Corlummy, was that Christmas? My, didn't it fly.
So, what happened? WELL, here are the highlights:
1) Falling asleep during the Queen's speech
2) Watching Sophie's rabbit devour a piece of my brother's recently decorated wall.
3) Slagging off Edwina Currie at every available opportunity whilst watching celebrity Weakest Link, only for my brother to sum up her career with "she told everyone not to eat eggs, had an affair with John Major and then retired".
4) Eating enough food to satisfy the starving masses of the post-earthquake disaster zone of Bam, Iran.
5) Seeing Steve McFadden (aka Phil Mitchell) as Captain Hook in pantomime in Woking. Report below:
Peter Pan Pantomime
OOOH no it wasn't.
There we were - my stepfather, mother, sister, brother, brother's fiance and I all scurrying for our seats as the curtain was raised. Armed with large foam thumbs, Ben and I went about beating my sister with them for absolutely no reason whenever we could, much to the tutting delight of the people behind us.
Mike announced that as soon as his Old Cranleighan and current The Eagle radio dj friend Peter Gordon came on stage as one of the pirates, he was going to shout ONE NORTH to try to raise a response.
On came a comedian Buttons-like character pushing a cart full of fruit. He introduced himself as Smee and went through his repertoire of original, but mostly groan-producing (and therefore SPLENDID) jokes. One of which was as follows:
*Smee puts down fruit-shaped mobile phone and makes amusing, yet predictable joke about being on Orange. Smee picks up a cabbage*
"Had a sheepdog sniff this one this morning"
(*Smee repeatedly tosses cabbage into air and catches it*)
"Yeah, he thought it was a collie". (Ba boom tisch).
Everybody in their right mind understood that it was a clever pun, playing on cauliflower (caulie) and a Collie dog. Every single member of the audience laughed heartily, including the four year old boy in front of us who could barely breathe from giggling so much. As the laughter died down and near silence descended once more, the solitary voice of my blonde sister was heard.
"I don't get it".
Peter Pan soon turned up (which was handy because that was the lead role) and asked the audience for their participation.
"When Peter Pan says do something, you all DO IT, ok?"
"Peter Pan says 'stand up'", so everyone reluctantly stood up, jackets, drinks and ice cream tubs tumbling to the floor. "Peter Pan says 'put your hands on your head'" so we all put our hands on our heads, only for the flick of my brother's fist to connect with my knackers and double me up, causing me to almost headbutt the poor boy in front.
Cue the appearance of nasty Captain Hook and his pirates, mega-volume booing from Ben and I and frantic gesticulating of the foam thumbs.
"ONE NORTH!"
The interval soon appeared and with it a lengthy delay while mother dealt with her bladder, only for her to return with a large foam thumb for Sophie and a flashing blue bristle stick for herself. I have a lunatic family.
And so it continued, Ben and I ogling at the barely-dressed actresses and remarking how similar the Magic Mermaid was to Sophie's true-life personality, not to mention badly timed booing, wrestling for the arm-rests and mimicking the distinctive tones of my stepfather.
All in all it was jolly good fun.
OH NO IT WASN'T.
This happened last weekend, but it has taken me a week to get round to writing it up.
ANYWAY, Debs and I were in Guildford doing some Christmas shopping. Simon H and Lucy 'bumped into' Debs and I in the middle of Guildford High Street, with Simon S and Michelle 'loitering' outside Woolworths, boiled sweets in hand. Obviously this had not been engineered in any way and the fact that we were all there at the same time of day in the same part of town was entirely coincidental. Hmmm.
We went off to Woolworths where Simon H was intent on purchasing a fibre optic Christmas tree. We pottered about, looking at all the Christmas tat and the group separated. All of a sudden there was a loud crash and most of the people in the shop turned round to see Simon H clutching a Christmas tree, with half of the stand clinging on for dear life and the other half rattling its way along the floor towards the counter. "It's alright, I work here" he offered, blatantly failing to deflect the attention away from himself. How we laughed.
Simon S was having shoelace problems and was knelt on one knee doing them up while Simon H wandered around a newsagents. I helpfully persisted in nudging Simon so that he was continually off balance and unable to tie his laces. Simon H crept up and shoved the poor lad over, right onto the wet concrete and right in front of hundreds of Christmas shoppers. How we laughed.
