Thursday, 30 July 2009

It's the end of the world....

Well, Ok, I exaggerate a little. (A lot actually) But today has been the scene of a terrible incident.
My usual hairdresser (who's a mate of mine) is on holiday so I went to a different salon.

Error, error, error of biblical proportions.

I only had my roots done so there's been no colour put on any hair that's further away from my scalp than 1cm. However, my hair goes very very very very blonde in the sun (Estonian genes for you!) and unfortunately, the new hairdresser has matched up the roots with the sun-bleached hair.

I have the same hairstyle as a tiny tears doll.

I resemble a plastic babydoll.

I have synthetic hair.

I look hideous.

If I put on a hat or thick hairband it looks fine as it's only the roots which look odd but needless to say, I have had better hair days.

Jo took five minutes to stop laughing and my dad just went "jeeeesus" as I walked in. My mum, ever the diplomat, asked "why on earth have you gone that blonde?"

Oh god, pass me a bandana, I'm going into hiding until Claire (my hairdresser) gets back from Turkey on Sunday.

More proof that someone up there is having a good old laugh at my expense!!!

Will update soon from the back of a cupboard or an underground bunker with no mirrors.


P.S For those of you who are not familiar with the styling of "tiny tears", here's a link to a photo of her - my new double...

Sunday, 26 July 2009

The soundtrack to my last year!!!

God I'm bored. It's starting schoolwork, sorting out my wardrobe or clearing out the loft for yet another car boot so I've done something rather nuts...

Over the last year or so, music has played a massive part. I'm a complete music bore and have probably one of the Midlands biggest CD and music collections and have a really diverse taste - much to the amazement of most people who meet me who assume it's Girls Aloud all the way!

Anyway, here's a list for all of you who are equally bored but can't be bothered to read my old blog and catch up with the entire story.

Here for you then my lovelies, is my last year in music! Every song is really meaningful to me and has either made me laugh or sob with bucket after bucket of tears. We're going right back to my wedding to ST here so brace yourselves and buckle up for a long journey!

Mine and ST's wedding first dance (cause I love Rat Pack music and we had a rat pack themed wedding) Seems ironic that the song's about "one night" cause that's about as long as the bloomin marriage lasted!!! (by the way, that's not ST on the youtube video thank god!!)


The "crying on the landing" double bill from our friend Miss Lewis, after ST upped and left. The first one is the one where i didn't think I'd ever get over it. The second is when I realised I had to pick myself up and get on with things. In the words of my ever sensible mum, "now this isn't going to get the baby washed is it"


Now this is the hard one. I listened to this when I used to go on my midnight walks when it was too long after ST to keep on moaning to everyone but everything still hurt like hell. Everyone was busy sl*gging him off but a part of me still loved him. This one has made me shed more tears than any other song.


Now this one is where I started to feel a bit more like my old self. I was still ensuring pocket packs of tissues were at an all time high in terms of sales but i was humming to myself again and venturing out a bit more.


Now this one's a fantastic song. ST and I loved this band and I listened to this a lot when I really was starting to feel more determined to get my act together.


This one's bloomin brilliant - a complete classic. I sang this over and over in my new TT when I splurged all my remaining cash and was tearing round the county in my new wheels. Although I'm still the "loser" in this song, I'm pulling my disco gear back on!! It was also whilst we were in the midst of all the divorce wranglings and i could've happily throttled ST yet at the same time I just wanted to move on and get away from him.


This one's the mad boozy summer and early autumn I had last year which was just a blur of chardonnay, gin, random dates and general bonkersness... A fab song which one third of Bannerhanger introduced me to. This is where I really started fighting back to be myself again. Makes me eternally grateful for my wonderful mates who made me realise there's more to life that sobbing your socks off about some boy.


This next one has now become something of a legend round our way since me and the other third of "Bannerhanger" performed it at my mum and dad's bus pass party. The video of it is on my old blog and since mum's camera's been nicked then unfortunately there's no way of uploading the infamous performance from the two of us (audible sighs of relief all round!) It was the evening I realised that surrounded by my family and friends that truly things were going to be OK. Oh, and it's a complete coincidence about the film!


Now this is where I started dating Tom. This next one is one I listened to over and over in my car whenever I drove over to see him. I used to think the first verse was what I wanted to sing regarding the previous months and that the rest was Tom. Strangely enough, Tom loves this song too and said virtually exactly the same to me not long ago. Spooky huh...


This next few is when I realised I really loved Tom. We were on the way back from the Snowdome and I was flicking through his i-Pod. i found that we had so many favourite songs in common and we sang our heads off together as we drove home in teeming rain.

the "indie" section...

the "motown" section - the first one incidentally is my favourite song in the whole world (quite apt really in retrospect!!)

the rat pack section - turns out we're both suckers for a bit of crooning! Between us we've got over 30 rat pack albums and CDs. What a pair of saddos we are.

