It's all about the Porn Star Martini

After my last post the lovely Peridot innocently asked what a Porn Star Martini was.

The short answer is the most delicious and bestest cocktail ever.

I discovered it on my amazing hen weekend last year in Obsidian in Manchester (now 24 Bar and Grill) and have been hooked ever since. It is scrummy, passion fruit based (hello fruit portion!) and comes with a shot of champagne on the side!

Here is its entry on the Obsidian menu:

PORN STAR MARTINI - Obsidian’s home-infused vanilla vodka, shaken with passion fruit, lemon, pineapple and sugar, served with half a passion fruit and a shot of Champagne on the side.

Tis marvy I tells ya!

I googled for a recipe (so much fun googling 'porn star' at work) and this is what came up:

Porn Star Martini

Ingredients:
1 tbsp vanilla sugar

50 ml vanilla vodka
25 ml passionfruit liqueur
10 ml passionfruit puree
Squeeze of fresh lemon
Dash of pineapple juice
fresh passionfruit, to decorate

50 ml champagne

Method
1. Put all ingredients except the champagne and the fresh passionfruit into a shaker.
2. Shake and strain into a martini glass. Decorate with half a passionfruit on top.
3. Prepare a 50mlshot glass and fill with champagne.
4. To drink, sip the martini and champagne and mix in the mouth.*

*Feel free to ignore this bit. If you are classy, like me, then you will simply down the champagne while giggling wildly.

All photos from my hen do and courtesy of Slice of Pie Designs

MIA

I know, me right?
It has been a tad crazy at Casa de Livy for many reasons; some boring such as work (sooooooooooooo thought I would have won the lottery by now) and some exciting like house shopping (still not there yet), car shopping (ditto) and drunken breaks away with friends (never have so many Porn Star Martinis been consumed).

But I am back and, with my lovely autumn all done, I am all about the Christmas! Oh yes. I have had my first apfelwine and made my first ever Christmas cake (thank you Delia) and I am good to go!

As well documented, I am a big fan of Christmas. And my new thing this year? Snowball Dough Balls. Yep, Pizza Express have launched a dessert featuring their scrummy dough balls sprinkled with cinnamon (it also comes with some kind of sauce but I didn’t really pay attention to this, I was too busy trying not to be recognised by the waiter who had served me the night before in the very same restaurant).

Even better, the name is super fun to say!

ps anyone else obsessed with cinnamon? I LURVE it. So far I am putting it on toast and buying copious amounts of cinnamon swirls but I could do with some cinnamon inspiration please!

The skank returns

I am going to tell you a very embarrassing story.
It is a story that happened a good while ago that I decided should NEVER see the blog but having divulged to a couple of friends who laughed their bums off (thanks Vicky and Adam), and, with the wrong side of a bottle of wine in me, I have decided to share.

It was a Friday night. We were going out to dinner with some friends. Late in from work, I did the panicked quick shower that my busy life seems to be making all the more frequent (ah, half hour showers, how I miss you) before diving into the bedroom to throw some clothes on and head out the door again.

Hurrying, I grabbed my trusty pair of black jeans that were languishing on the chair, I pulled them on, selected a top and headed for the door where an impatient Steve was standing and tutting.

We made our way to the restaurant, Steve striding ahead (damn his 6’4” legs)*, me tripping over my heels behind him.

At the restaurant, we saw our friends and sat down.

Which is when the itching started.

The back of my left thigh, just at the top wasn’t right, it was itchy and irritating. I wriggled on my seat, all the time maintaining an air of sophistication and trying to listen intently to my friend as she told a story about… something….

After ten minutes of wriggling to know solution or relief, I decided that action must be taken and announced to the table that I was heading to the toilets.

Shutting myself in the cubicle, I ripped off my jeans in hope of finding whatever irritation was there. I was reading to kill any angry mosquito, cut out any scratchy clothes label and plaster any cut or graze.

And that is when I saw them.

My knickers.

No, not the ones I had put on that evening. No, an entirely different pair.
In my haste to get changed, I had simply pulled my jeans on, trapping the little lacy thong between them and my leg.

You'll have to guess whether the knickers were clean or dirty...

* I will just clarify, he is 6'4", not his legs!

Hoochy Livy...

Now, I am a bit of a hooch, I'll admit it.

And when recently Steve had the opportunity to get free JLS tickets, I was very excited. I mean, what would be better than me, a super hot 27 year old, going to a concert of four super hot 21 year olds?

And then I thought some more and came to a conclusion:

Steve: So, are we getting the tickets K*?

Me: No.

Steve: Why? They are free!

Me: It just won't end well. The only result is humiliation for you.

Steve: Do I want to know.... OK, why?