Debenhams. 'Stocking Filler' section. Simon H knocked a large package off the shelf which caused several of the old grannies to tut and point their umbrellas in our direction. After apologising, he turned round and did it again.
By the time evening came, Sparky had joined us and we were awaiting the arrival of Nick and Sarah. The Little Park Hatch in Cranleigh was the venue and there seemed to be some sort of fancy dress theme going on with several impressive costumes on show (the Reindeer (which actually looked more like the bear thing in Inspector Gadget), Batman, Superman and the 118 men were all particularly marvellous).
Just as the pitiful DJ brutalised a mix between Elton John's 'Candle In The Wind' and Afroman's 'Because I Got High', a fight broke out right in front of us. We concluded that the aggressive 118 man had got fed up with the random bloke calling him 192. Simon H threw himself in the middle of it all and managed to calm it all down, despite the fearful tremblings of his voice. We decided it was best we move on.
And so we did. That was event number one.
There I was, at home in front of my computer, skim-reading a few emails before heading off round to Debbie's house to cook her dinner as promised.
All of a sudden, Alex M half bounded, half stumbled and half cart-wheeled down the stairs, excitedly prattling on about something that I couldn't make out 'cos he was talking so fast. (I realise that three halves is impossible, but to third bound, third stumble and third cart-wheel seems kind of silly to me).
Within ten minutes, I had re-arranged my dinner-date and we were off on our jolly way to pick up free tickets to the Stereophonics gig in Earls Court, courtesy of V2 records.
The 'phonics are a band I have always wanted to see live and they certainly didn't disappoint. A full review of the gig will soon be available and I will post the link here, but if you ever get the chance to go and see them, then go.
And it's even better when it's free.
Splendidophonics.
And so our Secret Santa presents had to be handed in today. Luckily, the one I had ordered arrived in the post this morning but I didn't have time to wrap it until I got to work.
After a quick pit-stop to get batteries, I arrived at my desk and immediately began wrapping the gift before my pending appraisal scheduled for a few minutes later. As I was leant over my desk inserting the batteries, boss next to me, the gift came to life. This also happened to coincide with the appearance behind me of a very important person with the company.
"F### OFF!" the swearing punch pag announced, far louder than I had expected in the eerie silence of the pre-working day.
And I've been meaning to do a brief write-up of the 'Silly-Hat Party' I hosted in the middle of November. As I said to those that turned up, the 'party' was more like an 'exclusive get-together' because of the numbers, but we'd definitely have a lot of fun.
And that we did. Mark R turned up in his white van, sporting a tacky Christmas tree alien hat, Simon S wore his sombrero, Nick M had a Santa hat that swung from side to side, Michelle also had a Christmas tree hat, but made it look good, Sarah had a flashing Santa hat, Tony L wore a lightshade, Alex M a jesters hat and I rotated between fez, mini-sombrero and crinkly blue party-hat.
However, Nick, Simon and I did all go into town wearing the Guinness hats that we bought in Dublin a few weeks beforehand. This is where the carnage began. No sooner had we arrived, we were having our photo taken with a random man wearing a large red afro wig and an 'Enjoy Cocaine' t-shirt, playing the bongos in the centre of Watford high street.
Before the evening was out, Alex and I had been showered with glass at the bar, I had been threatened by someone wanting to 'put two holes in my head' (surely just one would be enough?) and Mark had spent the entire evening trying to pull, forgetting that he had a 99p Christmas tree alien sitting on his head.
He wasn't best pleased when we decided enough was enough and further drinks down on the farm were in order, protesting about opportunities of 'rooting them', and they'd refused because the farm was 'too isolated'. He made up for it though by starting a popcorn fight and ended up with the bowl slung at him. Marvellous.
And that was the silly hat party. Photos to follow.....
Friday night saw the Christmas Party for the Renault UK Service and Quality Department. The theme was 'Gangsters and Molls or Christmas Accessory' and it was to be held at the Ramada Jarvis Hotel in Watford, which, handily, is less than ten minutes walk from my house.
As I walked into the hotel foyer, I got a few stares from employess and was then shown the double doors behind which our departmental festivities had begun. I turned the handle and the entire department turned to look who it was. There was a cheer and a ripple of laughter, before cries of 'it's Robin Hood' came my way. I wasn't Robin Hood, nor was I Peter Pan, nor a pixie, nor an alien. I was an elf. A green one too. I had a green hat, a green one-piece tunic that showed a lot of elf leg, and black shoes wrapped in red and green Christmas paper.
