Crying Gets You Everywhere...

Crying. So many songs have been written about it, be it Big Girls Don't Cry or I'll Do My Crying in the Rain. Today the theme was "Don't Cry For Me, UAE Embassy". I had to go to London this morning to get some work documents stamped by the aforesaid Embassy and had done all my research to make sure there would be no hiccups as I landed at 09.25 and had to fly home at 17.00 - a whistle stop trip if ever there was one.

I planed, trained and taxied to the Embassy with my parcel of documents and trusty bank draft to cover the ridiculously high fees they were charging and went it. So far, so good. Until the nice man behind the counter told me that the draft was £40 too much. What's the problem sez I? We can't take it, sez he, toddle off back to Dublin and get a new one like a good girl. Eh, I don't think so pet. I've got to have these blasted papers sent off by Fedex this afternoon and no excuses or I'll be in for a right tongue-lashing when I get back to the office.

I begged, I pleaded, I tried to reason with them, but the Embassy was not for turning.

Eventually I went for the last resort - floods of sobbing, mascara running, pink-eyed tears and not just for effect, these yokes had to be sorted or I was in line for a P45. Them some auld cow (to quote Mammy Dearest) presented her big ugly jobsworth mug at the desk and hissed at me that she could not alter the procedure and that was that. Her accounts were so precious that they couldn't cope with an overpayment as it would send the whole house of cards tumbling down. Bitch. After a few minutes, one of the nice ladies slipped me a post-it with an address - the main Embassy around the corner and told me to get over there. So I trudged up the street, another Kleenex clutched in my hand and snotting for Ireland and rang the bell. God love the poor man who got to talk to me because I was incoherent. A few minutes passed and I hiccuped out my sorry tale - he told me to have a nice sit down and leave it with him. The receptionist, god love her, kept coming over to me with tissues - I was half expecting a Mammy hug, she was so sympathetic. So I sat, and I calmed down enough to stick the tissues back in my bag... then I realised I'd no makeup with me to repair the flood damage! The nice man came back to me, told me Jim (aka him) had fixed it and to go back to the Auld Cow who promised to play nice this time.

So, back to the other office, where the nice people were still lovely and the Auld Cow was nowhere to be seen. I was told to return at 2.30 and they'd have everything ready for me. There was nothing to be done but take a walk down to Harrods to persuade a nice makeup lady to repaint my ravaged face. Big love to Leah at the Bobbi Brown counter who put a hex on the Auld Cow for me and turned me back into a human. After all that drama, I richly deserved the glass of wine with my lunch!!!

On the way home from the airport, I called into see Little Sis and Lulu who I hadn't visited in ages. Lulu was transfixed when I explained where I was today - she kept repeating it to her Mum - Mammy, Auntie Peefa was in a car, on a plane, on a train, in a taxi, in more taxis, on a train, on a plane and then in her car to see me!!! Funny how it's all about you when you're nearly 4

My Funny Valentine

Valentines Day in our house is always a bit unfocused on "us", mainly because my Mammy and Hub's Mammy both celebrate their birthdays on 14th February. Also, Hubs tends to be working on any night that Feb 14th falls, so I'm used to the "reduced" bunch of gorgeous M&S flowers that he brings home a day or two after the event. In fact, I much prefer them as florists etc. really know how to take the piss the second week of Feb - €100 for a bunch of roses that will be dead in 10 days? I think not. And anyway. we're married so it technically we shouldn't care.

My latest "pov shop tip" is to buy your flowers in Aldi. A paltry €4 secured me two bunches (5 stems) of lilies which are only opening up 5 days after purchase. The smell in my kitchen is feckin' gorgeous and there's at least another week of life in these babies. That's how you should save the economy while not compromising on the nice things in life!

Speaking of economy, we had an early Valentines night this evening - tomorrow will be full of goons, gimps and mouth breathers availing of the "special menu for two with a bottle of house wine and a rose for the lady". The very phrase makes me do a little sick in my mouth... how would they cope with a male couple for their dining experience - who gets the rose??? We walked down to the local Chinese for some nice (but overpriced as there's no early bird on a Friday) menu and then over to the newest pub in the town for a few drinks. Sadly, there was no cocktail list for me to work my way through, but I did have fun explaining Britvic 55 to the Ukrainian bar staff!!!!

Tomorrow night will comprise a feast of culinary excellence including bruschetta, lots of home-cooked striploin and an EU mountain of chocolate desserts, supplemented by enough alcohol of the fizzy kind to give you a raging hangover.

