I am a city girl through and through. I am actually allergic to the countryside (literally - I get terrible hayfever). So when the Wiganer found out about a certain trip to the land of the lakes, she knew she was going to have to dress it up for me to even consider.
I was told it would be a bank holiday weekend of sunbathing and cocktails by a large lake. And for just £35 I could get all food and board included. I was informed of the trip during the (probably only) really sunny week in May. So obviously the offer seemed pretty good.
However. As time wore on, and I had paid my money, booked a train ticket, and had selaed off all means of escaping the weekend, things started to emerge from teh woodwork.
The first thing to be mentioned was "wetsuit". At first I ignored the Wiganer, thinking, and hoping, that perhaps she had meant to say bikini, and it was just another north/south language confusion. But then she mentioned the word "kayak".
Hmmmm. there was no ignoring that one. So, plucking up the courage, I decided to just clear up exactly what the weekend was about. "Ah yes" said the Wiganer, "we are, um, going on a water sports weekend".
Uh oh. this is NOT my cup of tea. I spent my entire school career AVIODING things like this (hence becoming most avid fan of the soup run my school had ever known).
After much persuasion (and ridicule from pub colleagues) the Wiganer managed to calm me down. To be honest, the weekend was run by a friend of hers who has decided FOR FUN to sail from Antigua back to Britain on a yacht. And not a giant 300ft one. No a teeny peeny 37 ft one. I should have known better.
So the time comes round to pack. I got rather distressed. The Wiganer made me pack an old T-shirt, two hoodies, a bikini (yay!) to go under a wetsuit (sob) and, god forbid trainers. No high heels (I was sneaky and wore some on the train - ha! she couldn't just take the shoes from my feet). No little skirts, or cute summer outfits. It was heart-breaking.
So we got to Wigan. After a long and painful train journey. And were driven up to the Lakes.
Now obviously, as I was in a moving vehicle I fell asleep within approximately 4 and a half minutes of leaving Wigan (much to the enjoyment/wonder of everyone else in the car). And was woken up approximately 4 and a half minutes before we arrived.
And gosh was the scene different. No longer on a Wigan estate we were actually in the middle of nowhere. Everything was green. There were no houses. I even saw a well (as in what people used in the olden days - and sill Coniston - for getting water).
We were staying in an activity centre, which was very nice and quaint. As it was late we had dinner, and a few drinks sat in a FIELD and went to bed. (Might I add, it was freezing after about 9pm, and I was sincerely gld of the two hoodies and fluffy socks the Wiganer had packed for me, and yet Sharples our host was still in a vest, shorts and flip flops.
Next morning we got up, and were assigned our wetsuits. Sadly they ran out of the really small, so my 5.2 and a half inches was given on made for someone closer to 6 ft. And was still wet. That was unplesant. And also made it virtually impossible to get in the damn thing.
So after many undignified bends to get myself in, and we were ready. Went down to the lake (where again - freezing) and was promptly put in a canoe. And then a kayak. And then another kayak. And then we kayaked across the lake, to the other side, sat down and then came back. And I actually did it!
Now I can't say I did it with any style, and was extremely anxious for at least the first hour. But then I saw a 6'4 man capsise, and out came sharples (in her own speed boat - I collect shoes, she collects boats) and pulled him (yes a 6'4 injured man) AND his kayak into her boat. It was nothing short of incredible. Barker, the large man, got back onto land claiming "Sharples is as strong as an ox". After that, less nervous of the old water sports.
Although after the excitement of all that kayaking, did spend about 3 hours having a nap, sunbathing and doing handstands.
That evening we did the usual country thing of a large barbeque and bonfire on the beach. Was nice.
And then we came to the final day. Got up. And was a little more confident that before. Pulled on still wet wetsuit. Took less than an hour, so had improved since day before. Was feeling pretty good about the day.
So we got down to the water. And it turns out that we are building our own (yes OWN) raft. And then sailing it out to a buoy, that frankly was little more than a tiny yellow dot on the horizon.
Now this seemed less fun. Luckily I managed to be on the team with the most industrious looking boys. Who also turned out to the best at knot-tying. So our raft (where the extent of my help was using a vital rope to play skipping) actually looked pretty good and sturdy. Especially in comparison to the other teams. Their's was already falling apart without even being in the water.
So we had built the thing. Then came the time to select a crew. Now I was more than happy to arrange the on land cheerleading for the team. Bt suddenly a finger pointed at me. "You". Er. me? Are you mad? "Your light. On you get".