Soon the elf jokes started - "cor, to wear that you must have some real elf confidence"; "you walked here in the cold? Surely that's bad for your elf?"; "don't finish the wine you elfish git"; "hey, Robin" etc.
The gangsters were very good indeed - there were lots of black shirt/white tie combinations, toy guns, a pimp and a tree fairy.
The low point of the night was being propositioned by a bulky Scottish man in the gents, who had clearly misinterpreted my tunic for a skirt (or perhaps a kilt). My protestations at him calling me his "little Pixie" went unnoticed and in the end I fled, telling him to "regain your elf-control".
The high point was either winning a prize for 'most daring outfit' and courtseying in front of everyone, or wandering off to another companies party, gatecrashing and being ejected. I just couldn't understand it - I was just stood there, swaying from side to side in time with the music, taking momentary pauses to gulp at my pint, and they suddenly asked (told) me to leave. "How did they know?" I asked myself. I then realised that I was standing next to the pimp and I was dressed as an elf in a fancy-dress-free party.
And then I walked home, as a rather drunken elf, to the toots and beeps of the A41 traffic.
And now seems like a good time to tell you about my experiences in the men's changing room at the gym. Not in the sordid, homosexual sense that you've probably already concocted in your pervy little minds, no, something different.
I'd been to the sauna and was in the shower. It was quite late and there were very few people around so any strange noises were easily trackable.
It was then that I heard the incredibly heavy-breathing man. Not just out of breath, this guy was Darth Vader does the London Marathon. I stepped out the shower and he was changing.
'shwwwwww'
'huuuuuuh'
'shwwwwww'
'huuuuuuh'
He wasn't panting, though, and he wasn't particularly fat. He just couldn't breathe without sucking in all the air from the 18 cubic feet surrounding him. Even when he was putting his socks on, he breathed so hard it nearly knocked me off my feet.
Anyway, he soon left and I was grateful for my fair share of the changing room oxygen.
But then I heard another noise. I was the only person in the changing room now and tiptoed around to the mirrors and loos section. One of the doors was closed.
'MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMRRRR'
'MMMMMMMMRRRR'
I had visions of some guy hovering above the loo trying to offload his digestive by-product, arms apart, pushing against the cubicle walls for support while he strained and wished his bowels would permit movement.
'MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM'
I decided that it would probably be a good time to leave at that moment, as I would not have wanted the sound of gushing faeces to haunt me for the rest of my days.
'MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRR'
There is a McDonald's round the corner from my house and I usually pay a visit every Sunday lunchtime after football.
Now, everybody knows the stereotypical McDonald's regular - rounded figure, spotty face and exact money. There was a young boy of about 13 in there that depicted modern day junk-food culture down to a tee. He didn't walk, he waddled - very much like Tick-Tock from Wizard of Oz. He was rotund and had clearly eaten in McDonald's too many times. His face was full of greasy spots and his teeth already yellowing. Intelligence was nowhere in sight - mouth open at all times, vacant stare, vocabulary range of less than half a dozen thingies.
He kept going back up to the counter for more burgers. He was a waddling, grunting, testosterone-fuelled, burger-munching machine and he could eat for Watford.
Still, at least he beat anorexia.
Last weekend I had my hair cut. Now, as you may have read, when I have my hair cut, something amusing and worthwhile of blogging usually happens. This time was no exception.
She greeted me with a grunt and motioned towards the chair. I tried to engage her in conversation, but she was clearly suffering with depression or something. She went on about Christmas shopping and how, since her mum died, she had "lots of kids", at which point my eyes bulged and she rephrased it to say that she had to buy presents for her nieces and nephews.
Anyway, she hacked away at my hair (and actually made it look rather good), and I was astonished that nothing remotely website-worthy had occurred. Then she got the brush. You know, the one with the stiff, long, thick bristles for sweeping away loose hairs? She then proceeded to jab it into my face as far as it would go (ie right down to the bottom of the bristles) and then scrape it along my cheeks, trying to get a reaction, her top set of teeth biting down on her lower lip in sheer determination.
So I sat there and let her jab away until she gave up and went off in a huff. Splendid.