Me: Well, I will either sleep with one of them, especially the small one that does backflips or I will turn into a crazy old lady who gushes over them and makes a complete fool of herself. Either way it is bad for you.

There is a pause. Then...

Steve: And you think they would sleep with you because....

Me: I'm a tasty treat of course!

Tasty I tell you!

* Did I tell you that Steve called me K? I didn't? He does! x

If he could name all the animals

Steve came in today with one question:

"Why is a fly called a fly? I mean, other things fly don't they? Birds and stuff?"

While I pondered this philosophical quandary he continued:

"And for that matter why isn't there a Walk? Or a Swim? Or a Jump? Or a Drowned?"

At this point, feeling an epic rant coming on, I interjected,

"What would be a Drowned baby?"

Quick of a flash he responded,

"Something at the bottom of the sea of course! And there should be a Still! For like crustaceans that don't move and stuff! That is how all the animals should be named! I mean...."

Suddenly Rihanna came on the tv. Steve stops, he pauses, he stares, then,

"A little shouty Ri-Ri. Wow, I would make an excellent X Factor judge."

Puppy!

Bonjour, happy Monday evening! Today I have a post that I have been planning for a while. You see, the first week of September we got a call from Steve's Dad John saying that they had a little puppy, and there was a picture:

And his name was Monty.

Now Monty is possibly the cutest thing in the world and a few days later we got to meet him.

Sorry for the video overload but come on.... puppy! Also sorry for the hideousness that is my voice. Yuck.

Then we went away and came back and saw him again.

He had gotten a tad bigger, incidently on the same day my hair decided to do this bizarre big woohoo thing.

He is still cute though.

So.... healthy eating

that sucks.

It was around two minutes ago, approximately 32million hours after a delicious but minute dinner of stir fry, that Steve angrily decided to blame the television.

Steve: Why? Why are you showing me food adverts now? Is M&S open right now? No! No it is not! So what you have effectively done Comedy Central/M&S is get me all riled up over a cake that I can't have because YOU have decided to show an advert WHEN THE SHOP ISN'T OPEN! Well thank you very much.

And then he continued...

Yep, 20 minutes later he started again...

Steve: She came back a week later to ask what I liked about the chocolate!

Me: So really, very unlikely that she poisoned you with arsenic....

Steve: It probably was you know, like, a little bit, like a de-stimulant or something. Is that a word?

Me: ......

Steve: I mean, I can't even remember the name of the chocolate. That is probably why, because it was poisoned!

Me: OK....

Steve: Now I think about it, I get the hiccups a lot and I am very hairy!

Me: So...?

Steve: Michael isn't hairy at all! In fact, he is now bald! And I am unusually hairy!

Ten minutes pass.

Steve: It was the chocolate!

He could have been a genius...

Steve had a flash back to his childhood tonight.

Steve: Liv, Liv! I just remembered something! Once, when I was little, some woman knocked on the front door and asked if I wanted to try some new chocolate bar and I asked my parents and they said yes!

Me: So....?

Steve: It could have been laced with arsenic!

Me: It obviously wasn't and, even if it was, then your parents would be with you and they would have seen the lady.

Steve: It probably had some secret poison. It is probably why I failed my GCSEs!!!!

Me: Right...

Steve: Michael across the street wasn't allowed it and he passed all of his. All As. Make of that what you will. I'm just saying.

My friend

This is Kaz.

Picture courtesy of Slice of Pie Designs

She is lovely. She works in publishing. She likes fashion. She loves ladybirds. She is creative. She is pretty. She is one of my best friends.

She is obviously the more sophisticated of the pair of us. Photo courtesy of Slice of Pie Designs

On Sunday she ran a half marathon in a fabulous time of two hours and seven minutes. That's great right?

WRONG!

It's insanely phenomenal.

Why? Because 19 months, three weeks and one day before that, she did this with us and broke her back. After a long stretch in hospital and having rods put into and then taken out of her back, she can now, not only walk and not only run, but run crazily well!

The rods and screws that were in her actual back. I know.

I am so, so , so proud of her. She has raised over £1000 for Spinal Research and, of course, the Fire Survivors were there to cheer her on every step of the way.



The four of us fantastic girls. Photo courtesy of Slice of Pie Designs



Beautiful October

So this has been my busiest month ever. Like ever.

October is always my favourite month, I love everything about it. There is something about the weather and the air that makes is just perfect. I get the tingles and, when I get the tingles, it must be special.

This month has been an adjustment. As I mentioned before, the Steve has started a degree course that is taking up two nights a week and I have started a sign language course (that rocks by the way, just wait for a super geeky post of that in the next few weeks) that is taking up another so that leaves us with a lot less time together than we are used to.