So plan was not going to order. Due to being small, they (wrongly) assumed I might be an asset to the team (light but powerful).And suddenly I had been given an oar, put on the damn boat thing, and we had left the beach.
I have never ever prided myself on strength. I am positively weedy. Which the rest of the crew noticed about 8 metres from the shore. And as this was a race, and we were losing, do you know what happened? I was tossed overboard. Yes. Made to swim behind. Oh it was a sad moment. (After making a big fuss after about 5 mins some kind boy pulled me back on, and I was allowed to bang a drum, which I might add, I did exceptionally)
We lost the race. And I had finally been in the lake. And was convinced I was getting frostbite in my feet (apparently you can't get it in May). And it was time to go home. But I had done it. I had actually spent a whole weekend in the country, where there are no clubs or bars or shops or people. Where at night, the sky is totally dark, without a hint of orange. Bizarre.
I won't rush back. I am pretty useless at the water sport thing. But maybe next year. Maybe it can become an annual thing. Because while I hate to admit it, for one weekend it was kinda fun to hang up the heels and dresses, and walk around in a wetsuit and hoodie.
Saturday, 31 May 2008
Monday, 19 May 2008
Farmer's Markets
I love shopping. I love shopping for clothes. and shoes. and pretty things. And I love a good tesco shop. In the really big ones. The Tesco Extras. I get so excited by the mass of opportunity.
And now I have discovered a new training ground for my shopping. The Farmer's Market.
Now, me being the true city girl that I am, thought a farmer's market was full of sheep, cattle, old men chewing straw, and hay (hence the wide birth - i suffer chronically from hayfever).
But I have had my eyes opened. Doing research for a documentary I am making about Tesco, I decided to go back to the roots of all great global supermarket enterprises - the market stall.
So, at 7am on saturday morning I got on my rail replacement bus to Pimlico, and ventured into the world of Farmer's markets.
They are amazing. You can get so much stuff; fruit, bread, cheese, juice, flowers, plants, conversation.
Everything is fresh, local and seasonal. And you can ask the people who sell anything and everything about their products. Not like in tesco, where one question of "is this organic?" merits death stares and an angry gesture at the label.
No. These people LOVE to talk food. And see the harder, more probing questions as a welcome challenge.
I was interviewing the wife of a farmer. I met her (very glamorous for what I wrongly assumed was a severely unglamorous job) and immediately liked her. She was lovely, and warm and inviting.
She told me that one of the best parts of running a stall at a farmer's market, was the connection one forms with the customer. She regularly recognises the majority of people who come to their stall, and is known to pop round to offer gardening tips, cooking tips, or just general chat.
She revealed that her family's farm go to 10 farmer's markets across London, and that at all of them, they have a similar relationship with their customers.
Well, having developed a new love for these shopping grounds, I decided that I must right away discover some more.
And so began my weekend of markets. And the slow transformation of the city girl, to country lass.
I went to one in Queen's Park (best cakes EVER - hazelnit and beetroot - yes BEETROOT - was amazing).
Borough market for the best pig sandwich I've ever eaten, and also strawberries - two punnets £1 - sod you Tesco, at that price never again will I grace the fruit and veg section.
Portobello road - already a known shopping ground - but the food market was wonderful. Got a quiche (which although onion and feta, and smelling like feet, was yum) and a delicious brioche).
Finally went to the one in Clapham - got some very impressive eggs, and apple juice. Bloody fantastic.
All the food was wonderful. Although a tad on the pricey side for my humble sutdent budget. But for the research purposes of the documentary - definitely worth it.
And in order to truly embrace my new image of rural living, I am off this weekend, to the lake district. On an activity weekend.
And now I have discovered a new training ground for my shopping. The Farmer's Market.
Now, me being the true city girl that I am, thought a farmer's market was full of sheep, cattle, old men chewing straw, and hay (hence the wide birth - i suffer chronically from hayfever).
But I have had my eyes opened. Doing research for a documentary I am making about Tesco, I decided to go back to the roots of all great global supermarket enterprises - the market stall.
So, at 7am on saturday morning I got on my rail replacement bus to Pimlico, and ventured into the world of Farmer's markets.
They are amazing. You can get so much stuff; fruit, bread, cheese, juice, flowers, plants, conversation.
