Almost nothing if Im honest. Dinner at Sis and BiL�s was predictably scoffalicious. We started with potted mackerel (with the pain de campagne that I took with us) then onto a chicken casserole type thing with a bitter orange sauce, veg and mashed potatoes with WAY more cream and butter than I would consider using at home, then a splendid cheese course with tete de moine cheese on a proper girolle and splendid squishy dates, fat grapes and the palest French walnuts. A dessert of pear panettone tart tatin and we�re all stretching back in our seats like Mr Creosote. I hit the Jim Beam fairly hard but had to have a couple of cups of mint tea half way through as there was a real and present danger of exploding. BF was on the cooking lager and wasn�t too sloshed at all really, especially when you consider that he drank every drop that we�d taken with us, and he�d been to the pub twice during the day.
After dessert BF sparked up a big smoky one and Sis, BF and I passed it around to such an extent that Sis and I had a "Devil Went Down to Georgia" lyrics contest with BF and BiL judging � which was fine as neither of them know the song. BiL was in charge of the CD player and put on Click Click which is a TOP song, so top, in fact, that it was mentioned in one of the lovely Smedindy�s fabulous collections of must-listen-to. So it must be good!
Somewhere between that bit and the going to bed bit, Sis got up from the table, saying "I�ll just get a drink of water" and then could be heard being volubly sick into the kitchen sink (BiL being in the bathroom at the time). BF and I started to clear away the dinner things as, lets face it, there are few things that signal the end of a party like the hostess yacking up. However, after about five mins, Sis reappeared in the dining room, with the glass of water and with a "sorry about that" sat back down at the table and resumed her conversation as if she�d never been away! I still can�t decide if that�s totally gross of if she really rocks in a way I didn�t think possible. I think as she�s my sister I ought to give her the benefit of the doubt and say "Yay! For the yacking-up Sis and her ability to re-party".
We finally staggered into bed around 3ish and had sex in the way two people who know each other really well can do � half an hour of fumbling about, trying to be quiet, exhibiting some fine examples of piss-poor aim/misinterpretation of signals/and mutual drunken wavering, staggering, dozing off/waking up with a start and carrying on etc etc until BF turned me around for what I assumed was a spoony-style shag and promptly started snoring. I was severely pissed off for, ooh, 3 or 4 seconds before I joined him!
Next morning we did the toast and coffee thing while Sis sat on the veranda looking crap � pasty white face, puffy beyond belief and wearing a grey fleece caftan thing. The Pilsbury Dough Boy goes ethnic. We made our excuses and headed for Lid1 for "the family shop". Ick. It was BFs first experience of Lid1 and he was pleasantly surprised, especially as all the fruit and veg were half price and we could stock up on mangoes, cherry tomatoes and other items of loveliness that we cant afford if we go to Tesc0. I think I should write to Lid1s and suggest their next marketing campaign be something along the lines of "Lid1. Its not all economy burgers and scratchy bog-roll, y�know". Lid1 gets such bad press here (as does Aldi) but if you�ve ever traveled in Europe you can find all the yummy things that you enjoyed abroad, all nestling among the shelves of Lid1 at about a quarter of the price of the "Foods from Around the World" section in bloody Waitr0se. You do need a fairly good grasp of European languages to read the packaging sometimes but my German and French are pretty much good enough to carry me through. And I can do a weeks shopping for the four of us for 25quid. WITHOUT buying packaged crap or readymeals or �value� anything. Yay for Lid1. And no, Im not a pikey.
Tried tackling the garden a bit on Sunday afternoon. Being on a corner plot, The Palace of Many Sins has a Looooong fence running around the outside, through which ivy has invaded the pavement and laurel leaves have tumbled in giant piles, halving the width of the pavement right along the street past our house. The neighbours, of course, all have perfectly manicured front gardens and their fences are freshly painted and they wash their cars whether they�re covered in mud or NOT! So, in the interests of not lowering the tone too much we set about the ivy and the pavement and the piles of leaves with as much gusto as we could manage as it was already nearly dark when we started and the temperature was barely above 30. We hacked away for about an hour and managed to clear around 15 feet. Only about three gazillion miles to go then. But at least when you walk along our road now you have the full use of the pavement for fifteen whole feet without having to walk through piles of soggy leaves (where dog poos could lurk), bent double because the laurels and brambles are creeping down to meet the ivy coming up!
I am scratched to bits from the brambles but we�ll get out there again at the weekend and try to finish it off � although it may well necessitate a trip to the dreaded B&Q
"Ding Dong! This is a colleague announcement. Would all available service staff please run and hide out the back as there are now customers in the store. Thank you"
for some more manly tools. BF was struggling big time with my weedy little secateurs, particularly as he was wearing ski gauntlets to protect his hands. (I am aware that I have made him sound unbelievably poofy, but a gashed finger or even badly ripped nail = no guitar playing = no money. Im used to it but Im aware that other people � like Pater � find the whole hand-protection thing really really funny).
Fortified ourselves with a restorative cup of tea and bowl of "what I found at the bottom of the fridge" soup and Huzzah, off to the jolly old pub.
Then, as it was Sunday and the girls were at Shagnasty�s it was time for a lovely bath (with bergamot salt scrub, natch) and a rummage in the dressing up box. One pair of silky hold-ups, the perspex porn shoes and the spanking dress later and Im ready for action baby. Caught sight of myself in the bedroom mirror. Must�ve been absolutely wasted as I thought I actually looked quite good � for an old scrubber.
Work is heinous at the mo so Im not going to waste my energy talking about it. Management meeting tomorrow and I cant even be bothered to wear something comedic. My hair�s gone funny and whatever I do to it Ive got this little TinTin (cf Something About Mary?!) thing going on at the front. Even when Ive just washed it. And there�s a big porcupiney bit at the back. So at least I wont look too corporate. Cant let my standards slip now can I?
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