The "Mod" section. I love all things "mod" and had a mods and rockers themed 30th birthdaya few years ago. My mum was a proper mod with the scooter, the white lipstick and the lost weekends on the Kings Road. When we were little we had absolutely no money and couldn't afford to put the heating on so me, my brother and my mum used to listen to all her old mod records and she taught me to northern soul! (this one when it's the dance remix is my all time fave northern soul dance fest!)
Just some clips here of some northern soul dancing - god I love it!!


Now this little gem of a song is the one my brother and Jo had as their first dance and Tom and I were gutted when we heard it (they'd kept it a secret) as it was our secret song too!!
Now this is the one both of us love and I always think it'd be a great entrance song for a wedding, especially a low key non-traditional one. Now, why on earth might I be thinking that.....? It's also my third favourite song in the whole world!


This is one that Tom and I always dance to at our own drunken midnight discos which we keep having as we both love music and dancing and we're too old to go clubbing! It's my second favourite song in the world so now you've had the top three!

Our current favourite mad midnight "disco for two" track...

we must look so sad dancing round like a pair of aged goons. I pity the neighbours.


A song which makes me think of Tom every time I hear it...


Pure unadulterated cheese with the whole "boy band cover" thrown in for extra cheddar... It's exactly how I feel about my life now though. Oddly enough, Tom also had it on his i-pod when he did his charity Pyrenees bike ride - the original of course!


And last but by no means least, another motown classic - quite apt for our current quest....

Well, there you go. My year in music. Hope you enjoyed it. I'm off to Tom's now to go to the gym and to unsquare my eyes! maybe a career as a DJ now beckons...

have a fun day.


I can barely move my fingers...

I am here in bed wondering how on earth I can actually type as my fingers feel as if they are at backwards right angles after yesterday's shenanigans.

Will and Jo moved house from the mansion sized one they built as part of their property developing into a little 3 bed detached. They were actually doing a part exchange with the people who bought their house, so the day became a massive game of "is that your box or mine" as we had to cross paths with the people coming out as they went in. It was utter madness.

I was late as Tom didn't wake me up so he left early at 8am and I didn't get there til half nine which was not very impressive. My mum had had to leave and go home as she was sobbing too much; the begging of my brother to "just stay here and have babies and don't go travelling" was pretty much the only sound I could hear as I pulled up. Unfortunately, although my bro is now mortgage free in his downsized house after selling the place he built, there is no way he could afford to stay on in the big place so it had to go. Mum was therefore flooding the driveway with her emotional outpourings so was despatched on lunch duty and told to return to the new place with provisions when she had calmed down and settled the cat for a mini holiday in her conservatory.

Meanwhile, my brother had turned into the human snail and was somehow managing to carry virtually the whole house on his back - he actually carried a double divan bed on his own down the stairs! Tom was busy helping to load the van, which became slightly heavier with a few pounds of skin off my shin after a slight misjudgement with a hall bureau that Tom and I were trying to wedge on the van. My language was little unsavoury at this point.

My Dad was busy dismantling things upstairs and was knee deep in a sea of screws, spanners and hundreds of lengths of wood, none of which now resembled anything like furniture and would therefore become the world's most difficult 3D jigsaw once it was all transported over to the new place.

Very quickly, Jo and I realised that we were probably better off at the new place rather than trying to load a van - we very nearly ruptured ourselves trying to carry a TV stand so we packed up and drove to the new place.

Now, I know most of you have probably seen "how clean is your house" but I have now lived it, every last dusty crevice of it.

The new place was, in a word, FOUL.

Now, I know the woman who was leaving was pregnant but this was no excuse. It was filthy. Don't get me wrong, there weren't food stains up the walls, layers of grease inches thick in the kitchen or anything but the bathroom was a different matter. I actually had to chip limescale off the shower head with a knife it was that thick. They also had carpet in the bathroom and round the loo - bleurgh!!
The tiles either side of the toilet had very suspicious "yellow grout" just at "pee height" and there was so much hair and dust everywhere that you could stuff a mattress with it all.

It took me over 3 hours just to clean the bathroom. There was mould, hair, limescale and dust in great balls everywhere. I was scrubbing grout with bleach and a toothbrush, chipping off limescale with vinegar and a knife and putting handfuls of pube-dustballs in plastic bags for what felt like eternity. In fact, I was so covered in other people's pubic hair and dust that when I emerged from the bathroom I was absolutely covered in it from head to foot. I now resembled Bigfoot - just one great dirty hairy beast. I had an entire new full body outfit fashioned from other people's detritus. It was not pleasant.

Jo had actually managed to fill a whole hoover bag with dust just from the hall and lounge carpets and there were enough crumbs down the sofa they had left to make a cheesecake base from. The windowsills had to be hoovered before they could be dusted and they hadn't even hoovered behind the furniture they'd taken so there was half inch thick piles of dust all over the place. Poor Jo was fuming; she'd spent days cleaning, washing skirting boards, disinfecting things and polishing every last inch of their huge place and this family couldn't even be bothered to whip the hoover round.

I became rather delirious at one point which I attribute to over inhalation of Cillit Bang; I wouldn' be surprised if I found groups of teenagers down the park on a Saturday night with that foamy pink concoction as one sniff of it and you're away with the cleaning fairies. In fact, I think it's actually listed as a class A drug and that there is a support group for recovering Cillit bang addicts in every local community centre.