Everything is fresh, local and seasonal. And you can ask the people who sell anything and everything about their products. Not like in tesco, where one question of "is this organic?" merits death stares and an angry gesture at the label.
No. These people LOVE to talk food. And see the harder, more probing questions as a welcome challenge.
I was interviewing the wife of a farmer. I met her (very glamorous for what I wrongly assumed was a severely unglamorous job) and immediately liked her. She was lovely, and warm and inviting.
She told me that one of the best parts of running a stall at a farmer's market, was the connection one forms with the customer. She regularly recognises the majority of people who come to their stall, and is known to pop round to offer gardening tips, cooking tips, or just general chat.
She revealed that her family's farm go to 10 farmer's markets across London, and that at all of them, they have a similar relationship with their customers.
Well, having developed a new love for these shopping grounds, I decided that I must right away discover some more.
And so began my weekend of markets. And the slow transformation of the city girl, to country lass.
I went to one in Queen's Park (best cakes EVER - hazelnit and beetroot - yes BEETROOT - was amazing).
Borough market for the best pig sandwich I've ever eaten, and also strawberries - two punnets £1 - sod you Tesco, at that price never again will I grace the fruit and veg section.
Portobello road - already a known shopping ground - but the food market was wonderful. Got a quiche (which although onion and feta, and smelling like feet, was yum) and a delicious brioche).
Finally went to the one in Clapham - got some very impressive eggs, and apple juice. Bloody fantastic.
All the food was wonderful. Although a tad on the pricey side for my humble sutdent budget. But for the research purposes of the documentary - definitely worth it.
And in order to truly embrace my new image of rural living, I am off this weekend, to the lake district. On an activity weekend.
Thursday, 17 January 2008
Berlin
The boyfriend and I went to Berlin just before christmas.
I had never been to Germany before. In all honesty, I had never been very interested in it.
But after a four day mini break there, I have completely fallen in love with the place.
While there I did four v. amazing things:
1. Actually saw all the major cultural things of a city
2. touched a penguin
3. had the best gin and tonic in the world.
4. wore flat shoes the entire time
In achieving all these things I feel I embraced a lot of what Berlin has to offer.
The boyfriend and I went on a boat tour of the city, which was a lovely (and warm) way to do it. And then we walked through a lot of it. Went to the Reichstag, the Brandenburg Gate, the Jewish Museum (holocaust tower was really chilling - being shut outside in a completely lightless, heatless lonely place. very unsettling).
Went to christmas markets. Ate a lot of sausage. Drank a lot of beer. Went on a giant snow slide. Generally embraced Berlin culture.
We went to the zoo. Best zoo EVER. Way better than shitty London Zoo.
In Berlin zoo the animals are so close. and they walk around. and play. In London, you barely see any of them. They are all asleep.
But not in Germany. Knut (who was fat - disappointing) was playing a lovely game with some rope. A rhino came and sniffed me (the boyfriend ruined it by pulling me away). And when it came to the penguins (the ultimate part of any zoo) i leant over and touched one. actually about five.
They were all swimming this way. then that way. then back again. they were LOVELY.
Another major part of Berlin, it seems, is the night life, bar culture and techno clubs (which the boyfriend and I inadvertantly got involved in).
The bars are brilliant. Friendly, great atmosphere, and everywhere. Not expenisve. Best place seemed to be Oranienberger Platz. Good stuff there. Good food, friendly people. It was all great.
And despite the very impressive public transport (way better than London - cheaper, cleaner, more reliable, though a lot of graffiti) we did do a lot of walking.
and i had had four very large and painful wisdom teeth removed a mere few days before. So the boyfriend strongly insisted (methinks on stern advice from the Wiganer) on flat shoes.
And my gosh. They are wonderful. Don't get me wrong. This is strictly off the record. My true position is eughhhh, how vile, flat shoes, me NEVER. But in the sub-zero temperatures of winter Berlin, fluffy boots are heaven.
And just make moving so much faster. As the boyfriend pointed out - i developed (and I am ashamed to admit this) a short person scuttle.
All in all, if you are reading this and are not in Berlin GO THERE. And if you are in Berlin, stop reading this and go outside. It's brill.
I had never been to Germany before. In all honesty, I had never been very interested in it.
But after a four day mini break there, I have completely fallen in love with the place.
While there I did four v. amazing things:
1. Actually saw all the major cultural things of a city
2. touched a penguin
3. had the best gin and tonic in the world.
