Bear blog

We went to Reb's first birthday party yesterday. It was rather tedious but we passed the time with some juggling and  Reb seemed to enjoy herself.

I made friends with James who is a rather hyper and poorly disiplined little boy. He is surprisingly good at juggling for a four year old though. And he has a wicked little ride-on car thing that can hold up to 18 stone. Pete and I tested it. The claim was good.

And I met Will who is a one year old metrosexual Boris Johnson lookalike with poor social skills. He was wonderful. I wanted.

Then we took my parents back to Sheffield (mother is invalided with RSI at the minute) and went out for Thai at Siam Inter on London Road. It was alright. I had fish cakes which weren't as good as Siam Garden's and sizzling beef which was rather tasty. The phenomenon of good Thai places letting themselves down with crap processed puddings continues to plague us though. We didn't bother.

I've just eaten a licquorice toffee (I know, it was horrible) that, just for a couple of moments, tasted like the tortilla chips my dad used to buy when I was little. Happy memories of sitting in front of the fire with my dad and nibbling on a corner of a chip (they were too spicy to eat a whole one) came flooding back. Until I started tasting the licqourice. Bleugh!

I love my dad, me.

Finally, a house.

I left Pete to Sort It this morning and buggered off to work. But I left early and went to pick up the biggest set of keys in the world with him later on in the day. 

Our plan was simple. Go and see what we'd actually bought, find out how much space we now have for a fridge freezer, buy  a new super-dooper swanky fridge freezer, do a bit of tidying and sorting, and move some stuff. The end.

But what we actually did was go and see what we'd actually bought, slump in a horrified heap at the dirt and degredation we'd inherited, fail to do anything constructive for many many hours whilst we gazed in disgusted awe at just how foul everything was. Call mother to come and make it better.

We pulled ourselves together after a while though and attempted to clear out the kitchen. Unfortunately, it mostly involved  shoving crap out into the garden and ignoring it. I swept and mopped the lino only to realise that it was never going to look clean, so that got ripped up and thrown outside too. We scrubbed at greasy kichen tiles and after about an hour found out that they were supposed to be off-white. Not orange. We only got two tiles clean. Even after going out and picking up my mother's steam cleaner we couldn't shift the grime. We're still this close tojust ripping out the kitchen altogether and storing food on the floor for a couple of months. It'd probably be more hygenic. 

Alan came round and did friendly things like scraping away at the wallpaper in our front bedroom and putting up with Radio 1 for several hours without complaint. The room's not purple any more, thank god but its still grim. I feel much better about everything now, anyway, after giggling at Alan shoving his long, hot, steamy ribbed pipe between Pete's legs. 

We've been productive in a very narrow sense today. Didn't get any moving of stuff done, or painting of walls, or purchase of fridge, but we're now officially on the ladder, n'that, and I've decided that actually, despite it all, I do like the house and it will be nice. It will, it will. 

I've also discovered that its much more therapeautic to get your friends round to laugh at nobs and bumming than it is to stress out about money and bricks.

Hurrah for us. 

I had a very nice birthday, thanks for asking.

Zumo gave me a free smoothie which I thoroughly enjoyed (although it was a bit watery) and Pete got me a blender (because that's what old people get one another) and a bike (because I need to conquer my fear...and get to work).

And I got lots of books and lots of music and lots of CSI to keep me occupied till Christmas. Pete's dad gave me £20 which I promptly took off down Waterstones. Me likee three for two.

We took the bike out round the back for half an hour. It's blue, by the way, which should give you an indication of how fast it goes. (Clurb's law of physics No. 3 states that red is the fastest colour, but blue's not bad). I didn't fall off, although my turning circles are mahoosive and I'm not very good at getting on and off the thing. Oh, and I clipped a wheelie bin with my handlebars due to my appalling lack of spacial awareness. But I managed to change gears quite a bit. And I'm still alive. Bargain.

Then my parents turned up and brought even more presents. Which was nice. I've got a lovely big jar of manuka honey to be getting on with, a tube that makes noises, and a big silver bouncy ball for rolling around on. 

Then Lizzah turned up and I got a new cup and a funny card with stickers in it.

And then Alan turned up and gave me his Euro Millions application form. Which I may well fill in. And some comedy.

And then we took my parents to Siam Garden which was ridiculously good. The fish cakes are a must. And the waitress had big eyes. After the shocking disappointment of Thai Orchid's puddings, we opted not to bother with pudding there but still managed to leave sated. Huzzah. We have found a place we wouldn't mind going back to.  

To end the day, Pete and I sat in front of Die Hard and marvelled at how badly Bruce Willis has aged.

Lovely. Ta very much.

A couple of weeks ago, due to honest Christian family values and a latent desire for a bit of one-upmanship, my niece got christened. And due to my natural, unaffected love for her I dressed up like a girl n'that. 

But it was alright cause so did everyone else. Including Reb. They got her all trussed up like Little Bo Peep when really you could tell she wanted to be rolling around in the mud and eating pocket fluff. She was very good about the whole thing though.

The priest was a fantastic doddery old man with no sense of occasion. We piled into the church and got comfy (apparently you're not supposed to put your feet on those floor cushion thingies) and whilst we were waiting for a bit of music to start or for someone to clear their throat and ask everyone to turn to page 9, the priest sauntered out to the front and started chatting in a mumbly, rambling sort of fashion. So we sort of carried on chatting, thinking he was going to start the ceremony in a minute. Any minute now...or maybe not. Cause then he started pointing out all the Jesus paraphanalia he had around the place. There was a big bastard candle, which symbolised something or other. A glass of water with a napkin over the top of it for splashing purposes. And some essential oils.

Not called oil though. No. Called Chrism.

As in the jism of Christ. Fantastic. My niece (who incidentally, should be very bloody grateful that her mother loves her enough to step in half way through the ceremony to inform the priest that her name was Rebecca and not, in fact, Vanessa) has been annointed in Jesus' name and all that and will not be going to purgatory on the basis of having been rubbed with Christ's willy juice.

I couldn't have wished for more, really. But then we went to a fancy pub and I met four beautiful cuddly dog-dogs (who Barnesy would have loved) and ate poncy fish and chips from the buffet and sat outside while everyone did the family socialising thing.

What a lovely day.