I guess it didn't help that I had a rancid hangover. Tom had found out, whilst buying some "new home" champagne at the off licence, that our favourite brand of bubbles was half price. Well, it was rude not to! Needless to say, being on your knees for three hours with a gallon of Cillit Bang and your head down someone else's loo is never a first choice when nursing a champagne hangover. I can categorically state that other people's pubes are not the best thing to be dealing with when you're head's banging and you're desperately trying to hang onto your weetabix.

After the world's longest cleaning session and a few games of "hunt the kettle" we managed to get the house into something resembling decent order. Mum had been round with a picnic lunch for us all and the lads had gone to get the last vanfull of stuff from the old house. This is when the Cillit Bang really kicked in. Jo and I decided for some stupid reason to tackle moving the furniture. Now, as anyone can see from pics I've posted on here, neither of us is particularly endowed in the muscle department and we're both under 5'4". I may be a little on the chubby side compared to Jo but with a combined bodyweight of only 16 stone, we were perhaps not the best removals team. We started Ok with the settee (it was on castors) but things were a little less than successful with my brother's huge TV. Somehow we managed to wedge it (and ourselves) in the porch and I was laughing so hard that my arms went weak. This meant that we had the Guinness book of records heaviest television resting on Jo's tiny arms, my useless ones and one corner of a radiator with no room to maneouvre and the potential wrath of my brother hanging over us. We were therefore facing the prospect of living out our days in the porch for evermore as we were well and truly stuck. Somehow, and we still don't know how we did it, we eventually managed to get it into position but I almost crushed Jo's fingers in the process. We then stupidly went on to move all the sofas, dining table, an eight foot square mirror, all the chairs and three cabinets. Jo now has arms that scrape the floor and I feel like someone's clubbed me over the shoulder blades.

Eventually my mum and dad turned up again and Dad started assembling things whilst mum assisted with the hours of cleaning that still lay ahead. Dad helpfully managed to assemble the bed back to front so had to spend hours undoing it and putting it back together again. His language was not good; it would have made Gordon Ramsay reach for the swearbox. Whilst this was going on, i was organising the pantry and quizzing Jo as to why she had so many boxes of Birds trifle, who on earth needed 4 litres of balsamic vinegar and why is she the only woman in the UK under 50 to have a box of suet.
However, mum is renowned for her pantry abilities so I left her there where she did a stirling job with Jo whilst I sneaked off home to get the food ready for later.

I cooked up a feast for everyone; lasagne, cous cous salad, garlic bread, sun dried tomato focaccia, pea and green bean vinaigrette salad, champagne and Tom picked up a load of chocolate cakes and crumble.

Unfortunately, by the time the lads had managed to drop the van off and get back to pick me up, we didn't get to eat till gone nine and we were all completely exhausted. We arrived all wedges in a mondeo; 5 adults, a steaming lasagne, half a tonne of salads and garlic bread and a cat.

However, it also meant that we had a fab, bonkers completely "over tired and stupid" family night which was the usual far too much booze, me and mum crying with laughter at complete rubbish and dad and Tom talking about golf and cricket. We had an absolutely brilliant time, even though I had to press the trifle custard from one of Jo's many packets into action as we had nothing to pour on the crumble. As it got later and later, i took a moment to look round at everyone at that table and thought how lucky I was. I have adorable and ever hilarious parents, a new sister in law who I adore, a brother who literally saved my life last year and helped to very gently put all the broken pieces of me back together and a fantastic new man in my life who seems to be the part of me that's been missing my whole life.

I really am the luckiest girl in the world and whether Tom and I marry or not or whether he does pop the question or not is now of no concern to me. He is the best thing to ever happen to me and I know that he has my heart in the gentlest of hands and I trust him implicitly to do the right thing. I just love being by his side and if he wants to marry me, I'd be delighted but if he delays a proposal then I know it will be for the right reasons. So, I guess I'm none the wiser with regards to our future plans but I do know (and don't tell anyone) that I googled "getting married in Estonia" this morning as I suddenly thought last night that if we did get hitched, I'd love to do it there.

So, no developments at all from the odd conversation in the car but who cares. There's left over crumble to eat and I don't need to be anywhere near any cillit bang today! yay!!!


I'm sat here bawling my eyes out....

Tom is such a cutie. We were listening to his i-pod the other day and he mentioned a song which he says always reminds him of me. Just looked it up on you-tube and I'm in floods of tears. Here's the link but be warned that you may need a tissue.

Can't believe anyone would actually think of me in this way. I'm utterly lost for words and am just a snivelling wreck. God, I love that man.

(you'll need to copy and paste the link- oh and don't watch the karaoke style lyrics on the screen, they're so annoying! I minimised the screen so I didn't have to see them!)

Thursday, 23 July 2009

So, is it time for a hat?

Very odd.