4. wore flat shoes the entire time
In achieving all these things I feel I embraced a lot of what Berlin has to offer.
The boyfriend and I went on a boat tour of the city, which was a lovely (and warm) way to do it. And then we walked through a lot of it. Went to the Reichstag, the Brandenburg Gate, the Jewish Museum (holocaust tower was really chilling - being shut outside in a completely lightless, heatless lonely place. very unsettling).
Went to christmas markets. Ate a lot of sausage. Drank a lot of beer. Went on a giant snow slide. Generally embraced Berlin culture.
We went to the zoo. Best zoo EVER. Way better than shitty London Zoo.
In Berlin zoo the animals are so close. and they walk around. and play. In London, you barely see any of them. They are all asleep.
But not in Germany. Knut (who was fat - disappointing) was playing a lovely game with some rope. A rhino came and sniffed me (the boyfriend ruined it by pulling me away). And when it came to the penguins (the ultimate part of any zoo) i leant over and touched one. actually about five.
They were all swimming this way. then that way. then back again. they were LOVELY.
Another major part of Berlin, it seems, is the night life, bar culture and techno clubs (which the boyfriend and I inadvertantly got involved in).
The bars are brilliant. Friendly, great atmosphere, and everywhere. Not expenisve. Best place seemed to be Oranienberger Platz. Good stuff there. Good food, friendly people. It was all great.
And despite the very impressive public transport (way better than London - cheaper, cleaner, more reliable, though a lot of graffiti) we did do a lot of walking.
and i had had four very large and painful wisdom teeth removed a mere few days before. So the boyfriend strongly insisted (methinks on stern advice from the Wiganer) on flat shoes.
And my gosh. They are wonderful. Don't get me wrong. This is strictly off the record. My true position is eughhhh, how vile, flat shoes, me NEVER. But in the sub-zero temperatures of winter Berlin, fluffy boots are heaven.
And just make moving so much faster. As the boyfriend pointed out - i developed (and I am ashamed to admit this) a short person scuttle.
All in all, if you are reading this and are not in Berlin GO THERE. And if you are in Berlin, stop reading this and go outside. It's brill.
SPICE GIRLS!!!!
Last weekend the Wiganer and I went to the greatest show on earth.
Dressed in truly authentic 90's gear, we headed to North Greenwich and went to the o2. To watch the greatest band in the world. The Spice Girls.
Never wanting to do things by halves, the Wiganer and I looked really quite good. I (obviously) went for baby spice (though truth be told, if i had owned a union jack dress, hands down I would have been geri, ginge and all).
The Wiganer, not wanting to have to wear the tracky bums, not being ethnic enough for scary, or tall enough for posh, went for an eclectic 90's mix, with obscenely short (yet high-waisted) skirt, leopard print tights, crop top (oh, we all had one. I had two) and a side-ponytail.
So dressed as the 90's (and mildly resembling prostitutes) we got on the tube.
That was an experience. Having dressed at home with both spice girl albums blaring, we felt in the zone. Stepping out into the cold January evening in deepest darkest Brixton, we suddenly didn't feel quite so cool.
But ho hum, we soldiered on.
Got to the o2. Little disappointed at the lack of fancy-dress effort. But at least we stood out.
o2 is amazing. Shops, bars, restaurants, nice toilets, a cinema, tutankhamun. what more could a girl want from one venue.
decided to start the night with style and got some cocktails. Met some very nice geordies (Wiganer attracts northern folk).
Boguht a couple of t-shirts (obviously) and then went to find our seats.
So we were sat down. quite far away from the stage. Beady eyed Wiganer has already spotted the Beckham kids.
And the lights go down. and the stage lights up. And then THE SPICE GIRLS ARE ON!!!!
An hour and a half later and all my life goals have changed. I don't care what happens as long as I growup as a spice girl.
The lights, the dances, the costumes, the sets, the banter, everything was fantastic. Wiganer and I danced and sang, and generally looked like fools. But we just had the most wonderful time.
Personally I liked geri's outfits best (being a tart at heart, I can never resist a teeny weeny skirt), though Mrs Beckham did not disappoint. She looked really lovely, and managed to belt out her few lines (definitely couldn't have lasted a whole song, but her catwalk was lovely).
