Today

 

 

Today is the day we get married.

Inspired by this lovely lady's post on this lovely lady's wedding day.

All images from here apart from the 10 which is from here.

(A scheduled post I'm not actually blogging on my wedding day!)

A big shout out to Stacy and Ryan over at You Can't Take it With You who are also getting married today.

See you on the other side

So lovely readers this is me signing off until after the wedding. Thank you for keeping me company on this crazy journey. 






I suspect I won’t be able to resist a hop on to twitter every now and again. (I'm only private on twitter to prevent spammers so just ask)

Not our first dance song 3

When we first got together O made me a mix CD. Putting all cheesiness aside I loved it – can’t bloody find it now (haven’t properly looked because it is somewhere in his CD collection which is too huge and scary to contemplate) but I played it a LOT. There was no romance (never has been) there was no soppiness. This was a taster and insight into O’s music collection. They were songs that went together well and he’d obviously put a lot of effort into it. The song we have chosen for our first dance is on the CD.


He maybe should have listened to the words a bit more because some of the songs aren’t really appropriate for your new girlfriend. Still it is a great song and Belle and Sebastian are still one of O’s favourites.




Belle and Sebastian Lazy Line Painter Jane

Tan Envy

Despite having Portuguese, Italian and Polish ancestry, my skin does not tan. Ok, so the Portuguese and Italian are probably too many generations ago for it to count but my Dad is frequently mistaken for being of Mediterranean origin and can tan in seconds. The Polish is only a great grandfather on my Mum’s side so not that far back. I just don’t tan, two weeks in the sun and the only way you can tell I’ve changed colour is by looking for white bits. I come back from my summer holidays (those where I leave the UK) and friends look at me quizzically and ask if the weather has been ok. It used to be that I actually wouldn’t change colour. I could spend a day out in the sun and I wouldn’t burn. This maybe due to my Mums insistence that we spend the entire summer holidays covered in white sticky suntan lotion I thought I’d developed a permanent resistance to the sun. In the last year or two, this seems to have changed and I do now have the propensity to burn. Which considering I have a huge number of rather large a-typical moles and have been told by a specialist that I therefore have a higher percentage risk of skin cancer isn’t a good idea. At least factor 25 and never out in the mid-day sun for me.

Not only do I not change colour naturally in the sun I don’t seem to be able to fake tan. I’ve tried several different brands and means of application and yet I always turn orange. My skin tone just doesn’t seem to suit a tan. O works as a gardener so he has been outside for the last three months, his face and arms are very tanned (farmer tan – he looks like he is wearing a permanent white t-shirt). #2 is naturally darker than me and living down South she sees more sun than I do. #1 is currently enjoying a fortnight’s holiday during which she will be lying in the sun constantly with her only activity to turn the page of her book or top-up her glass of wine (jealous? Yes I am). Her family get back to the UK two days before the wedding so there is no time for their tans to fade.

I will not be fake tanning or any sort of tanning for the wedding but I can’t help feel a little bit envious that I'll be the palest of all. I’m just going to have to wear my porcelain/blue hue with pride.

Not our first dance song 2

Also not our first dance song. But a good one for a car journey or when I can't sleep. I'll start singing it to wake O up and then he joins in and reminds me of the words.

This could be a struggle for a lot of you. The words need to be read in a very broad Scottish accent - I've given a translation below in blue but it doesn't work as well.