Last night we all had a "farewell to the house" party as my bro and Jo are moving out on Friday. We were all absolutely spannered on Vana Tallinn, Gin and a rather lethal bright green melon liquor that my mum drank like it was going out of fashion (which I can categorically confirm that it was and has been since about 1976).

We had a delightful beige buffet as they attempted to clear the remnants from the freezer so we feasted on that well known and much loved combination of mini pizzas, chicken dippers, fishfingers and Aunt Bessie's Yorkshire puds - all served as finger food with a range of equally mismatching sauces from all the random, sticky jars at the back of the fridge. Fishfinger with mint sauce anyone? It all got a little too much when we investigated the possibility of garnishing Mum's green liquor cocktail and Brian, the neighbour's, gargantuan Barbadian rum punch with a handful of frozen peas.

We looked through the official wedding album and sank far too much Vana Tallinn (in the end I was just swigging from a bottle and actually managed to sit on the cat at one point my legs were that wobbly). We were all nicely merry, well I'm lying when I say that; we were all blind drunk if the truth be told. Anyway, Tom and I started having a conversation on the sofa about weddings. I don't quite know how it went but he kept saying, "When we're married". I asked him if that was a proposal and he just smiled. I said nothing and coped in my usual way by conversing heavily with Gordon (gin).

This morning I woke up and felt utterly foul. I had a shower but then needed a lie down afterwards as the hot steam had made me feel as though the beige buffet may well make a second appearance. Tom and I were due to go suit shopping today as he's got this week off but is back to work next week and does not want to look like Oliver Twist in his current worn out clobber so we had a military style attack on John Lewis planned.

In the car on the way in, I told him that my mum was making me laugh the day before because she'd found it odd that we were trying for a baby but not getting married. Tom just said, "You don't want to get married though do you?" I replied that I didn't want the hassle of planning a big wedding and needed some breathing space after what had happened but that I wasn't averse to an engagement. He then said, "Well, if you're asking me to marry you, my answer's yes but I don't think asking me on a roundabout on the way into town was very romantic." I replied that I hadn't just asked him and he said, "So, I'll cancel texting everyone that you've just said yes?" I replied that I thought he was texting people to say that I'd asked him! He then asked me if I would have been bothered if he'd texted everyone saying he'd asked me and I'd accepted and I replied "No". I was really confused by this point and said "But you haven't asked me and I haven't asked you!" His reponse was that "How can neither of us have asked each other but yet both of us have agreed to it in the last five minutes?"

I had no answer to that.

I am still none the wiser although Tom is £700 poorer as he bought two suits, I bought myself a peppermill and then nearly threw up in the car park from this sodding hangover.

I have no idea what happened today. Tom's gone home now and I've gone to bed.

All very odd. Must be the fishfingers.


Tuesday, 21 July 2009

the rash saga part three...

So, after a week in the shade where mothers of small children drag them away from you when they see your rash, I now feel a little fed up - especially as Tom's decided that swimming is his new hobby and keeps dashing off to the local baths. I would go with him but until this rash goes down then I can't face all the nasty looks and glances, not to mention that the chlorine makes it sting like hell so I'm stuck on the sofa whilst Tom trains for his next Triathlon.

At least it gives me a bit more time to help my bro. Him and Jo have sold their house and are moving to a new one a couple of villages away on Friday so they need a bit of a hand with packing up and shifting stuff. I'm making a huge lasagne on Saturday and taking it round with a load of booze and other yummy stuff for a bit of a housewarming do so no doubt that'll be another quiet and refined family occasion!

So, I'll sign off for now - time for another good scratch I think.

the rash saga, part two

Oops, don't quite know what I've done but I managed to delete nearly all of my original post and have somehow lost most of the videos etc so I'm splitting the post into three. Oh why oh why oh why am I such an IT div???!!!!!

Anyway, after the prawn/chardonnay feast, Tom and I wobbled back to our room and pretty much just collapsed. I woke up in the morning to discover two horrible things which both just spiralled out of control. The first was that I was covered in my awful porridge rash and the second was that I'd left my bag under the table in the resturant!

I decided to rush down to the restaurant and see if anyone had handed my bag in but then I ralised that our one and only hairbrush was in the bag and that if I went downstairs with my hair styled by Captain Chardonnay and his team of hangover stylists then I was likely to be chucked out of the hotel. So, I woke Tom up and despatched him on handbag hunt whilst I inspected my rash and wondered how on earth I looked human pebble dash.

Unfortunately the bag hadn't been handed in so I had lost my camera, my make up bag, my hairbrush and all of my make up. It was a holiday disaster.
I'm sure the people in the room next to us must have thought that Tom and I were into something very kinky or that I had at least had my head wedged in a crusher as the wail I let out when I realised I had no camera, no make up and no hairbrush was a little loud.

Luckily, the bag turned up later that day -a waitress had put it somewhere safe and gave it to teh Concierge who returned it thank god. So, luckily there was only a short time in which I was comitting crimes against hairdressing.