Happy birthday Mum!

Giddy Up!

I've been keeping a low profile of late - work has been mad busy and I've been a little bit sick, so wasn't really in the humour to do extra-curricular typing or thinking!!! Hopefully everything has settled down now so I'll have a little bit more time to pootle around doing very little... seeing as it's close to midday & I'm still in my jammies and just finished my breakfast, I might be on the right road.

Ended up in Caredoc last weekend and in this era of cutting back and taking a pay hit, the good people in Caredoc have raised their prices by 20%! Mind you, it's sometimes worth the hit to be seen by appointment and relatively on time, unlike my local GP where I've had to wait up to 90 minutes. The day after I went to the doc, my shoulder went (long-term problem) so I was rattling with drugs... enough whinging already!

I was at the races on Thursday - work sponsors an event every year & this was our final year, and indeed, the best. Everybody has a ball - they are ferried to & from the racecourse by coach, they have a gorgeous meal, loads of booze and spend/lost a few bob on the horsies. Except for me. I stand at the desk with a list in my hand and a lot of swearwords in my head for all the ignorant gits who fail to show and don't have the manners to tell me, miss the lovely dinner because I'm running around like a headless chicken trying to stop gatecrashers into the room and make sure everybody else is happy. It's the best workout I know - the room is on the 2nd floor and the lift is never there when you want it, so I reckon I do about 6 step aerobics classes during the course of the day. My poor legs are still in bits!

To make it worse, I had 4 great tips which would have brought me over €150 in winnings, but was too busy to get near to the tote or a bookies... grrr! On the upside though, I did get to present the winners trophy which was an utterly unexpected treat. My male colleagues (who have a death wish) were overheard commenting on the collection of big jugs on the platform and duly received a few well-placed slaps to the back of the head for their cheek. And because I was sober, I clattered them again yesterday when their poor wee heads were a touch delicate!

Right-ho, time to get dressed and venture out into the daylight

There Was A Young Man Called Manuel...

The freaks who we met last weekend... but even scarier!

There Was A Young Man Called Manuel

Whose customers regularly gave him hell,

But when asked for advice,

Didn't think twice

So now I think he's really rather swell!

That, ladies and gents is my ode to the wonderful Manuel who came to our aid last week when we were looking for somewhere nice to eat in Belfast. He recommended a restaurant called The Ginger Bistro on Hope Street, just a wee stagger in new shoes from the Europa where we had ensconced ourselves for the night. The food was absolutely gorgeous, the wine flowed freely and my god we were highly entertained by a table of our fellow diners, two of whom we immediately christened Lou and Andy due to their shocking resemblance to the boys above. The fat lad came in first, an XXXXXXXL beige polo shirt beaten onto him like spray on spandex - he had multiple moobs and more spare tyres than Quikfit - and a pair of denims with no belt. Yes, I almost did a little sick in my mouth and Hubs nearly got whiplash from trying to take a sneaky look at him. 10 minutes later, in strolled the other half of this freakyshow... a short-sleeved lemon shirt with epaulettes, pocket for the biro, grey Farah slacks, Deirdre Barlow specs (he really should have gone to SpecSavers), complete with beard & bald spot. It was quite the table of horrors - they all were either (a) teachers, (b) social workers or (c) civil servants. And that is why I always sit facing the room... it's how you get to see all the fun stuff!

Freaky diners aside, we had a great weekend in Belfast. The Europa has been done up since I was last there (on my hen... I kept having flashbacks and some of them were none too pretty!) and is all glossy and lovely apart from the shitehole that is the Lobby Bar. God it's the most depressing tip ever and one drink was plenty. The room was lovely, with one of the comfiest ever hotel beds we've stayed in - shame I couldn't fit it in my handbag - and great views. We dumped the bags and went for a wander around town. There was a ferris wheel in the grounds of City Hall so we had to take a trip, seeing as we got engaged on top of a ferris wheel in Paris. It was great fun altogether and well worth Hubs' money! We managed quite a bit of retail therapy for a hell of a lot less than at home... always fulfilling.

Funniest thing ever was seeing a 24 hour Tesco that only opens from 1pm on Sundays - what is it with Norn Iron and their allergy to working on the Sabbath? Although, it's probably a good idea because I was on a spendy roll and would have probably squandered the mortgage in the process!!

