It's the night before-the-night-before-christmas

Hello! It's the night before-the-night-before-christmas, which is really exciting (if you're six years old), so exciting, in fact, that Twin 2 decided to fall down the stairs. It was a great stunt-double tumble, involving a double somersault and only being halted by the dog's basket on the corner. I was wondering the other day quite what career Twin 2 is likely to pursue when she grows up, and I think a stunt woman will suit her very well. She is exceptionally good at falling over.
Tomorrow morning we're up at five to head off to the grandparents', which is fantastic. I keep having conversations with people asking me if I'm ready for Christmas, to which I reply that I've bought a bottle of bubbly (for me - Christmas being the only day when it's totally acceptable to start drinking at breakfast time, hurrah) and filled the car up with petrol, and that's it. How thankful I am to have a mother who loves cooking and a father who loves washing up - roll on the hols!
I have mentioned to the kids that their grandmother's way of showing them that she cares is by cooking, so it's rude to say you don't like something that she's served up. Twin 1 has been practising: "I'm sorry but I ate a big breakfast today so I can't quite manage this" - hope she won't use this line at every meal time, but at least it's better than: "This is yuk, why can't we have a hot dog in front of the telly like we do at home?"
Of course I won't be getting a Christmas present from Bah Humbug Major Bumsaw, who is stuck in his office in the middle of the desert, so I sent the kids off at Tesco the other day with £10 and an instruction to get me something nice. I even gave them a nice spangly gift bag and some sellotape so they could gift wrap it and I really wouldn't know what's inside. Even better, because everything's on bogof at the moment, I'll be getting loads (although I'm not sure quite what I'll be getting loads of).
All the presents are packed up in the car, along with the stocking fillers. Santa has been quite communicative this year and sent a video message and a letter (although no email - I decided to avoid that one since inadvertently sending him viagra and porn adverts when my account was compromised last year). Twin 1 also sent him a letter in which she asked for a guitar and a colouring book (phew, thank goodness she forgot about the Wii and the DS).
Right, I'm off to finish my wine and go to bed, because my alarm is set for 4.30 am...
Have a fab xmas xxxx

this morning I was woken up by a pirate attacking me, running off and then running back in to moon me.

Hello. Here I am, alone in bed, with nothing but my hot water bottle and my fulsome body hair to keep me warm (well, if your spouse was away for months, what would you do? And, actually, if there were ever any remote possibility of me thinking cheeky thoughts or getting into a situation where I could even consider a little adulterousness, it really would never happen with the amount of hair I'm now sprouting. If I was a bloke, I'd have a beard, 1970s sideburns and a big fat beer belly - yes that's the extent of letting myself go since my husband disappeared into the desert).
I have just spent the evening massaging the dog and eating the last Cornetto (because in the end I didn't eat it the other night, when I really deserved it), watching 'Ten years younger' on some sub species of ITV and leafing through the Slimming World manual with vague thoughts about how I should really pull myself together...but not until 2012.
'Ten years younger' is one of those guilty pleasures things, isn't it? I know, I ought to be watching Channel Four news and appraising myself of the developments in the euro crisis, but somehow it seems more urgent to discover what that woman is going to do about her bingo wings, crows' feet and candyfloss hair (whilst massaging the dog's arthritis and eating the last Cornetto).
Anyway, I needed to veg because of my frustrating time with electrickery...I was trying to get some Dr Who stories off the laptop and onto my phone, so that I could play them in the car on our marathon journey to grandparents' for xmas. It didn't work. Now, if Hubby was around, this would be the point where I would have said "It doesn't work..." and looked pathetic until the master of gadgets sorted it out. I know that's useless of me, but I'm very lazy, you see: I would rather look utterly stupid than have to engage with an instruction manual. I was half hoping that Hubby would phone from Afghanistan and I could ask him how to do it (at least it would give us something to talk about), but the phone call didn't happen. I tried burning the Dr Who files to a CD, but that didn't work either. And then eventually I did read the instruction manual, which was not an enjoyable or fulfilling thing to do, but I did it, and I did do something that I thought was technically competant involving the phone and the laptop, but after leaving the phone doing something active through the USB cable for the entire evening, Dr Who still  has not shifted onto the phone. Ah, well, now I'm full of wine and Cornetto and top tips for looking ten years younger I'm no longer in the mood for pfaffing about with an irritating little piece of electronics; it will have to wait until the morning. Which will only be a few short hours away, now... this morning I was woken up by a pirate attacking me, running off and then running back in to moon me. Then the pirate's sister came and did the same thing. Outside my bedroom door I heard Son killing himself laughing, as he'd set them up to it. So if today is anything to go by, I shall expect to be ambushed by some kind of evil fancy dress child in about six hours...
xxx