We are getting there but, remember Livy-the-Smut? Well she is returning, simply because of the lack of time to do a thing!

It is a bit of a struggle right now but it is, and will be, totally worth it. However... add in a hen do, a half marathon (not me but the amazing Kaz - again, more on that in the coming weeks), a house warming and a wedding and that makes for a busy Livy month.

But right now, it is Hull Fair time which means new gloves, churros, brandy snap and cinder toffee!

The bumpers. Me heart. And I took this picture on my actual phone!

Bam!

So I dropped a weight on my head.

Yep, you read that right.

As you know, I am a big fan of Ms Jillian Michaels, specifically her 30 Day Shread DVD. Me likey. It is what made me drop a dress size post fire and pre wedding. It is awesome.

So, last night, I got home and started the DVD, all was well until we came to the military presses. Now these are evil, you want to cry throughout them.

They look like this:

Except you balance on one leg when you do them for 'core strength'.

So I was unhappily doing the move when I somehow lost my balance and fell to the floor, dropping my weight on the way which then clunked on my head.

Now, my weights are filled with water so it made a delightful sloshing noise as it hit me, I momentarily worried it was my brain.

My new phone

Yep, Pinkie, who survived a 40 foot jump out of a window during this and many other adventures, is officially no more. She started turning off whenever it pleased her and then decided to make no sound meaning that all conversations I had over the phone were very one sided.

So enter the sexy new phone, the very lovely Samsung Galaxy S2. And she is sexy and sleek. And has a nice camera and a keypad that I can almost work.

So, in celebration, here is a picture of me taken on the camera, I am doing my very best 4 year old child smile.

For some reason it is sideways. I don't know why.

For my Steve

I'll apologise now.

This is a gushy lovey post.

I know, sick in the mouth time.

It is for Steve.

Steve is brilliant; he is intelligent and funny and handsome and kind. And he has embarked on something new. Last night he started a Foundation Degree in Business and Management on a part time basis and I cannot even explain to you how proud I am of him.

As I am sure you know, education is hard. It is time consuming and makes your brain ache. Taking on a two year degree programme in your spare time when working a 45 hour week = extremely hard.

It is not something I am sure I could do. It requires discipline, committment and enthusiasm. And, while I know that this means a few changes in our home life (namely the absence of both Tuesday and Thursday nights), I know that Steve is a bit of a hero for doing it.

It occured to me that, while Steve must be a pretty familiar character to you if you read this blog, there is a lot you don't know about him, including how we met, so I decided that I would treat you to our own little biog that was included on the back of our wedding order of the day:

Livy and Steve met at primary school.

He was in Year 3 and she was in Year 1.
Livy remembers him. Steve doesn't remember her.

One summer they met again, at a pub Livy worked at.
That night, England had just been knocked out of Euro 2004 so Steve was very drunk.
He doesn't remember this either.

They got along ok.
They flirted.
They texted.
They didn't go out.


One Christmas Livy came back from university and met Steve at the pub.
They shared a drink.
While at that pub Livy said she wanted to be more than friends.


Steve attempted to play it cool and nearly blew it.


That was six years, nine weeks and five days ago........

See? Schmaltz central. You can't say I didn't warn you!

Always a writer

I used to keep diaries. Every day from 1st January 1995, when I was 10, I wrote and wrote and wrote, pages and pages of thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears. A proper diary keeper.

Recently, when feeling a bit lost in myself, I decided to reread some of these diaries, starting with 1995 onwards. I suppose it was a sort of experiment, to see if I could revisit the old me and somehow make sense of the me now a bit.

I have just finished them.

My god... I was such a self indulgent, self centred little thing. Specifically the diaries between the ages of 14 and 19. Everything was a drama, everything a crisis.

Me, on the right, with my lovely friend Ash, aged 17. Don't ask about the hair or the costumes...

A boy not calling after two hours of meeting him?

DRAMA

My mum being cross at me because I didn't empty the bin?

DRAMA

My teacher yelling at me because they expected me to actually do homework?

MEGA DRAMA

It is all very stressful!

And, it has brought back a lot of memories, and given me a more realistic view of the events that really happened; the feelings I had at the time and the account of it in my diary seem to be very different things.

I was thinking that, perhaps, the reread would give me some inspiration for a new letter to my 17 year old self.

But alas no, I will stick with the original, although I may add a 'GET THE HELL OVER YOURSELF' on the end!

Be still my teeth

Last week I visited the dentist. I dislike going there intensely, not because I have ever really needed anything doing (barring the obligatory removal of a few teeth that everyone seems to have at the age of 11) but because I am convinced they are going to say, 'Livy all your teeth are going to feel out NOW'.

Anyway, my dentist is now on maternity leave so they gave me to another one, lets call him Mr Fitty Fit. He was luvverly.....

