An account of my Saturday. Attending a wedding.


I made it through the whole day wearing heels without being crippled. I will admit that I made a reasonable amount of effort to look nice: I may or may not have spent just shy of £100 at the hairdressers on Thursday (yay new kerastase elixir variant and label m thickening cream) having dyed hair the day before and invested in not only new tights (without holes, ladders or inappropriate fishnet/stripey additions) and nail varnish (first time I treated myself to opi).

SO’s father told me I looked nice and the mother of the groom said my hair was almost as lovely as SO’s. There end the compliments and appreciation for my efforts. I already spoke to SO about wanting some photos because my memory is shocking and I am at the age where im not likely to improve and in my dotage it might be nice to look back and see what I failed to appreciate at the time. But. Of course he took no photos and when I mentioned it was told it wasn’t my day and I should stop being so selfish.

Sigh. Yea.

So what about the actual wedding aside from my lack of ego boosting? Well, it was cold, there was a bagpipe player outside the church, the bride arrived only 15 mins late, looking lovely in an elegant lacy dress and then the horrific service began. The vicar obviously feels the need to spread his evangelical message and try to saturate everyone with the glory of his god( small g )  against their will, if necessary. I felt utterly offended by the way he spoke and although obviously the couple chose a Christian church wedding, it is usually expected that there will be consideration made that some of the congregation may be atheist or Buddhist or Hindu or pagan or muslin or church of angry tortoise-badger cutlery collectors. The hymns were bad. I wonder why they chose those which are notoriously difficult to sing eg ‘,lord of the dance” or are just unfamiliar. I didn’t sing. Nor did I participate in the expected congregational responses prayers (but rather spent the time analysing the vestigial knee-jerk reactions which were drummed into me as a child but meant nothing to me).

Finally released into freedom! Got cold outside the reception venue waiting for bride and groom to return from some epic photoshoot then settling down at our prescribed table (hoping we wouldn’t be next to the obnoxious bloke SO Went to school with and whose wife with incredibly massive knockers on show who was annoyingly asking when WE would be getting hitched…) thankfully we were with a pretty decent crowd, friendly and pleasant. The couple next to me had their daughter with them, who first got stuck in the kiddie high chair needing screwdriver assistance to be removed, and then proceeded to tell us that she needed a poo; ok you think, it happens…but…five mins after returning to the table…same again…now youd be forgiven for thinking the kid had an upset stomach, but actually she wasn’t using the bathroom, just dragging her parents up and down the hallway knowing full well that they wouldn’t risk ignoring her!
Food was dreadful! We had two non dairy requests on our table yet they seemed largely incapable of catering for this. My main was grossly overcooked pasta in tomato sauce. Dessert was fruit with some ‘sorbet’ which looked abd tasted suspiciously milky. I donated my favor sweets to the little girl that said she needed a poo every 5 mins because 1, she had fudge and didn’t like it 2, she was traumatized from being trapped in the chair and 3, although dairyfree they were not vegetarian!

By the time the speeches came around, the ibuprofen I took at tge church had pretty much been removed from my system so I figured a glass of bubbly wouldn’t hurt (after making SO check on his phone whether it was a deadly combo or not) and it made the dreadful best man’s speech slightly more bearable. What happened next was odd. About half of the guest seemed to be named and thanked for their individual help with things and handed them all gifts like an award ceremony! Odd. Oh well. I got SO to buy me a glass of overpriced wine and we watched the traditional Scottish dancing ( while SO had horrific flashbacks of when he was head boy for county team country dancing at school!) and I sat there annoyed that yet again I had no chance to dance and have fun because SO would rather eat acid coated glass shards than dance! But instead sat chatting to a charming Scottish lady.

Once the buffet was served and we had signed our names and a message next to an abysmal photograph of us (well actually SO looked ok and was uncharacteristically smiling, whereas I looked moody and awkward) as we entered the reception, we felt safe to leave without causing offense.

My goodness that was a long description! Are you still awake? Final summary: spent whole day thinking that most of the women there looked prettier and thinner than me and being annoyed with myself for repeatedly thinking this 😦 booooo.


luxuriating in literary freedom

I’m tangled up.

I have forgotten who I am and where I am going

All I know is that the walls have been re-truffled and re-retreated and those mysterious smudges and black crayon-like lines all over the place have been suffocated beneath another layer of paint.

Ok step one of finding direction and meaning – take prescribed dosage of medicaments. (it tastes sooo bad…do I really HAVE to take it?) If I ever find out who decided that swapping sorbitol and mint flavour for aspartamine was a good idea I’m going to feel compelled to strongly suggest they snort some of it, or at the very least leave their tongue in some for several mins. VILE. ok done. (shudders)

On writing – why I do it

I never professed to being an exceptional writer – that my words held any particular strength or bearing or indeed interest yet here you are reading and here I am typing in-between nibbling the ears off some Katjes veggie sweets and wondering why there are always more pink ‘better bunnies’ than white ones in the packet when clearly the white one have a superior flavour.

