Eeek!

A very close friend of mine is getting married at the end of August and has just asked me to be Best Woman and do a speech. I am chuffed to smithereens about this and actually loudly wept when she asked me. Only thing is, she seems to think that because I write and I make her laugh, that I will somehow rise to the occasion and do a wonderful, hilarious stand up routine about her, our 20 years of friendship and her lovely new beau. I am absolutely SHITE at standing up infront of people and speaking. I go red, I mumble and speak so quickly to get it all out of the way that my meagre witticisms are lost on everyone due to their bad timing. This being how it all went for me back in the days at Uni when I did a presentation. And I haven't had much practise since. I also absolutely SHIT MYSELF beforehand, to the point where I spend about a fortnight beforehand having sleepless nights and if I do get to sleep have anxiety dreams where I do the talk but with food on my face and without remembering to put any clothes on. I have done the Best Woman thing once before, at a friends' Civil Partnership ceremony, but he put together a reading (a la Bridges of Madison County- the cheesemeister that he is) for me which was nervewracking, but at least I wasn't showcasing my lack-lustre, shakey handed technique for wowing a crowd. It actually went ok, but now to have to write something tasteful and funny at the same time is a challenge and usually isn't my bag. As you may have noticed readers I do have a liking for the cruder side of humour. This poor girl doesn't know what she has let herself in for, and as for me- bring on the valium!

These boots are made for walking...and dancing and a bit of naturism too.....

The weekend was a frivolity of dancing, nude swimming (again- I must get out of this strange and quite frankly freezing habit), snogs, and dining out with friends. I really am starting to enjoy being single at last. And I know I am a mother but every now and then I feel it's important for me to be a little childish too. On Friday a gang of us went to the Honeyclub on Brighton's seafront for Adrian's birthday. I hadn't fancied it until a friend of mine lent me her 4 inch heel kinky black boots and that was it-I was in vamp land and no one was going to stop me showing off my now very long legs! (I have stumps ordinarily) I danced my arse off to hard house, which I usually detest, but being continuously dry humped in a Patrick Swayzee kind of manner by a gorgeous young man sure helped proceedings. He had only just learnt to walk again after a motorcycle crash had left him in a wheelchair for 4 years, and I have to say he was doing swell. After the club, he and I ran into the sea starkers and screaming in homage to Merman. Trouble was his best friend had followed us in, and suddenly there we were the three of us, all far more sober, completely in the buff and standing in the sea as the sun just started to come up (see pic for bit of the sea we plunged into before the light appeared- thanks Tatiana for the beautiful pic before it all turned rather naughty). I hope I am not on You Tube somewhere and god- I am behaving like a bit of a trollop at present but who cares? I sure don't.
Saturday night after a sumptuous Thai meal with the soon-to-be-wed cuties that are Joy and Geoff (19 days to go guys!!!) and their photographer Harry (who to practise for their big day followed us around all day like the paparazzi- it was quite surreal but exciting in a look-at-us-having-our pictures-taken kind of way), we braved the tacky Horatio's Bar with a few friends to see a covers band called The Ginger Flowers. They were actually really good and threw in a few indie numbers for the kids, and we danced barefoot on the sticky carpet with one of the eccentric senior nurses from work who we happened to bump into. She was off her trolley and Harry took some great piccies of her that I will put on here soon.
Sunday I was invited to a taster session at the opening of a friends restaurant. The friends in question are Finnish and they have started a Scandinavian themed eatery in town called Northern Lights. The deal was that I, along with a load of their friends, go along and try their menu for a fiver and make comments. It was fantastic-lots of fish-based foods of course so I was happy, and very rich flavours. I would thoroughly recommend it for an alternative night out in Brighton to all you locals, and there are some great veggie dishes too. Plus Manu and Paula are great, gregarious hosts who love to meet new people and drink and be merry so go along for a great night out! Northern Lights is on Little East Street near the Lanes and is next door to Mama Cherries of Kitchen Nightmares fame. (I did promise them a plug but I genuinely loved it).
Back to work now and reality. But I tell you what- if all my weekends off from my mothering duties are half as much fun as this one was, I think I am going to be just dandy.