Slightly embarassed by scary's solo bit. she was grinding against a very frightened looking boy from the audience. poor sod, probably didn't bank on that when he gave in to going with his girlfriend).
sporty had (as usual) the worst of the outfits. although at least they gave the tracksuit a bit of sparkle. really has got the best voice.
baby was just baby. same old same old but lovely all the same.
they knocked out "headlines" early. as the Wiganer put it "wanna be getting that shite out way early". Definitely best song - spice up your life. threw out some v. exciting shapes to that one.
All in all it was truly great. And I will not hear a bad word about the girls. they were everything i could have wanted and more.
There was only one unexpected thing about the evening. and that was the number of a) middle-aged women, and b) the number of little kids. It was Johnny Vaughn, on Capital breakfast who cleared this conundrum for me. Spice hits are all over kids party CDs so they all know the words.
And to explain the middle-aged audience, all of them were sprightly 20-somethings when the spice girls first appeared. but now, 10 years down the line, they have all got a little older, plumper and more tame (the ones next to us did NOT apreciate the dancing - low point was wiganer's thrusting).
Wiganer and I swore however, that it doesn't matter if we have to wait 100 years for another of their comeback tours. we will never diminish in our love for the girls.
Dressed in truly authentic 90's gear, we headed to North Greenwich and went to the o2. To watch the greatest band in the world. The Spice Girls.
Never wanting to do things by halves, the Wiganer and I looked really quite good. I (obviously) went for baby spice (though truth be told, if i had owned a union jack dress, hands down I would have been geri, ginge and all).
The Wiganer, not wanting to have to wear the tracky bums, not being ethnic enough for scary, or tall enough for posh, went for an eclectic 90's mix, with obscenely short (yet high-waisted) skirt, leopard print tights, crop top (oh, we all had one. I had two) and a side-ponytail.
So dressed as the 90's (and mildly resembling prostitutes) we got on the tube.
That was an experience. Having dressed at home with both spice girl albums blaring, we felt in the zone. Stepping out into the cold January evening in deepest darkest Brixton, we suddenly didn't feel quite so cool.
But ho hum, we soldiered on.
Got to the o2. Little disappointed at the lack of fancy-dress effort. But at least we stood out.
o2 is amazing. Shops, bars, restaurants, nice toilets, a cinema, tutankhamun. what more could a girl want from one venue.
decided to start the night with style and got some cocktails. Met some very nice geordies (Wiganer attracts northern folk).
Boguht a couple of t-shirts (obviously) and then went to find our seats.
So we were sat down. quite far away from the stage. Beady eyed Wiganer has already spotted the Beckham kids.
And the lights go down. and the stage lights up. And then THE SPICE GIRLS ARE ON!!!!
An hour and a half later and all my life goals have changed. I don't care what happens as long as I growup as a spice girl.
The lights, the dances, the costumes, the sets, the banter, everything was fantastic. Wiganer and I danced and sang, and generally looked like fools. But we just had the most wonderful time.
Personally I liked geri's outfits best (being a tart at heart, I can never resist a teeny weeny skirt), though Mrs Beckham did not disappoint. She looked really lovely, and managed to belt out her few lines (definitely couldn't have lasted a whole song, but her catwalk was lovely).
Slightly embarassed by scary's solo bit. she was grinding against a very frightened looking boy from the audience. poor sod, probably didn't bank on that when he gave in to going with his girlfriend).
sporty had (as usual) the worst of the outfits. although at least they gave the tracksuit a bit of sparkle. really has got the best voice.
baby was just baby. same old same old but lovely all the same.
they knocked out "headlines" early. as the Wiganer put it "wanna be getting that shite out way early". Definitely best song - spice up your life. threw out some v. exciting shapes to that one.
All in all it was truly great. And I will not hear a bad word about the girls. they were everything i could have wanted and more.
There was only one unexpected thing about the evening. and that was the number of a) middle-aged women, and b) the number of little kids. It was Johnny Vaughn, on Capital breakfast who cleared this conundrum for me. Spice hits are all over kids party CDs so they all know the words.
And to explain the middle-aged audience, all of them were sprightly 20-somethings when the spice girls first appeared. but now, 10 years down the line, they have all got a little older, plumper and more tame (the ones next to us did NOT apreciate the dancing - low point was wiganer's thrusting).
Wiganer and I swore however, that it doesn't matter if we have to wait 100 years for another of their comeback tours. we will never diminish in our love for the girls.
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Christmas Roast and all the trimmings
Wiganer and I decided to have a Christmas gathering.
We invited 12 people with the intention of cooking whole roast.