Another Year Over...

As I write this with last night's makeup still on and wearing my faithful purple dressing gown (lucky I'm not single...), I'm thinking about the year that's just gone and what lies ahead. I believe that everything happens for a reason so there's no point in dwelling over crappy things and to be honest, nothing too bad happened in 2008 - everybody I love is still around so that's the main thing. Work has changed, perhaps necessarily, but not for the better - some of our "family" are no longer with us, and the transition period has been difficult to put it mildly. Little Sis got a DIY Voodoo Doll for Christmas and I was so tempted to nick it and make a revolving head with various people who I could stab in the eye with paperclips!

What I would like for 2009 is to get my poor battered body well again which will save me a fortune in chiro appointments (that man should be a millionaire given the amount I've forked out in treatments over the past 18 months!!!) and be secure job-wise... or failing that, win the Lotto and walk away - as if!

Poor Hubs has been working all through Christmas so we're heading off to Belfast, home of the legendary Manuel for a night away. Dinner has been booked, a nice hotel room awaits, and my Christmas money is burning a large hole in my pocket... so I can't wait.

That's The Way The Cookie Crumbles...

After 7 long nights of an ice-cold house (our boiler broke down & only got fixed on Wednesday), this week, I've been mostly channelling my inner Ina/Nigella/Martha/Rachel (yom!) and doing a lot of baking. It has been said before that I'm not too bad in the kitchen - planning is my middle name - so with that in mind, I was challenged to make "yummy cookies" by Babsie, one of my colleagues from a book left in the office by The Book People. She flagrantly disregarded the laws of copyright by photocopying the chosen recipe & presenting it to me. I haven't made biccies in ages, mainly because I've been disgustingly addicted to banana bread... some of which is in the freezer taunting me.

So, last night as I did my triple point shop in Tesco (got to build up those Clubcard Points for another free trip to France), I bought enough buhher, sugar & chocolate to cause a major diabetic coma and elevate my depressed colleagues to a sugar-induced high. I got stuck in (didn't soften the buhher enough and splatted most of it over my hob & coffee machine) and 20 minutes later, had the most evil chocolate cookies ever. I don't use cheap gear when I cook because I don't see the point - that's what shop bought is for! So, buoyed up by that success, I decided to tackle a batch of $250 Nieman Marcus Cookies (but cut the quantities in half because my poor food processor would have collapsed with the shock (Dear Santa, can you bring me a KitchenAid mixer in stainless steel?).

Hubs was very excited (he's only allowed to have the broken biscuits) so I made the ginormous batch of dough, froze it all in sausage shapes and chopped it up like black pudding rounds and baked it for 10 mins. It is absolutely gorgeous... even nicer than last night's Chocolate Extravaganza and is all promised. We're going to a drinks party tomorrow night at our Best Man's house - the WAGS as we are charmingly referred to, monopolise the sofa to watch the X-Factor final, and the lads skulk around the kitchen moaning about us watching crap telly and poor Hubs hovers between the two as he loves the X-Factor!!! Our gift to them is a tin of our homemade cookies. There's plenty left over for my poor sick nephew & niece who have raging conjunctivitis and are feeling very sorry for themselves (Handsome Man stayed in his PJ's all day today because he wasn't well... but will still eat biccies when I bring them over). And my goddaughter/niece Lucy Loo has demanded her fair share too.

My Christmas Message To You All

Me Me Me Me MEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

This is all Glitterkitty and Little Miss's fault... I love them dearly for it though!!!

I am a person who hates getting things wrong; I can't bear txtspk (grant me strength); Fair City makes me want to heave; I hate my friends who never respond to texts or calls, but expect me to be there for them permanently; I hate the way Hubs makes noise when he eats; I love going to the airport; I would live in France at the drop of a hat; I once chased a burglar out of my parents house with a poker... and gave him a few belts of it; I was known as the "Ice Maiden" by an ex; I love my nail polish; I make incredible chicken risotto and have never ever eaten better; I don't like strawberry yoghurt; I saved somebody's life with the Heimlich Manoeuvre once; I've had one night stands; I start planning Christmas in September; I am addicted to the internet; I have very gorgeous underwear; I'd love to do a bungee jump; I'm far too lazy for my own good; I've never lived on my own; I shared a room with my sister until I was 25; one of my ex's was a famous DJ; I was rather drunk walking up the aisle to get married; I can't have kids; I love reading and am perfectly happy in my own company with something to read; I watch far too much downloaded TV; I hate ironing but do it because I can't bear messy looking clothes; I hate surprises because then I lose control of the situation; I think about things way too much; I haven't seen my best friend in 4 months, although we talk on the phone every day; the smell of tea makes me heave; I cannot stand boy racers; I have an insatiable urge to comb the hair of all those orange mophead Ugg-wearing drones in Dundrum; I'm constantly illegally parking as it's quicker than queuing for a car space and finding change; Even the word "dentist" makes me feel sick; I once dressed up as the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz and was on the cover of the Star; I have a little sister who died when she was born and I miss her, even though I never knew her; I have far too much makeup than is humanly possible to wear in a lifetime; I love gardening but hate getting dirt under my nails; I read 4 newspapers on Sunday and have withdrawal symptoms if I'm away