Ginger connections and the continuation of the species

As I left work yesterday teetering from the hospital carpark on my bicycle I heard a male voice shout "Alright Ginge!". I turned round, ready to scowl at the Chav idiot who had obviously thought it appropriate to yell such an ignorant pointless thing, as I always do when this happens (and it happens rather more than I care to remember) and was surprised to see an orange-topped bloke grinning at me. So I smiled in a warm sisterly way and went on my merry way. It somehow felt like a ginger connection rather than the usual feeling of mild racism.
Sarah my doppelganger at work and I have been talking about the fact that I now need to make it my mission to carry on the ginger gene and find myself a redheaded man next, or at least a mousy blond with ginger trimmings, so I can have ginger children in the future. Sadie is wonderful and everything but she is more Med than red if you see what I mean. Dark genes win the war every time unfortunately and I need to do my bit for my super race.

The bedside manner of a turd

I think I might be losing my marbles. I was on the bus travelling home from work yesterday and was talking to a friend on my mobile. As I jibbered away I rummaged through my bag and panicked that I couldn't find my phone. I voiced this concern to said friend and she said "Cathy- you're talking on it...." before collapsing in a heap of giggles on the end of the line. I think I must speak to this friend so often and had got so used to listening to her, that I now thought she was just a voice in my head and not a person on the end of the phone. Oh dear.
I'm not sleeping well at present and this might explain my dippiness. For the last 2 months I have woken every night at 3am and laid awake until about 5am just thinking and worrying. It's a horrible time of the night to be awake as it's almost morning so you know you'll be getting up in a few hours, and it's also not a time of the day when you can get up and do anything productive with your thoughts. I sometimes jot things down or go and get myself a chamomile tea, but on the whole I just lie there feeling rotten. I have a completely useless GP unfortunately. I went to see her the other day as my glands are up and I feel very tired. I mentioned my sleep problem and she dismissed it, saying it was probably the humidity and not to concern myself and as for the gland thing, it was "just a virus". Great help thanks. I had cycled all the way across town and had had to spend an hour reading 6 month old copies of 'Good Housekeeping' magazine just to be told this crap. Is it any wonder I would normally prefer to visit a homeopath? Will I ever learn that when it comes to matters of the heart, unless it's a cardiovascular problem, doctors are pretty pants at sussing out what needs to be done.

Fishy outings and raining vegetarians

I have been sitting still for so long today at work that the automated lightswitch in the office thinks there's no one here and has just turned itself off. And oh piss it's raining again and I have cycled into work. I will get drenched as I only have my EMO hooded top for a coat as it was warm and dry this morning. I know- I will write about food to cheer myself up......
I have been dabbling with the idea of becoming vegetarian, despite my occasional carniverous penchant for eating guinea pigs (sorry Patrick) and puffins (sorry Sadie). I have a lot of vegetarian friends. In fact I think most of my friends are. I am somehow drawn to them, like I am drawn to musicians or writers- they sort of epitomise what I would like to be but fail at most of the time. Like I should be in a band, or have a book published by now, I should probably also be a veggie as it's healthier, it would encourage me to think about what I eat more and probably lead to me eating more varied nosh, and of course it's kinder to the ickle wickle animals. I can cook so many different things (hark at me), that my culinery repertoire wouldn't be too tarnished by the lack of meaty or fishy flesh thrown in. I have had a few vegetablarian (as I like to call them) mates come round recently for dinner and it's been an absolute pleasure to cook for them as it's meant I have been more experimental. I also have this amazing book that I bought a few years ago called 'Entertaining Vegetarians' by Celia Brooks-Brown and her recipes are always absolutely yummy. Here is one that is so easy yet really impresses......(I got a snog out of this one so beware!)
(Feeds 2)
2 medium aubergines, cut into slices
1 block of halloumi cheese, cut into slices
1 bag of baby spinach
fresh mint
olive oil, salt and pepper

Sauce:
1 tablespoon of pomegranate molasses (you probably have to live in Brighton for this one but Balsamic vinegar is a good substitute)mixed with a little water
4 tablespoons of ground almonds
1 tsp caster sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp grated ginger
1 garlic clove, crushed

Pestle and mortar the sauce ingredients and leave aside. Grill the aubergines with a little olive oil and seasoning. Dry fry the halloumi and then stick the spinach, cheese and aubergine on a plate with some sauce and sprinkle fresh mint over everything. Tasty! And as Nat and I discovered the other day, the sauce makes a delicious accompaniment to roasted veggies and probably just about anything else as it is soooo yum!