Tesco arrived, time for some wine....

Waiting...for the Tesco van to arrive (and somewhat impatiently as I'm out of booze)...last week it took the poor man over an hour to find us as he got lost on camp, and his English wasn't very good, so he couldn't understand the directions they gave him at the gate.
My super dooper Cruella de Vil coat arrived in the post this morning. I bought it on ebay and I shall wear it to a winter wedding (which I'm very excited about - the wedding that is, oh, alright, the coat as well). Actually it's more of a Cruella de Vil meets Bet Lynch thing. It's red leather with black faux fur cuffs and a huge faux fur collar. And it has a quilted lining, so it should be nice and warm.
I know I have to stop the ebay thing now. I know I do. But I had to have something to wear for this wedding...
Right, sorry, I'll stop banging on about my coat now. What else? I finally made it into university yesterday for the final session. Whoop, whoop. Amazingly nobody was ill. Of course, it couldn't last, and this afternoon on school pickup I was told that Twin 2 had been feeling sick...again!
Yikes, Tesco arrived, time for some wine....
take care xxx

week of vom

It's the end of the week, so here I am with my salt and vinegar crisps and a glass of rose in front of the telly. Classy, that's me. I know I should be lighting my Jo Malone scented candle, slipping into my White Company cashmere socks and sipping a large riocha, but I think I'm clearly a sub-standard officer's wife (or at least, that's how I feel after my lunch in the mess the other day...).
Anyway,  a small celebration is in order as it's the end of the week of vomiting. Twins decided to support the teachers' strike by keeping off school ever since, bless 'em. I've been probably the most unsympathetic mother, however, as they were both dumped in front of the telly with a sick bowl whilst I got on with writing. By yesterday afternoon Twin 1 was begging me to take her to school, so she went in, but Twin 1 had yet another day today of lying on the sofa watching kids' TV and shouting for me periodically to re-heat her hot mouse thing (it's a cloth mouse filled with grape pips that you heat up in the microwave) and bring snacks. This evening everyone seemed to be better though, so I might even get a night's sleep without having to share my bed with an ill girl tonight. I can't wait - I might even crack open another one of my teeny tiny bottles of wine and see if I can hunt down that old cornetto that I know is lurking somewhere in the back of the freezer.
Right, so other than vomit and rat poo, there's not much been going on this week, so I'm going to go and glug back some more booze and hop into my empty bed.
Night x

a bit tired and faintly viral...