Thank God I'm (NOT) A Country Girl

Myself & the Hubs were away for the Bank Holiday weekend down in Lovely Limerick. We headed off on Saturday morning bright and early in the pisshings of wind and rain down the N7 - that was a hideous drive, only punctuated by intermittent yawns from the exhausted passenger... it must be very tiring being driven around while the driver (me) just glides through storms without a care!!! Anyway, we eventually made it down, checked into the hotel and went up to our room.

Actually, it wasn't a room at all - it was a junior suite with an enclosed balcony overlooking the Shannon, bathrobes, two basins in the very plush bathroom and an equally plushly priced minibar. As usual, myself and Hubs opted for the pov option - a quick trip to Tesco in Arthurs Quay for beers and a bottle opener and then sat out on our balcony laughing at everybody else getting soaked to the skin!

My MBF was down in Limerick for the weekend too, so we decided to meet up with him that night for a few drinks. By the time we met him after dinner, we were nicely oiled and walked down to Nancy Blakes where a good time was had by all. Let's just say that we had seats at the bar and a very attentive barman who sadistically bought us shots - Baby Guinness to be precise. Hubs doesn't do shots so myself & MBF ended up drinking them... and by God we were maggoty the next morning. Myself and Hubs were as delicate as fine china until lunchtime - even the monstrous room service brekkie didn't fix us and Hubs wouldn't let me go to Mackers for a cure, the swine!

We ended up in Mammy & Daddy MBF's for dinner that night (I drove and Hubs was on the dry too...) and when I say they live in the country, oh my god, they live in the country. Not a streetlight for miles, the Satnav laughed at me when I tried to programme in the address (no house numbers y'see). And as for the directions they gave us... turn up by Mary's pub and take the first boreen and we're down there a bit. "Mary's pub" doesn't have a sign, the "boreen" was as wide as my driveway and "down there a bit" was almost the next county away. Anyway, we made it there eventually and had a lovely Sunday dinner handed to us (always the best kind) and eventually moseyed back to the hotel to have a drink in the bar & read the papers in civilisation with traffic, street lights and people!

I was in a cocktail mood and the first one - a Strawberry Mule - was lovely, so I decided to have a different one which according to the menu, had Morgans Spiced Rum, Pineapple Juice & Lime. Apparently that was only a "suggestion" as to the ingredients - this yoke had rum, Malibu (I feckin' hate Malibu) and Blue Curacao in it. It was rancid altogether and the bar lady didn't take too kindly to being asked for a drink that was exactly what it said on the tin... second time around was a success tho'! Merrily sober, we retired to the comfort of our suite (god, saying that sounds so posh!!!) and had sweet dreams.

Fun is now over and back to the heaven that is called work tomorrow... I won't be able to sleep with the excitement and anticipation...

For Those About To Rock...

Duh duh duh duh duh duh duh... ANGUS!

I am a very happy little Baba today & Hubs is positively beside himself with glee. Why this joy when I am stricken with the streamiest, snottiest dose in history?? We're going to see AC/DC live in concert - and not in Dublin either... we're off to Milan baby (said in the manner of Eamon Dunphy).

Yes, I know we're all in the middle of a huge depressin' recessin' but there are times when only a bit of metal can lift your spirits. I know the new album Black Ice will arrive in the house on Friday evening and will be listened to incessantly. And, seeing as we glided gracefully around the dancefloor at our wedding to A Whole Lotta Rosie, what else could we do? The Dublin date clashes with our holidays so it makes sense to have a durty weekend away and do a bit of moshin' in Milano.

Now, where's my air guitar???