However, my rash was not solved so easily and i spent most of the rest of the holiday swathed in acres of thin cotton looking like something out of some biblical epic. It really is no fun being bundled up in long shorts and long sleeves on a beautiful beach or having people flinch when they see you strip off into your bikini. I can also categorically state that calamine lotion is not half as glam as coconut oil to rub on your skin whilst sunning yourself. In fact, looking like a cross between an Egyptian mummy and a five year old with chicken pox is probably one of the most depressing things on a holiday.

I have now decided that I'm never venturing further than my postcode ever again as things seem to happen to me. I knock about here, bored off my gorge with nothing ever going wrong but as soon as I cross the LE postcode boundary then the forces of medical evils seem to conspire against me and I end up in a right mess.

The rash still hasn't gone either. I'm on enough anti histamines to fell an elephant and weigh half a stone more than usual due to the weight of the calamine but it's still no better. Looks like I'm going to have a summer of long sleeves and floor length skirts. Oh well, it'll save the neighbours from having to look at my dodgy legs!


the rash saga, part one...

Well, it's throwing it down with rain and I can't quite believe that only a couple of days ago we were in a sun soaked gorgeous resort. Drizzle and high winds just don't really have the same allure as a sun lounger and a cocktail!

We have had a bit of a turn up for the books though; I've finally found the camera lead that had somehow squirreled itself away under a pile of hair clips and half used lip glosses in a bedside drawer at my house for the last couple of months. This means that this post is a rather eclectic combination of photos and video from our recent trips, including boarding, Edinburgh, some more of my bro's wedding and of course our recent foray onto Portuguese shores.

I'm currently on Tom's sofa bemoaning the fact that I am a one woman medical nightmare. I should really just loan myself out to trainee doctors in order that they can be assessed against the whole gamut of random and inexplicable bodily malfunctions that seem to characterise my life.

I did, of course, end up seeing the doctor in Portugal. Now, I must point out here that I am the world's worst patient. I am reluctant to seek advice in the first place, deny that there's anything wrong and then turn into Miss Shoutycrackers-grumpyknickers when things get so bad that I can't bear them any longer. This week's unusual ailment was a rash. Now I know that most people get the odd bite or bit of prickly heat on holiday but how many people wake up and find that their entire stomach, their thighs, shoulders, wrists (how odd is that? - wrists!) one side of their face and the tops of their feet are covered in a huge raised white rash with red dots in that is so itchy and lumpy that it repulses your boyfriend? In Tom's own words... "You've done a proper job on that haven't you darling!"

I stuck it for two days before admitting that looking like I'd been smeared from head to foot in a rather angry portion of porridge was probably not the best so we ventured to see the hotel doctor. It was not a cheap decision either; it cost 140 Euros to be told that I was allergic to something but he didn't know what. Thanks a lot I thought; I'd pretty much come to that conclusion anyway. In all honesty, I blame it on that prawn.

Now, I don't know if I've mentioned before that I absolutely hate fish. I can stomach "baby fish" in that I like fishfingers and fish from the chip shop and scampi but anything even remotely upmarket makes me retch. However, I am determined to wean myself onto fish so always try other people's and sometimes order it for myself in the vain hope that I may find something I like. I'd had a relative degree of success with a monkfish ravioli the night before so really pushed the boat out and ordered a medley of King Prawns the next night. This was a little error in itself as I forgot it would come with heads on so I was literally faced with all the little critters staring at me and wiggling their crooked little legs at me from the plate in some kind of prawn macarena dance where they pointed at me and laughed at the fact there was no way on earth I knew how to eat them. This led to a very embarrassed Tom having to de-shell the beasts whilst I sank a few Chardonnays to cleanse the palate and prepare myself for the fishy onslaught.

I'd thought about absenting myself and going to touch up my lippy whilst Tom finger waltzed with my prawn companions but as I had a slight handbag issue I decided to sit it out. You see, in a moment of packing amnesia, I had completely forgotten to pack a handbag for the holiday. This meant that I had one of three choices. 1. Tom's huge canvas over the shoulder beach bag 2. My cavernous gold DKNY travel bag 3. My make up bag

Of course I went for option three but it still wasn't right as I was in a lovely floaty cerise chiffon dress but with a heavy black Prada make up bag - never a good look! So, I'd hidden the make up bag under the table and was not drawing attention to it in any way in case anyone thought I actually had twinned my dress with the bag and was therefore committing a fashion crime. So, I had to sit and watch Tom de-leg and decapitate my prawns before I ate them. I now know why dieting mags say to eat more fish - it's because it takes so bloomin long to get into the damn things that you've gone off the idea of forcing them down stone cold before you actually manage to make them edible. Anyway, with the help of a couple of Kir Royales and the rest of the bottle of Chardonnay, I managed to get through most of the prawn "medley". - which roughly translated meant "three different but equally difficult ways of eating something wriggly".

Sunday, 19 July 2009

Nice day for a white wedding!

Well, I'm back from my hols and it's been very very eventful so I'll leave the major update untill another time.

For those of you who haven't seen my brother's official wedding pics, I've included a few from my mum's camera on here.

Just so you know who's who...
The ones in my mum's kitchen are my brother, Tom and one of my brother's oldest friends who was also an usher.