Unfortunately, I was unprepared for his loveliness and became slightly flustered,

Mr Fitty Fit: So, Livy, do you want to sit in my chair?

Me: Of course Mr Fitty Fit, if you want me to sit in your chair.

Mr Fitty Fit: (looking confused) Well... yes. I do. Now, open your mouth.

Me: (thinking that I really don't want Fit Dentist to see inside my mouth, I mean, ewwww) My mouth? Right. (opens mouth a teeny way) see? All fine!

After a while Mr Fitty Fit managed to prise my mouth open and check my teeth, me fluttering my eyelashes the whole time. He then told me (in his sexy Danish accent) that my teeth were EXCELLENT! And then he said six words that broke my heart a little bit...

'See you next time Mrs Parham'.

Damn it Steve!

A bit fractured and a new start

Recently I have been feeling a bit insecure and inadequate. Like I am not quite good enough or smart enough and that everybody else seems to be achieving so much more.

It is silly; when someone I know tells me some news, professional, personal, anything really, I am always so so proud of them, there is nothing negative in my feelings towards them, but, on occasion, their brilliance evokes some negative feelings towards myself.

That I am not keeping up, that I am not even comparable.

Why do I beat myself up? I don't know. I always have. It is stupid. I have achieved things - I have a degree, I have an amazing family and friends, I have a wonderful husband. But, despite these amazing things - things that lots of people would love to have and indeed search and fight for - I still feel that, in myself, I am not good enough.

Even right now, I am wondering whether I should even post this. Isn't it a tad self-indulgent? What will you think of me? Will you think that I am just a bit of a dick? That I have no idea about real problems? That scares me a bit. Isn't that idiotic?

So, this time, rather than waiting for the problem to fade away for a bit as I usually do, I am tackling it. Or I am trying to.

I have decided to enrol on a British Sign Language Level 1 course.

I had my first class last night and I can not tell you how nervous I was; would I be rubbish? Would everyone laugh at me? Would I be able to do it in anyway?

But I did. And I chatted with the other people there and I came out able to finger spell, ask for someones name and where they live (also, slightly bizarrely, the word biscuit - beware deaf people of Hull, I can find out where you live and then ask for your biscuits!).

Granted there were some dicey moments; for one thing I was so anxious before hand, I nipped home and made a bacon sandwich (I hadn't eaten any lunch due to nerves) and therefore reeked of cooking bacon. No-one wants to be known as Smelly-Bacon-Fat-Girl.

Me the last time I was in education... I promise the hat will not come back this time.

The important thing is that it is making me feel better about myself and, while I have had people say 'Why would you do that course? What's the point?' (so supportive!), I am choosing to not listen. I can do this and will.

Why helloooo there!

I'm back! The holiday was fabaroonie - thanks for asking!

It was all UK based (as we did NY and Vegas in March and are hoping for a skiing holiday come February) and it was wonderful. We hit Bristol (not literally you understand) and had a lovely meal at Piccolinos, went to the zoo (FYI, meerkats=cute, lorikeets=super fun and prairie dogs=not actual dogs) and bought fabulous new shoes.

Then we went to my other home, South Wales, tis where my Mama is from and where we still have a lovely home so it was awesome. I, involuntarily, Welshed up my accent which is one of my favourite things and headed to Rest Bay to body board every day - yep, me. And I rocked it. I can't describe how much I love South Wales - it is all so lovely and gorgeous and I love showing it all to Steve.

The fabulous Rest Bay

We then headed to my other nearly home of Manchester where we ate gorgeous food at Zinc, drank at the Oyster bar and then drank some more at Obsidian*, place of my infamous hen do cocktail making class and Steve even had a cocktail - the wonderful :

ABSINTHE WITHOUT LEAVE - We take five different rums, including Appleton VX, Sailor Jerry, Goslings and Wray & Nephew Overproof. Shake with pineapple, orange, lemon and passion fruit and strain into an absinthe rinsed cocktail shaker. Sounds crazy, it probably is! We have a house limit of two per person, nobody goes AWOL on our watch!

Just an amazing time - was a total shock heading back to work and routine. So that is why I am buying a Euromillions ticket for tonight, £110million should just about cover it I think.

Planning for my next post to be written on a yacht.... x

Day One of the holiday

Train fare to Bristol - £36
Super cute mini case - £41
Smoothie at the station - £3.85

Watching an 80 year old woman check out your husband's bum when he bends to pick his case up - priceless.

Packing

Today I am mainly packing while looking forward to steak for tea and the new Doctor Who - I know, I know, so rock and roll. I am packing for our UK holiday next week. Tomorrow we are Bristol bound, Monday we hit my Mama's home town in South Wales (love love love!) and then Saturday we are headed to Manchester.

