The big 3-0

The dreaded 3-0 – a number I don’t like to say out loud too often – is rapidly approaching and my friends get no end of pleasure in rubbing my aging nose in this fact.

As well as laughing in my face at the impending doom of leaving behind my 20s – a lot of my mates are a wee bit younger than me – they’re also bugging me about how I’m going to celebrate this monstrous event. They all want in on it, apparently.

Now, here’s my quandary. Do I really want to celebrate something that I’m pretty desperate to avoid? Do I really want to flag up the fact that I can no longer hang with the kids, get away with wearing ridiculously short skirts or drink without spewing up my intestines the next day? I’m not sure so.

Usually I’m dead keen to celebrate a birthday – it’s a chance for people to lavish me with gifts and shower me with attention, of course. But my birthday falls a fortnight from Christmas and this causes problems in itself. I can’t plan anything too extravagant because people are super skint and super busy in December, with all manner of festive celebrations dominating their diaries. So I don’t want to force them to empty their less-than-bulging bank accounts on my behalf. Equally, I don’t want to organise a full-on party when only a handful of people will turn up. I’d never live it down.

So, this year, what I actually want to do is nothing. My birthday’s on a Monday anyway, not the greatest day to turn 30, so I’d rather book the day off work, go Christmas shopping and drown my sorrows in homemade mulled wine and festive films. God, I’m getting old aren’t I!

What did you do to celebrate your 30th birthday? I want to know what I may well be missing…

Travelling home for Christmas

Tomorrow, after work, I’ll be jumping in the car and starting a two-hour drive as I head back to the shire to spend Christmas with my family. The way things are at the moment, I can’t see a time when Christmas Day will ever be spent at my house. This has pros and cons:

The pros:

• Any mess created won’t be mine to deal with – and no washing up!
• I don’t have to invest in a huge Christmas food shop and instead tuck into other people’s festive fodder
• I don’t have to sort out the spare room for other people to stay in
• Lots of friends and family all in one place, so easier to catch up with folk
• No obscene amount of Christmas wrapping paper to be recycled
• After a few days of festivities I know I can head back to the peace and tranquility of my own tidy home

The cons:

• I have to live out of a bag for the best part of a week (which outfits to take?? Christmas spangle plus slobbing clothes and cosy jimjams)
• I don’t have my own things around me
• No Sky+ (this is like being separated from my right arm)
• I’ll have to sleep in someone else’s spare room
• I always head home with twice as much stuff as I came with and will struggle to fit it in the boot

Mince pies and mulled wine, cocktails and canapes

Personally I think Christmas Day is crap, but I do like the build up to what is falsely labelled “the big day”. I lose interest after 25 December, but the rest of the month is usually filled with parties, socialising and general merriment.

Tonight some work buddies are coming to my place for an evening mince pies and mulled wine, the latter being of the homemade variety. The fact that most of them don’t like either of these foodstuffs is neither here nor there; it’s a chance to stuff our faces and exchange banter outside the office walls. A few poor soles have snuffles too, so it won’t be a mad one, but fun nonetheless.

On Saturday, the partying steps up a gear with cocktails and canapes (my pre-birthday celebrations) and then throwing some shapes out in town. I love parties, especially hosting them, although I do get a bit stressed by the incredibly impractical colour of my carpet and the fact people (and me, mostly) keep spilling things on it. Usually dark red liquids, sod’s law.

Throwing parties does have it’s downside. Things get messy – literally – so the next day is spent tidying up, clearing up broken glass and finding people’s left behind belongings – scarves, jewellery, the odd toothbrush or lip gloss etc. But that’s all outweighed by the fun factor. I like to think of myself as a social butterfly and Christmas is the time to be spreading my wings.

That said, I need to fly – gotta fish out that triple-disc Christmas CD…

Nearly 29 and none the wiser

As I rapidly approach my 29th birthday, eek, I wonder if I will ever grow out of doing totally stupid things – like getting totally plastered and feeling so ill the next day I almost call an ambulance out.

Okay, slight exaggeration; no ambulances. But, cripes, when will I learn that teetering around in a dress and high heels, drunk as a skunk and slurring my words, is not ladylike. And the hangover that follows is a complete waste of a day and the closest I’ll get to ever feeling like a corpse. Until I actually die, that is.

It was the volleyball Christmas do at the weekend – dinner, drinks, karaoke and dancing, and yet more drinks. As one of the organisers of this event I feel I ought to make an extra special effort to ensure it goes well and so conjured up a pass the parcel game to start off the festivities – with a framed photo of me and my fellow social secretary as the prize. Superb! It went down well.

But I also feel like I need to get drunk too, for some reason, and usually with some speed. And if I’m not merry by the time the main course comes out, then I feel I have to double up on drinkage. Stoopid, stoopid girl.

Anyhoo, the night was a blast and I particularly enjoyed mine and LJ’s rendition of Whitney H’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody and the volleyball boys’ Bohemian Rhapsody. Tuneful!

I rolled into my mate’s house at 3am ish, remembering very little – except I needed to get to the bathroom quickly! I’ll spare you the graphics, but I awoke the next morning in full make-up, dangly earrings still in place, and feeling like someone had bashed me around the head with a frying pan. Ugh!