Back to my ramblings about vegetarianism, I think however the habit I would miss the most about being an ex-carnivore would be my trips down the seafront on my bicycle to buy fish. Cycling to Taj Foods to buy curly kale and fresh herbs (usually with obligatory flies buzzing around them- it's the authenticity that keeps Mr Taj so wealthy) is all very well, but it isn't quite as romantic and earthy as purchasing some freshly caught and hand-smoked mackerel from the lovely red-faced elderly couple who run the little shop by the beach. Maybe I will have to become one of those semi-veggies who still eats fish...We shall see.
P.S. Did anyone hear that amazing thunder clap last night? It was very moving. When I was awoken in the early hours I felt I was in a Hammer Horror. Very exciting- I love a good storm.

Floral gestures and deflated balloons

A man bought me some flowers the other day, and when I woke up the following day they had wilted, despite being in a vase of water and in full sunlight. Three days previously I had bought myself some flowers, as I do every week now to help put a little spring in my step (thanks Nat for the tip), and on that same morning, they had completely blossomed and, almost one week later, they are still thriving. There is a lesson in there somewhere.
Apologies for abysmal efforts at writing on here of late. My main reason is that my computer at home is so completely achingly slow that I get all in a tizz and lose the will to live let alone ramble about my sad life in cyberspace.
I am at work at present tinkling away. It's so lovely and peaceful here I could almost think about writing some of The Book. The Book that has suffered of late. Why is it that I find it easier to write when I am feeling vaguely cheesed off than when I am feeling in the mood for humming Kylie tunes? Teenage kicks zap my creativity. The Book is coming back now though; just as the 79p Co-op floral gesture of guilt began to sag, my ideas started to come back.
Visited the last few events of the Brighton Festival this weekend- the upside down giant purple cow thing in the middle of town and some Hove open houses-, and even had a swim in the sea early on Saturday morning. It was completely freezing but got the blood pumping. An elderly gentlemen came and shook my hand afterwards and said "You are one very brave girl". Which was nice. He may have also been referring to my choice of swimming partner, but that is a whole other story (remember Merman?Put it this way- we were lucky not to be arrested...)
I think I am slightly getting into extreme sports (well- by my normal standards these are radical exercise regimes)- it's as though I need to feel something other than my emotions, and alcohol just isn't doing the job right now. I went on a 10 mile cycle ride last week that left me purple in the face, sweat running down my back, and made the pedal fall off my bike. I need to calm right down.
Found another red balloon bobbing about in my street again yesterday. Sadie ran up to it and stamped on it until it deflated. What this means I will never know but it made me laugh.

Soundtrack: Mika- Lollipop

Dirty Thirties

I've had a bit of writer's block recently, as you may well have noticed. It's all good though, if a little distracting, and I've been having quite a giggle the last couple of weeks. Life is funny isn't it? There I was, minding my own business, feeling like I could quite happily get into being on my own and being self-indulgent for a while, when a lithe young man comes along as I'm sitting on the beach, strips off COMPLETELY right in front of me, dives into the sea like some sort of Diet Coke hunk and then gets out and comes and asks me for coffee (he had got dressed by this point). Well- I couldn't really say no could I (even though I don't actually drink coffee- but who was I to spoil the moment and ask for a camomile tea instead), and I was most surprised as I was red-faced and wearing a tracksuit, having just been for a sweaty jog along the seafront. Having got my chick flick moment out the way (and a huge caffeine rush that left me jibbering for days), we have been on a couple of hot dates since, but I am happy just to keep it in a bubble of Hollywood perfection. It has served a purpose, and dragged me from under the black cloud, that up until then I wasn't aware I was under.
I love being 30. Someone close to me, who is now in their 40s, told me that your 30s are brilliant because you really know who you are and are much more confident in yourself. I had been looking forward to feeling like this throughout my crushingly self-doubting 20s, and I have to say, from the moment I toasted to my third decade of life, in Blackberry Woods campsite last August, I felt like a new beginning was upon me. I made a promise to myself that I would trust my instincts more, and be a little more selfish. After all, as great as turning 30 has proved to be, youth is rapidly leaving me. There's only 10 or so years left (if I'm lucky and stop drinking so much I might not end up the old fruit I am destined to be until my late 40s) of being considered remotely spring-chickenly and I intend to make the most of it. And thanks to Merman I now truly believe that anything is possible.... especially when you least expect it...

Soundtrack: Kylie- Wow