So, like I say, packing is the order of the day.

The clothes were remarkabley easy, foldy foldy and in the case, the shoes likewise (but without the foldy part obviously) but then I hit a wall.

Where is my wash bag?

I have no idea.

I know where it was - it was under the dining table (an excellent place to keep it I believe) but then I tidied up. And now it is nowhere. I have searched - it is not in the bathroom, it is not in the bedroom, it is not in the spare room/room of crap.

The quest continues.

On the plus Steve has just pulled out a Queen of Clubs playing card from his clean pyjama bottoms pocket. Apparently they are the same jammies he took to his brother's stag do....

Wanted: One Husband

I haven't spoken to my husband properly in 11 days.

You see I am no longer the favourite thing in his life. On Sunday 14th August, he found and promptly fell in love with another.

His ipad 2.

Steve with the Homewrecker

Since then it is all he does, all he lives, eats and sleeps. He took it into the kitchen the other night to read an online recipe from, he takes it to bed to get live sports results, he hugs it protectively, much like I'd imagine a protective new mother to do with her new offspring.

It would be quite touching apart from the fact that our communication is getting to email level. Today, on arriving home from work, he was ecstatic to demonstrate the new wireless keyboard (why, why? I mean, I thought the whole point of the ipad was that it was small and compact and did not need a keyboard?), said demonstration involved me holding the ipad ('Careful Liv! It's not a toy!') while he sat at the other side of the room typing away a message to me that appeared on the screen in front of me - fab, a new way of talking to me!

So Steve, as you are reading this on your shiney new ipad 2 (nope, I am not calling it by name....), a message:

My love, I'm going to bed, if you get your act together quickly then you might even be in for some.

Got your attention?

I dreamed a dream....

Last night I dreamt. I dreamt and dreamt.

I dreamt about buying deodorant. Yep. That is it.

My entire seven hours of sleep were taken up with the panic of buying the right deodorant in Boots. They didn't have my favourite one (does anyone else have a favourite deodorant? Just me?), but they did have a fancy new one but I wasn't brave enough to try it.

So I went to Superdrug in the dream and they didn't have it either but they did have one I used to love four years ago but got discontinued.

In the end I found a teeny chemist where, hooray!, they did have my deodorant but it was £6.49 (£6.49!!!!!). By this point I was so stressed with my deodorant shopping in the dream that I tearfully bought said bank breaking deodorant and went about my business, telling everyone that I had spent nearly £7 on a deodorant!

What does it say about my life when my dreams consist of finding cheap cosmetics?

I was very brave today

Remember this?

Yep. She's back.

I am going to hold my hands up right now and tell you all something - I am a hoarder.

Actually I am beyond a hoarder as I seem to give actual human traits to my possessions. Which is why I feel unable to throw anything out - they will be sad that I no longer want them.

Now, right now, I know you will be thinking two things:

1) She is a bit coo-coo-cachu (you would be right)

and

2) Oh, she means with things like soft toys and little freebie figure things - things that are meant to evoke human emotions.

No I don't. I mean things like books, clothes, old mobile phones, empty moisturiser bottles....

I know, there is something very wrong with me.

Crazy Livy on her hen do last year

I mean, last week a note came through our door from our apartment block's management team, they have noticed that the storeroom is becoming full of bikes and they are now implementing a register system. You need to register your bike by the end of August; any unregistered bikes after this will be taken to the tip.

I immediately thought that I must register my old bike that is happily chained up in there, I mean, it would be just hideous if it got taken away. I will point out now that I have owned this bike since I was 14. And last rode it four years ago. And its gears don't work. And one of the tyres is consistently flat.

They would be doing me a favour to take it away for free.

And yet, the thought of that - my poor little purple bike being pulled from its little storeroom spot and chucked in a dump, all the time it wondering where I was and why I hadn't saved it - makes me want to cry. (See, KERAZY LIVY).

But today, when I got home, I tackled our bedroom. And I got rid of lots. Lots and lots. It was a bloodfest; out went niknaks, old magazines, cute but broken jewellery and even... wait for it....

SHOES.

Including my sparkley, glittery converse with holes in. And my rainbow kitten heels. And my ten year old black mary janes that pinch so much that I have only worn them once.

A very big Livy step. x

See, I've always been crazy

ps still not sure on the bike though

pps having written those shoes down... I have the biggest urge to go and retrieve them from the outside bin...

Because I can't hold it in any longer

Before I start, I want to say that usually illustrate a piece like this with photos. But I'm not going to. This doesn't need or warrent the pictures.

The riots that we are seeing at the moment are truly awful. They are scary and disgusting and something that makes me ashamed of the people that I call fellow citizens of this country I call home.