A bacon and egg sarnie later – which didn’t stay down long – and I attempted the hour-long drive home as my mate had a family emergency to attend to. Bad move. With barely enough strength to hold the steering wheel and trying desperately not to vom in my own lap, I made the dangerous and no doubt illegal drive home.

On arrival, I collapsed in my bed and there I stayed for the whole day. It wasn’t until 6.30pm that I was able to keep solids down and I just felt awful. Hopefully, a lesson learned, ‘cos at the moment the thought of touching alcohol makes me tremour!

So, when I hit the grand age of 29 next week will this silly behaviour stop? I’d like to think so – and it does happen less and less frequently now I’m getting on a bit – but there are bound to be a few bloopers. Hopefully no more this year though, at least!

A Christmas cracker!

It was the works Christmas bash last Thursday – it has taken me this long to feel well enoguh to write about it – and oh, what fun was had.

As the department’s social secretary I felt duty-bound to get the party started by getting as drunk as a skunk before they rolled the main courses out. In fact, I’d been gearing up for it all day by wearing socks with mistletoe on, eating a Christmas sandwich for lunch and playing festive tunes while me and some of the girlies piled on the slap and pulled on our glad rags.

We supped cava before piling into taxis and plonking ourselves in the middle of the action at Bistro Live. What followed was a three course meal, copious amounts of alcohol, a lot of banter and even more dancing. Wicked! There was also a lot of photographic and video evidence proving how much fun we’d had. Seemed like a good idea at the time!

When the doors closed, a few of us just weren’t ready to go home and so ended up – God only knows how – at a place called Pink Punters, a lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender club. Not your average night out eh? And it was brilliant, if a tad on the quiet side. Must be Thursday nights. But the atmosphere was superb.

We bopped and bopped until our feet were black (shoes had been removed at this point) and made a few new friends, namely a guy in a mini mini skirt and huge platforms, a woman with a massive hole in her tights and a gay guy called Jay – very friendly and a tad competitive when it came to throwing out shapes with my mate Kath.

Anyhoo, highlights of the evening include:

• Gem banging her head on a speaker. Her shoes were so high she looked like a giant
• Kath’s dance moves – she’s so wasted in media relations. That girl was born to be on stage!
• The Christmas quiz that I put together. Much fun. Why did folk think Kath was the colleague who liked rugby, horses and Russian boobs? Worrying!
• Waving a flag at the dinner table when you needed another drink. Oh, the power
• Carrying Gem home, pulling her up the stairs to my apartment and leaving her in a crumpled mess outside the front door, her dress pushed up around her waist. Tres ladylike!

And the lowlights…

• Being included in rounds with two lots of people which cost me twice as much money and got me twice as drunk
• Dancing so much my feet were killing me and the soles turned black
• Spilling tea all over my very pale carpet at 3am and doing a very bad job of cleaning it up
• Going out on a Thursday night? What was I thinking? Serious hangover on Friday and major sleep deprivation

That time of year

In case you hadn’t noticed, Christmas is coming. I know, shocking isn’t it? People keep saying things like “I’ve almost finished my Christmas shopping” and “what do you want for Chrimbo?”. Aaaarrrrgggh. And I’ve even found myself wanting to put the Christmas tree up too, although I realise it’s far too early. I must wait until December, at least.

We’re also having our Xmas works do next week, in part because it was cheaper to have it in November – credit crunch darlings, credit crunch! – and partly because everyone’s diary gets rammed in the festive season and a works do isn’t much fun with three of you pulling crackers at the bar.

There are 20 of us heading out next week for festive fun, scram scoffing, drastic dancing and no doubt followed by horrid hangovers. As the department’s self-appointed social secretary (no one else wanted this job title) I managed to get most of my colleagues on board by a) lying to them about the cost (I actually made an error and thought it was a couple of quid cheaper that it actually was, b) giving them no options about venue to avoid any disappointment and c) recruiting a colleague to canvas for me and bolster numbers.A nd if you make an error when organising the Christmas do (like the cost thing) always notify colleagues by email using the subject header “Christmas boob”. Everyone will read it, especially the blokes!

I’m also throwing in a fun Christmas quiz with prizes, based on quirky facts about my work buddies. One of them admitted to falling face down in a cow pat and another has streaked across a beach for a dare. It’s amazing how quickly they admit their most embarrassing actions. Bless ‘em.

So, yes, Christmas is coming. I am going to try really hard not to spend too much cash this Chrimbo but I know what I’m like – a spendaholic. I’ll set a budget for friends, £10 say, and that’ll be going great until I wander around the shops and catch sight of sparkly things, gift-wrapped things, sequined things, gift packs and two for the price of one offers. I’m like a bloody magpie! On the plus side, you get presents in return. No idea what I want this year, but here’s hoping Santa thinks I’ve been a good girl.

Hard to feel festive – when it’s JULY!

I’ve had a bit of a festive-themed day today – two meetings at work about Christmas cards and a text from the chairman of the volleyball club asking if, as social secretary, I can start thinking about venues for the Christmas bash.

