend before because David's brother and his wife came down from Scotland. We had Christmas lunch, lovely presents were exchanged and drink was taken (but not too much, surprisingly).

On Christmas Eve, we decided to take Harry to church. I know! Since the Nativity, he's been saying, "Church again?" and "More church?" and David's parents thought he might like the Blessing of the Crib, since it's a short service aimed at children. And I know what you're thinking. Yes, I'm an atheist. But Harry's not. And, as Stephanie Merritt wrote in the Observer at the weekend (pretty much perfectly articulating my feelings on the subject), "Christmas does become naff without the God bit."

So off to church we went. And I actually enjoyed it. In fact, I had what I suppose you could call an epiphany. No, not a religious one. But standing there, singing hymns, I decided to let go of my bitterness at being taught religion as fact rather than belief and instead to accept it as a good story. I mean, I write and read fiction for a living (okay, I read it for a living - but fingers crossed for 2008!), why can't I just enjoy it for what I believe it to be and let others enjoy it for what they believe it to be?

(Of course, if Harry asks a teacher where rainbows come from and that teacher answers "God makes them" as happened to another child of my acquaintance, my stance on the subject may well revert.)

Anyway, Harry wasn't too taken with the service, mainly because he doesn't like other people singing. He's always singing himself. In fact earlier this week he woke up singing Blockbuster by The Sweet. Seriously. David taught him it. Our alarm was Harry peeping out, "We just haven't got a clue WHAT to do!" But everyone singing hymns in church? He kept whimpering and putting his hands over my mouth. Eventually, I won him round by draping my beads around his neck and dancing with him. I bet we looked a picture.

It was pretty funny too since when we sang We Three Kings, the congregation kept coming in before the organist (I say organist, the music was actually on a laptop. A laptop!) so each chorus went, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ... star of wonder, star of night." Yep, me and Harry dancing and me and David sniggering. We weren't very churchy...

Christmas Day we were back at David's parents. This time for a curry cooked by David. Boxing Day we went to my family's annual party and ate and drank more than was sensible (but not as much as two years ago when I went to the pub with my little cousins - now in their twenties - and got so hammered I walked home carrying my boots, crying because it was far and trying to get David to carry me. I then, when we got back to the house, woke up an 18 month old Harry and passed out, leaving David to spent the next five or so hours trying to get H back to sleep. Oh and I spent the next day throwing up...

[The first two photos were taken on the Santa train, which was fantastic. I don't know where Harry gets that cheesy grin from, do you?]

Lounging into 2008

Yep, I'm still mostly living on the sofa. Today's been my favourite kind of day so far. Had a lie-in (both me and Harry - poor David had to go back to work) then have spent the rest of the day either reading, watching TV or squeezing some work in whenever Harry will allow me access to the computer.

Seriously, it's quite the negotiation. Some of his DVDs he now prefers to watch on the computer because he can control it better than the TV and woe betide he should watch an entire film when he can just click around at random (I still haven't seen more than the first 15 minutes of Charlotte's Web ... but since I know how it ends, that's probably for the best).

He's also going through a very clingy phase. Middy is definitely his bestest friend at the moment. We even heard him shout me in his sleep last night, bless him. This morning I said I was just popping to the loo and he said okay, but then, as I reached the door, he shouted, "Middy!" I said, "What?" and he said, "Kisses?" So I came back in, kissed him, and then headed back up the stairs. I'd taken about three more steps when I heard him say, "I come with you." And he did.

Right now, for instance, I'm typing fast because although he's spent the last half hour playing with his train set and the Tickle Me Elmo his Aunty Leanne got him for Christmas (yes, thanks, Leanne, it's not at all brain-stabbingly annoying!). Now he's taken his trousers off ("Pants DOWN, Middy!") and he's sitting on the floor under the blanket he's yanked off the sofa watching CBeebies. But Our Planet has just come on and there's no way that's going to hold his attention.

Anyway ... hope you all had a fabulous Christmas and New Year and are gasping with excitement at what 2008 may bring. I haven't yet done my Best of 2007 list or my sort-of resolutions, but I'll get around to it, sometime before 2009, I'm sure.

[The picture's not just a good example of lounging - I'm trying to upload all my photos online since I think this computer's days are numbered...]

Too...

... full
... tired
... sleepy
... lazy
... overwhelmed

to blog right now.

Will blog tomorrow.

But Happy New Year to you all and I will blog tomorrow. Tonight I'm going to drink just a leetle more Bailey's and watch a few episodes of Friends.

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