The blonde family are my cousins and auntie and uncle on my Estonian side along with our lovely Estonian Grandad - he's 87!!! My two boy cousins are only 19 and 21 and on 29th August they're playing in Estonia's first ever international rugby match against an England side - it's the England deaf squad! Both of them were in the Leicester Tigers academy and the younger one, the one on the far left, still plays semi pro and is starting at Loughborough Uni this year on a rugby scholarship so we're really proud. Their little sister in the red dress is only 15 - can you believe it!!!! They're all so gorgeous and so tall that I feel like the runt of the litter when I'm stood with them - hence no pictures of us all together, I'm only 5'3" and they're both well over six foot so I look like a dwarf. I can't believe I used to change their nappies and spoon feed them when they were tiny little babies. I'm so proud of them getting their place in the Estonian team; it now means they can put international caps next to their names when they play for their English clubs and I know my Grandad is bursting with pride that his grandsons are playing for his country.
The guy with my dad is his identical twin brother and the guy dancing with my brother is our cousin who is the son of Dad's twin. I always think it's uncanny how much he looks like my little bro. Guess they've got the same genetic dad really!
There's also one of the bus which transported everyone from the hotel to the church to the marquee and back to the hotel again as Jo's family are all from London so we thought they'd get lost on all the country roads so laid on a London bus for them. It was a real hit apparently!
Anyway, hope you like the photos; I've put the link on to the official ones again.
Lots of love.

Friday, 10 July 2009

We're all going on a summer holiday!

Just to let you know that I'm off on holiday early tomorrow morning so won't be posting for a while but didn't want anyone to think I'd disappeared off the face of the planet!
So, it's off to Portugal and will update in just over a week.

Thursday, 9 July 2009

Come on baby, let's do the twist.....!!!!!

So, it's Thursday, i've spent half my day up to my eyes in the Midlands' most revolting beige buffet at my Y6 party buffet twinned with a multitude of tutus and pirate hats in the school paly and the other half talking about babies, sex and gynaecology. I feel I could go on Mastermind with my specialist subject as "cross sections of my own womb".

I've been very naughty and been back at work since Wednesday afternoon. I just couldn't let all that hard work go to waste so i bought my colleagues who had been holding the fort a crate of beer and a bunch of flowers and rocked up ready to assist with the performances. I did the matinee yesterday and an evening performance and then another one tonight. It was fabulous. The 87 kids in the show really rose to the occasion and despite one cross dressing fairy falling off the back of the stage and the Emperor saying all his lines correctly but in the wrong order it was a triumph. My male colleague who's a tough six foot Kiwi triathlete bought me a bouquet of flowers tonight and had the kids present them to me after the show. I was so moved I almost cried but blamed it on the spotlight being in my eyes. The children looked amazing in their costumes and so many of the parents came up to say thank you for managing to get back in and making the effort as word had got round that I hadn't been well. It really was one of those moments when I realise I do the best job in the world - smiling happy kids and proud parents watching their babies perform all brave and confident.

Anyway, I'd had a bit of a mad dash back from the hospital as I got caught up in the rush hour traffic so was bolting down my Boots meal deal and managed to get pineapple slices wedged down my shirt and half a tomato and bean salsa sandwich in my lap so I must have looked to the parents like I'd crawled out of a skip.

The appointment itself was OK but the outcome's a bit of a mixed bag. I met Tom by the car park and in the blazing sunshine he had decided to bring an umbrella for some reason and also what every IVF patient requires in a waiting room which is a packet of chocolate buttons and a packet of fruit pastilles. Unfortunately my mouth was as dry as our school sand pit so i couldn't manage anything. I was also not particularly enamoured by the copy of our local paper which had a picture of our local counsellor going down a slide on it. Surely there's more news round our way or do i really live in Britain's most boring city where the only news is of a middle aged politician getting himself wedged on a children's slide, waving both thumbs up for the camera?

We were ushered in by a nurse for our initial tests which were, let me tell you, utterly degrading and vile. Guess what i had to do?

I had to be weighed in front of Tom and have it read out.

Now i don't know about you but I always remove half a stone when telling a partner about my weight; I guess it's the female equivalent of boasting about your dangly bits but I was horrified when the jolly nurse asked me to "hop on" and Tom waited expectantly, holding my handbag. I tried to remove my sandals (jacket, hair slide, watch, trousers - anything which might be adding to the weight) but to no avail. I was pronounced as being 59 kilograms. Now, this woman was so flippin loud I'm surpised she didn't alert the local paper so that they could replace the picture of the local councillor on the slide with that of one of my and my gigantic backside next to the scales. Tom raised an eyebrow and for one horrible moment I thought he might be about to question the scales but luckily he was then asked to get on - still holding my handbag! (For those of you who are sticklers for detail, Tom was 84KG.) God knows why they wanted to weigh him - half his bodyweight would have been sweets from in the waiting room anyway.

We eventually got called into a different room to see the consultant who was an aboslute treasure. She was so calm, patient and completely unflappable. She answered all of our questions and then repeated half of them because i wasn't listening as I was so nervous - I couldn't concentrate and she could have been speaking Ancient Greek for all I knew!