There is a lot wrong.

The riots are a lot wrong.

I think we all agree on that.

What we don't agree on, and what has become a lot more apparent to me in the last 24 hours, is that the methods that people think should be employed to solve this issue aren't the same.

All evening I have been bombarded by twitter posts and online newspaper commenters and facebook statuses, detailing how stupid our government is, how stupid our police are, how stupid our armed forces are.

Now, as a pretty opinionated liberal, I will never be the first to stand up and defend a conservative Prime Minister or government. I know there is a whole lot wrong with our system, with our parliament and with their actions.

But when I see, what I generally deem intelligent acquaintances, post messages such as:

"Cameron is flying home. What a noble gesture. Dick."

and

"Why aren't the police doing anything? Tear gas the lot of them"

I want to say one thing:

What do you want them to do?

Honestly, how would you solve this?

I don't like Cameron, he wears too many blue ties, but what can he do? What do you expect him to do? Will he stop it all by himself? By him cancelling (his earned) holiday, all it has done is show all of these rioters that their actions are getting results, they are making the news and influencing people, very powerful people, to change their plans. Very basically, giving them what they want.

The whole thing is so sad, so stupid and so confused. You are dealing with children, sometimes out of control, always confused, always lost. They are cowardly little kids, making gun shapes with their hands while hiding behind their scarves.

And 'nuking them all' or 'shooting the cunts' or whatever else you want to say, is not going to do anything. All it will do is insight hate and anger and more badness.

Yes, it needs stopping, and no, I don't know how. But screaming for them to be 'dealt with' won't help. Supporting our police and government, at least for now, is where I would start.

I have no idea whether I am right or wrong or completely misguided and idiotic on this. Please weigh in either way. x

Some news

Yep ladies and gentlemen.... it is that sort of time.... announcement time! And I have big, big news.

Ready.....

Deep breath.....

And.......

I am divorcing Steve.

Shocking right? I mean, all was perfect, all was rosy, I envisaged a long and happy future together, full of laughter, country cottages and pink cheeked, cherubic babies. But no. All is lost.

Because of what he did.

You won't believe this, I know you won't.

I mean, Steve seems so amazing in this blog right? So perfect and funny and kind. He would never hurt me at all or disappoint me at all would he? He would never break my heart.

But he did.

And I can hardly even type for the pain but... last night, when taking through the used bowls from our delicious creamy bacon pasta tea, I discovered something so awful, so heartbreaking that I can still hardly believe it.

The pan, from which the scrummy pasta concoction had been served, was in the sink, with a little soapy water in it to soak and in that water were BITS OF BACON!

Yes, my husband, when serving tea, had left the yummiest bits of bacon in the pan and then tarnished them with washing up liquid and lukewarm water making them inedible.

BACON BITS!

So, I really don't have a choice do I? I mean, what if he did the same with the cookie dough bits of the Ben and Jerry's? Or the fatty bit of the steak? Or the cheesey bit of the pizza?

Still, 23 weeks and 2 days is a fair run...

Body breakage

I am not looking good.

For the last five or so days my body has decided to break a little bit.

It started last Saturday when I somehow managed to scratch my chest, right in the middle, about an inch above my boobs*, no biggie, it will go soon enough, I thought. It has not. It is now just a five pence piece sized mark on my chest. And there are only so many high necked tops a girl can wear in August.

Fast forward to Tuesday when, as I tidied my desk and unpacked boxes after an office move, I lifted the lid of the recycling bin and let it go, expecting it to stay up as I dropped my papers in it. It did not. No, it came down, catching my, rather large it seems, nose on the way. So I have an angry graze right across the top of my nose.

On Wednesday evening I started feeling a bit tired and run down and woke up on Thursday with.... a cold! In August. Today it is pretty full on and all my sneezing and blowing has produced redness around my already grazed nose.

And I have a mouth ulcer.

Suffice to say I am feeling really rather fed up and yucky and debating how hot I am going to look for Steve's and my special, expensive dinner tomorrow night at a very posh restaurant.

I'm on my fourth innocent smoothie now.....

*ok, it may have been some sort of spot or blemish that got scratched....

I miss

being a bride.

courtesy of Slice of Pie Designs

I do.

I mean, being a wife is awesome and all (and my pie making skills have vastly improved - I felt I needed to develop at least one wifely duty thing and it was pie making or ironing... no contest really is there?) but there is something so massively special about being a bride.

courtesy of lovely friends

courtesy of Slice of Pie Designs

Something exciting and brilliant and sparkley and youthful and amazing. I loved the dress, the veil (my god... I love that veil), the swooshing (of the dress naturally) and the glowing.