COD LIVER OIL AND ORANGE JUICE - Hamish Imlach

Well oot o' the East there came a hard man
Oh-ho, a' the way frae Brigton?
Ah-ha, glory hallelujah
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Well out of the East there came a hard man
Oh-ho, all the way from Bridgeton

Well he went intae a pub and he come oot paralytic
Oh, VP and cider
Ah-ha, what a hell of a mixture
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Well he went into a pub and came out paralytic
Oh, VP and cider

Does this bus go tae the Dennistoun Palais?
Oh-ho, I'm lookin' fur a lumber
Ah-ha, glory hallelujah
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Does this bus go to the Dennistoun Palais?
Oh-ho, I'm looking for a shag

In the dancin' he met Hairy Mary,
Oh, the flooer o' the Gorbals
Ah-ha, glory hallelujah
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

In the dancing (nightclub) he met Hairy Mary,
Oh, the flower of the Gorbals

Aw noo Mary, are ye dancin'?
"Oh no, it's just the way I'm staunin'"
Ah-ha, glory hallelujah
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Aw now Mary, are you dancing?
"Oh no, it's just the way I'm standing"

Well then, Mary, yer one in a million,
"Oh-ho, so's yer chances!"
Ah-ha, glory hallelujah
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Well then, Mary, your one in a million,
"Oh-ho, so is your chances!"

Well then Mary, can I run ye hame?
Oh-ho, I've got a pair of sandshoes,
"A ha-ha, ye're hell of a funny!"
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Well then Mary, can I run you home?
Oh-ho, I've got a pair of plimsolls (trainers)
"A ha-ha, your a hell of a funny!"
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Well, doon through the back-close, an' intae the dunny,
Oh-ho, it wasnae fur the first time,
Ah-ha, glory hallelujah
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Well down through the back alley and into the back yard
Oh-ho it wasn't for the first time

Then oot came her mammy - she was goin' tae the cludgie,
Oh-ho, I buggered off sharpish,
Ah-ha, glory hallelujah
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

The out came her Mum - she was going to the toilet
Oh-ho, I buggered off sharpish,

Noo Hairy Mary's lookin' for her hard man,
Oh-ho, he's jined the Foreign Legion
Ah-ha, Sahara unner ra camels,
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Now Hairy Mary is looking for her hard man,
Oh-ho, he's joined the Foreign Legion
Ah-ha, Sahara under the camels,
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

Then Hairy Mary's had a little baby
Oh-ho, its faither's in the army
Ah-ha, glory hallelujah
Cod liver oil and the orange juice

The Hairy Mary's had a little baby
Oh-ho, its father's in the army



YouTube videos of Hamish Imlach singing are available

The Joys of Cat Ownership III

Sunday morning I got up and went through to the kitchen to feed the cats. On the way, I very nearly tripped over a Frisbee that was lying in the middle of the floor. I didn’t really think much of it, perhaps O had been playing Frisbee after I had gone to bed the night before, yes it was early I was still sleepy. I had a bath and was generally pottering about, and noticed that the Cat was sitting very close to the Frisbee – not her usual spot. As time went on, I began to get suspicious of her attachment to the Frisbee. It was right next to two bags of bits and pieces we’d bought on Saturday. I gingerly lifted the bags expecting a mouse or other such small furry creature to run out from under them. Nothing. Hmmm, so I went to lift the Frisbee and saw the tail! Dropping the Frisbee, back into position, I ran into the bedroom doing that jumpy/hoppy up and down itchy thing where you feel like the mouse is crawling up your leg.

Me: “O? Did you move the Frisbee?”

O: “No”

Me: “Where was the Frisbee when you went to bed”

O: “I don’t know. It’s been on the bottom shelf for ages”

Me: “Well it is now in the middle of the floor with a mouse under it. Did you put it over the mouse?”

O: “You what? No I didn’t move it. Are you sure there is a mouse under it?

Me “Yup”

O: “Is it still alive?”

Me “Think so”

O gets dressed, comes through to the living room, looks at the Frisbee, looks at the shelf FOUR feet away where it is usually kept and looks back at the Frisbee and at the Cat who is still very much attached to the Frisbee. He uses a big piece of cardboard and slides it under the Frisbee lifting gingerly; he proceeds to take it down the stairs and outside releasing the mouse. We watch it run off rather dazed and a little bruised and battered but alive. Back up the stairs to discover little mouse pee all over the floor under the Frisbee and a VERY PISSED OFF CAT.