Anyway, the upshot is that I have to have surgery on 24th August. According to all of my results from the weekend and previous tests, apparently my left ovary is twisted and stuck to the back of my womb with scar tissue from the infection I had after my appendix was botched. I have got to have a laparoscopy to flush some dye through both of my fallopian tubes to double check for blockages and then have the stuck and twisted ovary investigated. It will either be freed and nudged back into the right place or if it's damaged from the sticking or the infection then they'll remove it. They'll also look at freeing up some of the other sticky adhesions om the right hand side which they think may well be the source of my pain as they keep "catching and sticking then tearing off" other parts of me. This apparently explains why the pain is so severe but then disappears when the adhesion moves. If I have this problem with the one ovary sorting out and untwisting then, according to my consultant, it would increase my chances of conceiving naturally but they will still put me forward for IVF which is great news.
The consultant said that our first round in this case would probably be before Christmas, depending on my recovery time from the op in August. They're also going to notify me if a sooner date turns up which would be even better as I don't really want surgery hanging over me for too long. I'd rather get it done as early as possible to save my nerves and Tom's teeth (he eats sweets when he gets nervous).

Anyway, if surgery can be seen as a good thing then this is definitely good news. All I know is that it is certainly a step in the right direction and if ever I needed to tread a new path then this is it!

So, I'm going to sign off now as I have to go and put together a powerpoint photo montage for my Y6 leavers' assembly and then collapse as I have a hot date with the sofa and a cup of tea.

Hope to hear from you soon.


Just wanted to say thank you too for all the lovely e-mails I've received. I'm thinking of printing them all off and keping to read whenever this whole baby business or life in general gets me down as it's been amazing to be absolutely inundated with postivity. If I wasn't such a double hard cookie then I might admit that some of them actually made me cry. To think of so many people enjoying my boring ramblings is one thing but to think that so many of you are such lovely people that you'll take time out of your day to wish me well and say such encouraging things is truly uplifting. It was so lovely to hear from a lot of "old faces" from YAYW that I didn't think still read - people who were planning weddings the same time as my ill fated one to ST as well as hearing from people who have only just stumbled across my rocky little road. Thank you so much to all of you who have been in touch and I gave you all a little wink as I went into the IVf today (I hear this activates good baby luck which I have received so much of!).
Thank you too for all those people who have shared their sadder experiences with me. Some of you really have got it tough at the moment and I send you my very very best wishes and lots of love. I'm glad that reading all this makes you smile - chin up ladies; we can conquer anything. Girl Power! (God I'm showing my age there again).
Anyway, thanks so much again and do keep popping on to say hi; it's nice to know who my fellow travellers are, especially now we've taken a detour!

Tuesday, 7 July 2009

What's worse than a toilet seat on your head?

Quite a lot actually!

Well, I guess I ought to open this blog with the whole "Friday night at the Harrogate Hospital"; it's bit like Friday night at the London Palladium except with fewer sequins and a few more crotch shots.

After a massive row about me losing my watch (now found to my embarrassment and the annoyance of my insurance company and the local constabulary who i reported it to) Tom and I set off up to Harrogate. I hadn't been feeling too well all week and had had this nagging stomach ache but which was like period pain except at the wrong time of the month. I'd put it to the back of my mind and we drove on up there. The M1 was foul and did not add to the ambiance in the car which was already fraught due to the lost watch and the fact Tom had not been fed for over 2 hours. (he needs regular refuelling or he gets a bit tetchy - a packet of quavers does not satisfy a growing boy)

We ended up navigating our way the wrong way round Harrogate for about half an hour (note to self, do not pretend that you can read maps, it only causes rows) we eventually found ourselves on a dirt track in the middle of nowhere. It was this gorgeous deserted farmhouse and we were welcomed in by a lovely chap called Ollie up a tiny winding and very dark stone path (I instantly regretted wearing gold stilletoes). Our room was gorgeous and we had a little bathroom just off it which was painted green.

I settled into a big, comfy armchair in the room and poured a small glass of wine and this helped to dissipate the stress of the journey and some of my tummy ache. After a quick sit down and a chat where I managed not to moan about my watch and Tom managed not to moan about not eating, we felt much more relaxed and we ditched our half drunk wine as "holiday fever" rather overtook us if you get my meaning.

Now, after our little horizontal jog across the bed, my pain suddenly got worse. I tried to stifle a moan through clenched teeth but Tom could see I was in agony. I attempted to persuade him to just let me sleep it off but I knew there was something very wrong. I managed to find a pair of knickers and pull those on but just the effort of that made me scream. Tom was really worried by now as I had peretonitis when I was 17 following an appendix operation which has left me with painful internal adhesions which often give me some pain but nothing like this. I reassured him that I was OK and decided to try and get to the bathroom as it felt like I was heamorraging. I managed to pull on a dressing gown and was bent double on the way to the loo. There was no way I could stand up straight and I was starting to feel dizzy.