The dress, oh the dress

It would probably be wrong to get divorced and then do it all again wouldn't it?

Oh, sod it, and a drunken dancing one....

I kept the curtains firmly closed

As previously documented our flat overlooks a river, the river is a city river on the edge of town and thus, on occasion, attracts some super fun individuals.

There was the guy that went swimming for an hour, being chased around the murky water by two firemen in diving gear; the couple that have the same argument every Thursday night at 1am on the way home from the pub - it gets to the point where you want to shout out the window, 'No, he did say that last week. But you are right, it was just as unreasonable then'.

But this one was the best. On Sunday morning, around 6am, I was peacefully slumbering when suddenly there was a shout from outside:

Man 1: Don't worry mate, honestly, it'll be fine.

Man 2: I'm not sure. Something could go wrong.

Man 1: It won't. Honestly, just stay calm and focus. Just think, in four hours, we'll be on the ferry and gone.

Man 2: Right... ok.

Man 1: Oh, and remember, your name is Sharon!

And that is why I am considering moving.

An emotive subject

We were watching TV. I was doodling about on the internet. Suddenly I thought:

Me: Aren't genes weird?

Steve: (suddenly animated) Yes! I mean in the old days it was simple, you had straight leg and boot. Nowadays there are whole shops dedicated to jeans. All of them with no boot cut jeans! Where are they all? I liked the boot cut! They look good with both trainers and going out shoes! And don't get me started on skinny jeans! They look ridiculous on boys. I just don't get it. I mean, it is weird isn't it?

Me:...... ummmm I was taking about genes. Like who you look like. DNA.

Steve: Right.... yes. Weird.

So....

This is my lunch today.

It is red pepper pesto cottage and salad.

Looks a bit like dog sick doesn't it?

Part of your world

This is my mermaid bag.

Isn't she beautiful? I got her a million years ago and only bring her out occasionally as she is a bit of a sequin malter. Tis v sad.

I wore her to a BBQ last Saturday and out for lunch with my family on Sunday. Everyone loved her. Why wouldn't they? She is marvy.

Anyway, last night, being good little bunnies we are, Steve went for a run.

When he returned he held out his hand, in it were lots and lots of green sequins and glitter pieces. It seems that, over four days later, he found a little sequined path through town, all the way from the train station to our flat. With several clusters of them outside various bars.

It is like the gingerbread crumbs story for the Sex and the City generation.

ps Happy Birthday Lola! I am very jealous of the evening zoo trip! x

What's my M&Sing name?!

So a curious thing has happened to my ipod, my dear little pink ipod with the sparkly England flag on the back.


It still plays fine (especially with Steve’s shiney new headphones that he doesn’t realise I’ve stolen) but it seems to have developed a mind of its own.

For example, right now, it thinks it is 2.38am.

Mine is just like this, but more glittery, more bashed up and with better music

It has also taken to playing songs in whatever order it pleases. So, if I have it on shuffle, it will always now play the first two songs of every album. Then the third and fourth. Why? I don’t know. It used to just play songs as it should on shuffle; just nice and randomly.

It has also decided to swap all the album covers so they no longer match the song or artist. Super funsies right?

And yesterday, to top it all off, it increased the volume by itself and then froze while still managing to play the song so I couldn’t turn it down or off.

Not awful generally I suppose but I am sure that the other patrons of M&S weren’t that happy to see me wandering through to store, in smart office dress, headphones in with Ja Rule and JLo’s ‘I’m Real’ blaring out.
And it was the rude version.

The road less travelled

I like travelling, always have. I love the packing, I love the anticipation, I love the journey to the car/station/airport and I love the waiting around for the traffic/plane/train. I love it all.

However, there is one thing I don't love, the other travellers.

Now sometimes, they cause no problem, they sit, quietly minding their own business, you see, I am not a chatty traveller. Crazy I know, I seem so chatty in real life and here. But part of me recognises that, as I take my seat, the person next to me is hoping I don't start any conversation. I know this, because that's typically what I think when I'm already seated and I see them coming down the aisle towards me.

"Oh, great," I'll think. "Here comes Chatty Chatterton. Don't sit next to me!"

At least, I hope they don't want to talk, because that avails me from feeling guilty about turning on my ipod and leafing through my magazine.

You see, socially, I'm LAZY.

I have enough friends, I think. What I need in my life is someone who fits in their seat and lets me comfortably scooch past them each time I have to pee or get something from the buffet car (generally wine or a bacon butty).

Of course, this rarely happens. Generally I have a talker, someone so desperate to share their facinating stories that I have to listen to them all the way from Wales to Bournemouth.

My Nana lives in South Wales. I live in the North East of England. On ocassion I need to travel between the two. On a train it takes a little over six hours, six long hours. Two hours to Manchester and then four to my destination... four hours on one train.

