Saturday, December 20, 2008

I Believe in Rasta Claus

I just got home from the Dads' Club Xmas party with Poppy. We played 'pass the parcel', and I had to force myself not to hold the parcel until the music stopped. Then they announced that Santa was coming. I was very excited, much more so than Pops, who hasn't grasped the concept of Christmas yet, let alone Santa. I was even more excited when Santa came in, ho-ho-ho-ing, and turned out to be a rastafarian. You don't get anough black Santas, if you ask me. Poppy immediately wandered up to him looking for a pressie - so perhaps she does get the Father Christmas concept after all.

Last night was our office Christmas party, which was like one of those documentaries about Binge Drinking Britain. I was mixing drinks with the best of them, but as usual was unable to keep up with Buffy, who was doing her best to consume the EU Wine Lake. Have you ever tried to get a cab when you're with a girl who's so drunk she can't make both her eyes look in the same direction at the same time? We finally found a cabbie foolish enough to take us, though he eyed Buffy warily all the way, gripping a carrier bag in his fist in case she made any signs of throwing up. We made it back home without any vomiting, though my beloved did end up flat on her back in the middle of the road. I think I might just have saved her life.

We're both paying the price for our over-indulgence now. We're going to get healthy in 2009 and have a life that is less like a really long episode of Shameless.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

Back. Back! BACK!!!

Buffy has retired to bed at 1.30pm feeling a bit poorly and Poppy is sprawled on the sofa. The mice are snoozing beneath the floorboards (more of which below). Which means, for the first time in several months, I have a few spare moments in which to tell a disinterested world what's been going on in the Roost since I last blogged, back in the days when TVs were black and white and I had twice as much hair on my head and half as much on my body.

1. Financial disaster struck and I nearly burned the house down

There I was, merrily going about my business thinking the credit crunch wouldn't affect me very much, cooking veggie spag bol and feeling all domestic, when the Virgin Radio newsreader announced that Icesave had gone bust.

Icesave - where I kept all my money.

In the ensuing panic, I burned the Quorn mince, caught the spaghetti on fire (not an easy feat) and went into a terrified synaptic meltdown, wondering why oh why oh why I hadn't transferred the money out of the world's least financially-stable country while I had the chance.

Thankfully, all ended well when our lovely chancellor saved us all and two months later I got the money back and was able to pay off my overdraft literally moments before it hit its limits and Poppy had to start her first job as a chimney sweep.

2. We got some new flatmates

Long-term readers will know that I used to keep pet rats (RIP Muffin, Flake, Syd and Nancy). Hearing about my love of all things four-legged and long-of-tail, an extended family of mice moved into our flat. Oh, what joy they give us as they scamper about, popping out from beneath the TV unit or the wardrobe when you least expect it. How we love the little presents they leave us, the teeny-weeny droppings, the holes in bin bags, the pervasive smell of wee that dribbles perpetually from their incontinent bladders.

They love paying practical jokes on us. My favourite was when I picked up a bag of pasta and it started to wriggle.

We caught four almost straight away, but since then all of the little bleeders have evaded us, laughing mockingly at the humane trap that sits ineffectually on the kitchen floor. Little do they know that I have purchased a box of mouse killer... but am too, well, vegetarian to use it. I feel like the good guy in an action film, the bit where he points a gun at the baddie, who sneers and says, 'Go ahead,' and the hero's gun arms shakes as he struggles with his conscience and the audence shouts 'Do it!'

I'm close, I tell you. So close to pulling that trigger.

3. Poppy got into a fight at nursery

Kids today, eh? By the time they're one and half they're joining gangs, hanging out on the street corner outside Somerfield and having turf wars.

Okay, it wasn't quite like that. What happened was Poppy and some other pre-verbal little girl had a squabble over a toy, and the horrible thug child bit Poppy on the lip and scratched her cheeks. It was very traumatic. Poor Pops. Cue gallons of Bio Oil in what may be a vain attempt to prevent her from scarring.

4. We bought even more gadgets

Buffy and I have a terrible disease that stops us from being able to resist various things such as cigarettes, each other and shiny objects of desire. My latest purchases include an iPod Touch and a PS3, on which we spend many a happy, slightly-bickery hour playing Little Big Planet. In our flat we now have:

1 iMac
1 iBook
1 MacBook, slightly broken after Pops chucked it on the floor
A Wii
2 Viewty phones
2 iPod classics
1 iPod Touch
1 iPod Nano
1 iPod Shuffle
2 digital cameras, both useless because we've lost the chargers

It's a burglar's paradise. (I just touched wood after typing that.)

It's painful to write the next bit but I bought Buffy a D-SLR camera for her birthday and last Sunday some piece of shit stole it from right under our feet (which were in the pub). I can't afford to replace it and our insurance doesn't cover it.

Uh-oh, Poppy just woke up so I'd better go. Also, the mice are playing with the iPod Touch and need telling off.

See you in 2012.