Cripes folks, it’s only July and it seems so strange to be mentioning the C word! Anyway, one of the Christmas card meetings was like something out of a comedy sketch – myself and two colleagues sat around a table with a guy from one of the design agencies we pitching to work on the company Christmas card – I won’t bore you with the exact details of the project.

Anyway, this guy arrived a tad flustered as he’d got a bit lost, taken a phone call in the car, and just lost his focus. On dropping his stuff on the floor and knocking the conference phone on so we nearly jumped out of our seats, he exclaimed: “It’s going to be one of those days isn’t it?” It certainly was.

It wasn’t that the Christmas card ideas were bad, far from it, but this guy was clearly flustered and desperately trying to stay cool. And failing. He whipped out a mock-up of a card from his briefcase and…. wait for it… in doing so managed to whack me across the face with it, my nose mainly.

Me and my colleagues (me gripping my nose) just burst into fits of laughter and this guy melted in a pool of embarrassment. I really felt for him. He apologised a thousand times and we made a few jokes about Christmas cards being used as weapons.

It was just so funny, I can’t tell you. It’s probably a sign that we we talking about Christmas far too early in the year. I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the meeting and this guy will forever be know as the chap who whacked his Christmas card idea around my face. It’s one way to make an impact I guess.

Christmas starts here…

The atmosphere in work is great today ‘cos everyone knows that when they clock off at 3pm, Christmas begins.

This is a new feeling for me, having had to work over the Christmas period every year since leaving college. And, quite frankly, it sucked. There really is no joy in returning to work the day after Boxing Day knowing that friends and family are still tucked up in bed and will spend the day scoffing chocs, watching nice films and catching up with mates and rellies.

Returning to the office – to put together a newspaper that no one will read – kinda kills the Christmas spirit for me. But this year is different. I have a new job with a company that celebrates Christmas by giving staff time off. And boy am I gonna make the most of it. This is the most festive I’ve felt in ages!

The weekend will be spent catching up with family – divorced parents means two lots of visits – and the obligatory visit to see nan (who is slowly losing her marbles and thinks I’ve been seconded to Milton Keynes on a special assignment. And she’ll no doubt ask me 20 times: “So dear, have you found yourself a young man yet?”)

Sunday will be my day, spent pottering at home, playing Christmas tunes, catching up with chores and cooking up a festive feast for Jen and Lisa who will accompany me to Morocco on Christmas Eve. Whoo hoo! We’ll tuck into tasty fodder, open gifts, watch Santa Claus the Movie and check we’ve packed our passports.

Yes, that’s right folks, I’m making the most of the Christmas break by jetting off to sunnier shores and kicking back for some proper r&r. What better way to end the year?

Merry Christmas to you all, ho ho ho!

The morning after the night before

If I had cocktail sticks to hand I’d probably use them to prop my eyes open. Having the works Christmas do on a school night is a bad idea.

The combination of bowling (attempting to look fashionable in the shoes and keep nails intact) a curry, dancing and a lot of alocohol and laughter are the ingredients for a great night out – and it was. But now we’re at work and struggling to concentrate.

The headache can be sorted by popping a few pills and rehydrating with never ending cups of water and the stomach can be settled with a huge coffee and breakfast sarnie from the cafeteria. But the tiredness can only be cured by sleep. And it’s not professional to catch some zzzzs at work.

Today is the sort of day I wish I was curled up at home in front of the fire, and watching one of those Christmassy films on Channel 5 with a mug of hot choc. Bliss. Yes, I knwo I sound like a granny but it’s the hangover talking.

The champagne and nibbles being offered at work at lunchtime just don’t appeal, I’m seriously flagging, and I will be very grateful for my bed this evening - and the fact the Christmas break will begin at 3pm tomorrow.

So, some lessons have been learned. Firstly, that works festive bashes should take place on Friday or Saturday nights; secondly, that alcohol can be consumed in moderation and not like it’s going out of fashion; thirdly, that bowling shoes really are as bad as I thought they were; and fourthly, that my colleagues can bust some pretty cool grooves on the dancefloor.

Splashing the cash

Why is it that colds only strike when you least want them to? They seem to know about birthdays, holidays and Christmas and leave it until the last minute to wriggle their way into your immune system and make you feel grotty.

I am two days away from a birthday, 12 days away from a holiday and 13 days away from Christmas, so it couldn’t be worse timing that my nose has started running, is bright red and I sneeze at regular intervals. Generally, I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself.

I’m off work tomorrow and maybe I did want to spend the day in bed- although not with a massive supply of tissues, a hot water bottle and a Lemsip. More likely with a latte, good book and a hunky man (any volunteers? Brad? George?).

Well, I won’t be spending the day in my pit of slumber (well, maybe Brad could persuade me should he come knocking on my door) ‘cos I’ll be shopping. Yes, I have done the majority of my Chrimbo shopping already – not to be efficient – but so I can indulge in a day of splashing the cash on myself.

This cold will not beat me. And what better cure than a pair of new knee-high boots, a few spangly tops, and a vat of mulled wine on my return. In fact, I’m feeling better already.