So I guess you could say I’m pretty ineffectual at expressing myself orally – often stumbling over the simplest of words / phrases / dyslexifying concepts and generally allowing semblances of words to pour out in succession without even knowing where they are going or whether it makes any sense. I like to think that the process of writing – the actual physical necessity of slowing down the presentation of syllables and the editable nature of such a process enable me to actually get to the crux of what I am thinking or feeling rather than replaying what I have just blurted out and cringeing (inwardly or visibly). Perhaps I have a slow working brain or something – that needs to plod along, word by word, beat by beat, checking and double-checking the meaning and the flow of what is written. The reflective writing routine allows me, at times, to use words which I would otherwise be uncomfortable speaking (as I tend to like to check their validity for whatever context I am using them) therefore expanding my vocabulary and ability to express.

Paragraphs of text allow me to look back at the section as a whole, not merely as stand-alone phrases – as often in spoken conversations I find myself forgetting what was said moments ago due to attempting to say something slightly more articulate than my basal level verbal stochastic garbage. Another great thing about writing is the lack of necessity to repeat yourself. If you write something important or good (at least in someone’s eyes) then it is there to be read and re-read without your need for recapitulation for every new person who shows (or feigns) an interest (not that this is a considerable concern for me at this stage of my life but if you knew my Dad you’d know how irritating it is to hear him tell the same story over and over and over ad nauseum- why not print it on a poster and save us all the multiple rounds eh?). I digress.

While I have perhaps not been using this blog as I originally intended it, it has been quite therapeutic thus far – a learning curve of writing, thinking, expressing and posting stuff that no-one wants or needs to read or know about (sorry folks).  Sometimes, when real life people are absent, there is nowhere else for these pockets of limbless thoughts and frustrations to go. You see?

So it continues, this unceasing parts of me which cannot be shared with you or anyone any other way than just this – in writing, and on it goes, the internal dialogue that just will not be fixed without reflection, consideration and just a little bit of dancing around the words.

I’m clearly not at work today – oh no, I’ve finally said I need a break – my brain is so caught up with stresses and responsibilities and repetitive tasks and niggling doubts, fretting needlessly over things beyond my control and ignoring the things which are within. So far I may outwardly have achieved nothing since I woke up but in fact – I have, I really have. The fact that I was able to tough up the paintwork with a smile on my face singing along to Jewel (yup you heard that right) and now dancing in front of the laptop to Poe (yup –  i cant tell you why i like her either – terrible taste eh?)

Don’t say I don’t treat you :P. Where was I? oh things which I HAVE achieved (let’s be a bit positive today) – I have booked tickets to see a preview show of Tori Amos’ play the Light Princess for the day before my birthday with an old school friend who I haven’t seen for YEARS! It’s going to be amazing…or disastrous, but it will be an adventure I’m more than willing to partake in. Train booked to visit awesome Cardiff friend for a weekend visit (probably involving some yummy veggie food and partying in either the night time high heels and glitter, or the afternoon tea and cakes variety 😀 allllll good. Soooo so far being off work has cost me money…but both things needed booking today…it’s not like I need to spend money to have fun it just….helps….

I’m looking forward to going for a ride (horseback) along Pakefield beach this week (I can book when I get to Mum’s place depending on weather and it will most likely be just me and the instructor) YAAAY :D. I also have the next China Mieville book SCAR to read because I’m loving Perdido Street Station. Although I have been checking work emails, I haven’t replied to any and have refrained from reading new articles which came up on my feed. What now then? well  have to pack some clothes I guess, and try to find a way of minimising the horse-smell transfer from riding gear to everyday togs – I don’t mind but apparently its not very socially acceptable to smell of horses in polite company (or rude).


Oh and a french lady in Homebase yesterday (nose piercing and red hair) made my day when she said she liked my dress (I’d made a super special effort to look nice in a bid to improve self-confidence and had until that point not received any signs of acknowledgement – though eventually I folded and got narked off and told SO he was supposed to tell me if I looked nicer than usual….you know, confidence, appreciation, acknowledgement, that sort of stuff? Today Im back in Arab Strap Tshirt and corduroy flares and unwashed hair – whatchagonnadoaboutit? yeah right – that’s what I thought. nuffin.

Except the unwashed hair thing is a bit ick – I think I’ll dye it and make it all better colour and grease back to their proper levels. OOOohhh one more thing – I was looking for some new makeup because my one true love diorshow mascara is starting to make my eyes itchy (Noooooooo!!!) so Im after something suitable for very sensitive eyes, and ideally some eyeliner too because the last ones i got have the itchy eye problem too…curses! so I read about Sephora products being pretty good but naturally they don’t ship to the UK from their US site …but….they do from their french site! So I put in an order (including a few 80% off items) and now am just waiting to see what arrives.

Ok that’s enough uncharacteristic optimism and splashes of good news and hope and wellbeing for now.

What does life after Skyrim hold for me?