We still can’t work out whether it was the mouse who moved the Frisbee or the Cat.

Hair trial take 2

And breathe - so much better, emergency diverted.

Turns out I have A LOT of hair!

Fruit Picking

Last weekend, after years of talking about it, we decided we would go fruit picking. Except Scotland decided to throw its toys out the pram on Sunday and have a tantrum. We had gale force wind, torrential rain and even sleet at one point so the prospect of going outside was not appealing.

My family and I used to go fruit picking when I was a little girl during those summers which were endless and the sun was always shining (I have clearly blocked out the months of rain). In the years when fruit picking was the cheaper way to get your fruit – it is now very expensive to pick your own. We would arrive and pick (and eat) strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and gooseberries. Screaming and running, dropping fruit as we went, from wasps and bees. Moaning at our sore backs and bramble scratched hands. Once we had, had our fill and the moaning became too much to bear for my parents we would head home. As much of the fresh fruit was eaten, the rest went into the huge chest freezer in the garage and was turned into different desserts including gooseberry fool, which I hated because it was too bitter for my sweet tooth*.
I want the sun to come back so that we can go and pick our own.

*We have rhubarb growing in the garden that I also find too bitter. I’m tempted to try and turn it into rhubarb fool but the amount of sugar required is quite scary.

This weekend we'll be doing wedding stuff. I hope you have fun stuff planned.





(images all from here)

Ideas on a post card please

O’s Dad is a jack-of-all-trades. However, his skill lies is woodwork – detailed woodwork. We have asked him to make us a special box that we will use for our wedding photos. We will also use the box to keep our guest messages in. We are supplying our guests with pens and reference cards and hope that they will write us a message of good luck. We need some sort of sign that tells them what the deal is i.e. take a card and write us a message. But I’m not sure how to write the sign.
The best I’ve come up with so far is, which we might go with is:

“Guest Book – sort of” or maybe "take a card and write us a message"

Do you have any ideas or have you seen any inspiration? I don’t particularly want a long explanation just something reasonably short and snappy.

Thank you!

Excitement

Conversation about the wedding that happened around February time

“friend”: Are you excited yet?

Me: No

“friend”: why not? When are you going to get excited?

Me: What is there to get excited about? I’m excited to be married – is that not enough?

“friend”: No - you should be exciting, planning a wedding is exciting, weddings are exciting, my wedding was excited, I WAS excited about planning my wedding, why are you not EXCITED, it is EXCITING, there must be something wrong with you if you aren’t EXCITED.

Me: *ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH FUCK OFF*

Thoughts recently……………….

The invitations are out, the wedding notices are filed and my dress is being altered, the favours are made and we know in our heads, ok I know in my head, what is happening with the other details. Since the invitations went out everything has felt easier, more calm, there hasn't been the rush. I'm not deluding myself I'm well aware that there needs to be more rushing! But technically the wedding can happen without any of the other details. The rest of the stuff is just stuff and if I don’t want to do it I don’t have to. Ok so technically I didn’t have to DO any of it but the unspoken pressure was there. And I’m going to do the other stuff because I want to.

Now I’m feeling a whole heap of excitement, I can’t wait to get married, I can’t wait for our families to come together, I can’t wait for the evening when all our friends are dancing their behinds off. I can’t wait to see all the babies all dressed up and hearing them chatter and gurgle their nonsense. I can’t wait to be announced as husband and wife. I can’t wait to snuggle into my husband's chest at the end of the night and fall asleep knowing that forever looks like an amazing place to go together.

I’ve always been excited about being married but finally I’m excited about the wedding*.

Which is about bloody time because we only have two and a bit weeks to go!

*It does probably make me weird that I haven't found the process excited.
I'm slightly perplexed by the disappointed look I'm getting from people when they ask if I'm all organised or stressed out. Yes I'm organised and no I'm not stressed out and why is that disappointing for you? Really you'd prefer me to be tearing my hair out - that seems ungracious.