I remember pulling my knickers down to sit on the loo and feeling dizzy and then thinking "why am I in a field and why is the sky green?" I had apparently passed out whilst trying to sit on the loo; Tom had followed me in and had watched me collapse after making the most unholy groan. I then spent the next 10 minutes trying to convince Tom and myself that i was OK. Why? I don't know either. However, I ended up passing out again in the green bathroom (I realised after a few minutes that i was not actually in a field, just a very very green ensuite!) and curling up in agony.

Tom decided to call an ambulance and that is when I began my fight with the loo seat. It was a really heavy wooden thing and it took all my strength to crawl up to it and lean it up as I thought I was going to throw up. However, God decided at that moment to have another almighty laugh at my expense and so whilst I was retching into the loo, the 6 tonne loo seat came crashing down on my head. I managed to push it up again and lean back a little, only for it to crash back down on my fingertips. (No nails broken though thank goodness)

By this time I knew something was very wrong, and not just with the toilet seat. I couldn't stop passing out and I was drenched in cold sweat. If this image is not hideous enough then I also had my knickers round my knees and couldn't bend enough to pull them up. So, at this point I had a slick of cold sweat, a hotel dressing gown on, a lump on my head from a toilet seat and my knickers wrapped around my kneecaps, all whilst writhing around on a bright green carpet by the toilet pan. Another classic photo opportunity.

Luckily the ambulance arrived fairly quickly although it had thought it was a hoax call as it was so far into the wilderness. Only I could get taken ill in the middle of deepest Yorkshire.

Tom had tried to wake the owners of the B&B up to tell them what had happened but apparently they had a mad dog which was barking and growling like fury so he decided to just follow the ambulance.

Harrogate A&E was lovely; it was like "Heartbeat", really quaint and the staff were so lovely. However, there's something a little odd about turning up in just a lace up pink thong and a hotel dressing gown after you've been doing the wild thing and then having to have an internal. Degrading is not the word, especially when the gynaecologist looks the same age as the boy who does your paper round.

It is never nice have an internal examination but definitely not at half two in the morning whilst three sheets to the wind on morphine and whilst trying to convince the sister than you don't want your boyfriend watching so making him skulk outside the curtains when everyone knows you've just been at it! Very odd and only in my world.

I cried when they admitted me because I just wanted to go home and despite the drugs, i couldn't get any rest because of the pain. I was admitted to a lovely ward where the nurses were all lovely and was put on all sorts of drips and had to do 3 (yes, three) pregnancy tests as they were convinced it was an ectopic pregnancy.

In the morning I was faced with the horrible decision of who to tell. My whole family are away either on honeymoons or holidays and I didn't want to spoil their lovely times so i just told my best mate and asked her to call Tom and tell him what to bring to the hospital as I only had my naughty knickers and that flippin dressing gown. As it happens, she didn't get to Tom fast enough so he bought exactly what a naked girl in hospital needs - a phone charger and a book. (Which incidentally he dropped on my lap when he arrived and set me off into spasms again).

After despatching Tom to try and get me something I might actually need as I was unaware of anyone on the ward who could fashion some nightwear from a phone charger and a novel, I found out that I might have to have surgery to find out what it was. I've always had terrible gynae problems which were as a result of my infection following my appendix and I've always been a slave to my bits and bobs so the thought of more surgery filled me with horror.

As it happened though I had something worse than surgery in the end. I don't know if any of you have ever had an internal scan but you need to start praying now to whichever god you worship that a mad radiologist wielding something the size of a car exhaust never appears anywhere near your nethers. I knew it was bad because the student female nurse chaperone squeezed MY hand when he waved that instrument.

After being violated by a Kwik-fit special offer for half an hour, I actually had some really good news. Despite the damage on the left side fallopian tube, it appeared that my right ovary, tube and all of my womb and uterus were intact. This was unbelivebale news as my scans in 2000 showed a degenerative condition that suggested I would be totally unable to have children later in life. The radiologist let me listen to the blood flow and pulse through my ovaries and I sobbed like an expectant mother at their baby's scan. This was the best possible news ever, even if i did have an exhaust pipe up my nancy.

I was sent back to the ward and pleaded with the doctors to discharge me. They didn't want to as my blood presure is apparently very low and so they were worried about me fainting again and didn't know why it was so low. Seems odd that someone as highly strung as me actually has low blood pressure!

Anyway, I was discharged on Sunday evening and we travelled back home. Tom's had me doing nothing and in truth I'm bored out of my head. However, looking forward to the consultant's appointment on Thursday as my scan results hint that we may have more of a chance than we first thought so yay!!! Just hope that whatever did cause my collapse on Friday doesn't affect things; i've got to have more tests on Thursday to rule a few more things out.

But, the good news is; just like the easter bunny I have a basketfull of eggs!!!! Double and Triple Yay!!!!!!

Anyway, am off now so hopefully I'll see you on here again soon.



Did you find me OK?

Well, here's my new blog - a bit bare at the moment but do stop and say hi. I'm fed up of all those nasty old posts on my previous blog so hopefully this one will be free of nasties!
Let me know you're here and I'll update again soon.