On one of these journeys I comfortablised (is that a word?) in my seat and took up my usual defense mechanism - pretending to cough manically to put off potential seat sharers.

And then I saw her. She caught my eye from half way down the aisle and indicated through a variety of hand gestures that if there was a seat next to me she would take it. I was panicked. I mean, it was too late to move and there were no more potential seat takers!

Suddenly she was there, squished in next to me on the double seat. Before we had even left Manchester I knew the following things about her:

1. Her cats' names (Emerson, Finkle, Grayson - he's bad - and Fisher)

2. Some problems she has with her sister (shallow and domineering) (married a Greek)
3. Concerns she has with her next door neighbour's frequency of shed use
4. How once she ate a fabulous restaurant in Edinburgh. I should go.
5. The real reason Viagra was invented (Don't ask)

After a while I decided that my neck hurt from craning to look at her as she talked, and also my head hurt from listening to her and her special stories. I kept telling myself to be compassionate and loving, but I felt like it was compassionate to have listened as long as I had, and plus I was loving my book and was keen to get back to it. So little by little I weaned myself away from her conversation. Eventually I was looking straight at the open page and just muttering "Really?" or "Wow. That's crazy!" every so often. Eventually she took the hint and left me alone. And then I felt super bad. Really super bad. So I tried to start her talking again. But she was done with me. She had nothing left to say. And that made it even worse, because now I was essentially begging for something I didn't want in the first place, and she was holding out. So I gave up and decided to snooze against the window.
After a while I started to stir and awoke to find she was telling me another story. From what I recall it was about a priest who took all of his clothes off and put on a wolf mask to wind up some Baptists. She claimed that it was a true story.

A week later, on the journey home, I firmly shoved my earphones and stared intently at my book at every station. And no-one sat next to me. They all knew; I was a woman who would not talk.

Either that or a serial killer.

The last taboo

I have been thinking recently about relationships and, in turn, marriage.




Baby Livy and Steve, August 2005


Since February I have been asked, what seems like a million times, 'How is married life treating you?' and I always reply how fabulous it is and how wonderful etc... until last week I stopped and replied with the truth:

"It is awesome but remarkably similar to before"

Now let me be clear here, that is not to say that I don't love being married, I do. I am constantly smiling when I think that Steve and I have made wonderful vows to each other, that we have stood in front of family and friends and declared our love for one another, promising to be true and support our partner through everything life throws at us.

But I already knew that I would do that for Steve and that Steve would do that for me. I knew that long before we got hitched, before we got engaged, even before we moved in. But, when you both work full time and have busy social lives and commitments outside work and the home, sometimes that love and specialness can fall by the wayside and you get into the routine, the rut, the up-at-seven-work-out-shower-go-to-work-come-home-from-work-tidy-up-do-some-more-work-that-some-how-you-didn't-get-finished-at-the-office-make-tea-bitch-about-work-sit-because-you-are-so-tired-you-can't-quite-do-anything-else-bicker-a-bit-over-who-was-meant-to-buy-a-card-for-that-birthday-party-you-are-going-to-on-Saturday-and-finally-go-to-bed.

Exhausted just reading it? I know.

There is the perception that as soon as you are married you are blissfully happy and all those premarriage arguments (who last put the bins out? etc.... you know, the niggles that aren't serious or any actual indication of your relationship) disappear.

Teenage Livy and Steve, June 2008

I am going to be brave now.

They don't.

Don't get me wrong, I love Steve and being with him makes me beyond happy but, by god, he infuriates me on occasion! And that doesn't change following a lovely ceremony and some white iced cake. And that is good, I mean, after all, marriage or even just being together for a long time doesn't change who you are. It doesn't magic away your faults or annoying habits. I will always be cross that Steve is incapable of hanging washing up correctly and Steve will always hate that I... well he won't because all my habits are perfect and wonderful. He's a lucky guy like that.

I just think that, at the moment, with all the pressures of life, the no money due to a recession, the near constant threat of redundancy, it is understandable that sometimes the shine can be taken off a relationship. It is easy to snap, easy to look at other people and their 'perfect relationships' and feel jealous and lost without really seeing what you have.

So I am saying that, this weekend, just as you are about to yell at your partner because they brought home a jar of ground pepper rather than a single red pepper (true story), just stop and remember that sometimes relationships need a little bit of effort but, if it is right, then the juice will definitely be worth the squeeze.

Grown up Livy and Steve, February 2011

It is with this in mind that I am announcing that, when Steve gets in from work tonight at 8.30pm, I will be meeting him at the door with a beer, steak burgers and a smile. And possibly some chocolate buttons.