Hi, how are you? I'm feeling a bit tired and faintly viral. Having had ill children sharing my bed every night this week I am now a) suffering from sleep deprivation, and b) succumbing to whatever lurgy it is they've had (it seems to be a yummy combination of tummy bug and cold, a kind of buy-one-get-one-free virus, if you will). Twins were off school yesterday, and I had to get a baby sitter in in the morning so that I could get to uni for my 'consultation' (I think once you're postgrad they stop calling them tutorials), which was basically just a bit of a chat about my work. When I set off on my bike the sun was shining, although the clouds looked quite dark, and I remarked to a passing neighbour that it looked like it would snow later. How prophetic I am. It started to sleet just as I was far enough away from home not to be able to turn back and get the car, and continued to sleet all morning, so I had to cycle back in it as well. I had a very soggy pashmina by the time I got home, and ended up retiring to bed for a bit to warm up and recover, whilst the ill kids watched yet more CBBC.
Last night I only had one child in bed with me, and that was only for the latter part of the night, so I thought it might be safe to ship them both off to school today. Had a productive morning working on the next academic essay (dialogue and point of view in Graham Greene's Two Gentle People) and decided to skive circuits in favour of an officers' wives' lunch in the mess - which sounds posher than it was. As it turned out it was toasted sandwiches and lots of talk about how Waitrose really is cheaper than Tesco (I kept quiet about my Lidl addiction) and I wasn't too gutted when I got a call from school telling me that Twin 1 was feeling sick and had to come home (I wonder if I could do a deal with the school secretary to do that next time I'm listening to a conversation about the best value turkey to buy?).
The good news is that as it's wednesday supper is hot dogs in front of the telly, hurrah, and my wednesday night chore is to clean the bedroom, which Bertha is doing as I write, so I may end up with almost no chores tonight and an early night, fingers crossed!
Take care xxx
ps - I will try to find something more exciting to tell you about next time...

'I bet you looked good on the dance floor...in 1984'.

So, blogging when you're drunk. A good thing or no? Lets find out, shall we, as I recount in tedious detail what was the adventure of the wive xmas party 2011....
I was sat with the lovely K, who is lovely, and agreed to come to the function with me, and I'm jolly glad she did, because I soon realised that I didn't really know anyone else. At all. K was sat next to a beautiful woman who told us a lot about her platinum jewellery and about the fact that her husband is her stepfather's best friend (as is the way in North Devon). The disco played a nice selection of music, including Black Box's 'ride on time' and B52's 'love shack' so of course, in my head I was eighteen again. Do you remember the Arctic Monkey's had a song a few years ago 'I bet you looked good on the dance floor...in 1984'. I think they had me in mind when they wrote the lyrics. I'm quite sure I did look good on the dance floor at some point in previous decades, but certainly not now. However, after many glasses of wine, I didn't care.
The disco was interspersed with karaoke. (Yes, it doesn't really bear imagining). I persuaded K to join me in a rendition of Madonna's 'like a virgin' but sadly the DJ had to leave before he got to our number. (Do you think he might have seen my dancing and thought better of letting me have control of a microphone?)
So then I got home to the delights of dog sick and rat poo. Quite a lot of dog sick, actually - I think giving Dog chips and beans for supper wasn't a very good idea, in retrospect.
If this blog is somewhat incoherent, I apologise, but place the blame squarely on the poor quality of the wine in the sergeants' mess.
Good night xxx

I survived the teachers' strike:

I survived the teachers' strike: made xmas cards, cupcakes and even managed to get to the gym for another near-death experience. Kids are ridiculously excited about the prospect of advent calendars in the morning. I have made a command decision, however, to keep the Twins' calendars in my room, so there will be no repeat of Twin 2 deciding to open all the windows in one go (she has no concept of delayed gratification, that one). Because of the strike, I haven't be able to write much this week - Wednesday is usually a great writing day. I have been trying to think more deeply about one of my characters and get into her psyche before writing some extra scenes for her, but all I've been able to do read a bit of Mary Churchill's memoirs, order some cardboard dividers for chapters (somehow I think if I can split it all up, it will be easier to manage - not sure why I think having bits of coloured card will make me a better writer...), and worry about what I won't have time to write by my Friday deadline. I tried writing a scene tonight, but then had to go to the laptop to try to discover what Grosvenor Gardens looked like in 1941 and then got sucked into Facebook and now it's gone ten and I have to go to bed. At least I remembered to change the bed sheets - Son brought a rat in to see me in bed this morning and promised me  that it wouldn't wee or poo. Of course, the second the little furry vermin got on the sheets it immediately did both.
Feeling slightly sad and wishing I could talk to Hubby, but I can't, so I'm going to swig down the rest of my wine and fill up my hot water bottle instead.
Nightie night x