Hair Trial

O's instructions - it can't be straight or I won't marry you.

My instructions - I want it curly and messy and not to feel done. Turns out you can't have your hair done without it feeling done.

Results:

It isn't perfect. I'd like the curls much lower down, closer to the nape of my neck.

Special Women 3

Hockey, as I’m going to name her, was the first person I met at University. I got my place at University through the clearing system so was late to register my need for accommodation (should have studied more). As a result, I was allocated a shared room – you want me to move five hours from home and share a room with a random girl I’ve never met? Hockey was the random girl who had the misfortune of sharing with me. Miraculously it worked out really well, we went and explored the kitchen together and bagsied ourselves a space in a cupboard. We went and explored the bathrooms and couldn’t fathom out why there were two showers to one room – do they expect us to leave the door open so someone else can use the other shower? We went and explored the student union together and conquered the dance floor.

After a couple of months Hockey applied to get a single room on her own not because of me, I hope, but because she wanted her own space. This worked out well as it meant I then had a double room all to myself. She continued to use our kitchen and we continued to be friends. We lived four doors away from each other in second and third year and then in fourth year when we decided to move back to University accommodation we decided to share again (with Cee).

The stress of final exams, dissertations, our uncertain future plus the usual domestic disputes* meant that we finished our final year on a less positive note. Hockey could be quite hard work in an over the top enthusiastic, seriously you cannot function at those sorts of energy levels all the time type way**. After graduation, we made a half hearted attempt at keeping in touch but soon it became a text at Christmas and New Year.

Just over a year ago, Cee randomly bumped into Hockey in the street, they chatted briefly, exchanged email addresses and agreed to arrange a reunion with London (an introduction coming soon) and I. We all got on brilliantly, chatting for hours. We have met up several times since and have been in regular email contact. Hockey has been incredibly helpful to me as she was planning her wedding at the same time. She came dress shopping with me on a couple of occasions and has sent me loads of useful links and tips and hints. Hockey got married 17th April and threw a wonderful party (despite the ash cloud which meant some guests couldn’t get there), she made an incredibly beautiful bride – really, it is a shame she’ll only get to be a bride once as she was born for the part.

I’m so glad that we are back in touch she has been the most amazing friend over the last year.

*Hockey used to leave piece of chicken in a freezer bag on the work surface to defrost the rest of the flat residents felt that this should have been on a plate to collect the defrost juice.

**She has definitely mellowed.

You might have guessed, by the name I’ve given her, that Hockey played hockey – I didn’t, in fact I got bullied by the hockey team in high school so I didn’t really have a good impression of the sport and those that play it, not to generalise but the University hockey team weren’t that friendly either. I think however that she got the worse end of the stick though as she had to put up with my stinky riding boots and crop – oh-er missus (sorry couldn’t resist).

Etsy Love - Bookity

Not a sponsored post I just wanted to share.

Recently I’ve been spending quite a ridiculous amount of time browsing through Etsy. I’m looking for gifts for my bestwomen and want to get them something unique and unusual and I want to support independent traders who work hard to get their businesses recognised and underway.

When I found this UK shop I got all sorts of excited, like clapping hands together and grinning at the computer screen excited. I LOVE books and there is something so romantic about reusing old books. All of Bookity’s items are “made from damaged, unwanted or unsaleable books”.

Bookity – or Lou is lovely and friendly and managed to get my purchases packaged and with her trusty boyfriend to deliver to the post office the night before she went on holiday – that is dedication!

I can’t really explain how much I love all of these products so I will just show you them. I bought two bags (it could have been so much more), the French book bag (below) I will be giving to #2 as part of her gift.

#2's gift:

Things I'd love to have bought:

       

Please go and visit Bookity and see for yourself all the wonders. Follow on Twitter or find on Facebook.

Be prepared there maybe more shop love gushing on this blog shortly!