All was fine until realised I was having my teeth out two days before. That seemed to instigate a further trail pf problems.
Firstly, getting a turkey. Not that easy. Finally manage to locate one that was a) right size and b) not requiring a mortgage to buy. Sadly it was in a giant ASDA about 10million miles from where we live. and i was by myself.
So had to carry 8lb frozen turkey home. It nearly killed me. And I never believed a piece of frozen food could create so many bruises.
Problem number two. Left turkey to defrost in fridge. Sadly fridge is mal-functioning and therefore seemed, if anything, to freeze turkey further.
So left it in the kitchen. Again, due to negative temperature of flat, really was not defrosting at all. Wiganer suggested putting it in microwave. I vetoed that. Didn't want to poison guests.
Eventually decided to leave it in bedroom. Just hoped it wouldn't amke it smell funny.
Also, decided to name turkey Rosemary (rosie for short).
Morning of dinner arrives. Got up at half 8 to switch on oven (door doesn't close properly so had to calculate extra three hours for rosie's cooking).
Went to set up table. Then realised that we had invited 12 people. And only have 2chairs in whole flat.
Spent hour frantically ringing everyone we know for chairs. Boyfriend came to rescue. Bless him.
Wiganer and I checked on Rosie. Thought oven door looked funny colour. Opened door. Appeared to have rather large fire going on in there.
The flames managed to jump out of thte oven, set fire to a teatowel hanging nearby (NB don't keep flamable material near ovens) which in turn nearly set fire to wooden shelf.
Lucky Wiganer nearby. Managed to get fire under control. And in all the excitement oven door became fixed! Hurrah!
After that, day was fairly accident free. I managed to accidentally get quite drunk before guests arrived (blamed painkillers of teeth) but was just merry, not dangerous.
And dinner turned out marvelously. Was lovely. And as we calculated a bit wrong, there was more than enough of Rosie left of the Wiganer to have many a turkey sandwich.
We invited 12 people with the intention of cooking whole roast.
All was fine until realised I was having my teeth out two days before. That seemed to instigate a further trail pf problems.
Firstly, getting a turkey. Not that easy. Finally manage to locate one that was a) right size and b) not requiring a mortgage to buy. Sadly it was in a giant ASDA about 10million miles from where we live. and i was by myself.
So had to carry 8lb frozen turkey home. It nearly killed me. And I never believed a piece of frozen food could create so many bruises.
Problem number two. Left turkey to defrost in fridge. Sadly fridge is mal-functioning and therefore seemed, if anything, to freeze turkey further.
So left it in the kitchen. Again, due to negative temperature of flat, really was not defrosting at all. Wiganer suggested putting it in microwave. I vetoed that. Didn't want to poison guests.
Eventually decided to leave it in bedroom. Just hoped it wouldn't amke it smell funny.
Also, decided to name turkey Rosemary (rosie for short).
Morning of dinner arrives. Got up at half 8 to switch on oven (door doesn't close properly so had to calculate extra three hours for rosie's cooking).
Went to set up table. Then realised that we had invited 12 people. And only have 2chairs in whole flat.
Spent hour frantically ringing everyone we know for chairs. Boyfriend came to rescue. Bless him.
Wiganer and I checked on Rosie. Thought oven door looked funny colour. Opened door. Appeared to have rather large fire going on in there.
The flames managed to jump out of thte oven, set fire to a teatowel hanging nearby (NB don't keep flamable material near ovens) which in turn nearly set fire to wooden shelf.
Lucky Wiganer nearby. Managed to get fire under control. And in all the excitement oven door became fixed! Hurrah!
After that, day was fairly accident free. I managed to accidentally get quite drunk before guests arrived (blamed painkillers of teeth) but was just merry, not dangerous.
And dinner turned out marvelously. Was lovely. And as we calculated a bit wrong, there was more than enough of Rosie left of the Wiganer to have many a turkey sandwich.
Wisdom Teeth
SInce september, apart from the internet, my other ongoing saga has been my impaceted wisdom teeth (yes not one, not two, but all of them).
My teeth are the bane of my life. By the age of 14 I had already had 8 teeth out (my mouth is really quite small).
I then got braces. Full blown traintracks.
Now, there are some people who kind of look ok with braces. Those people who you don't really notice have them. I was definitely not one of them.
In fact I was the opposite. They REALLY looked bad.
So after that three year (yes THREE YEARS) torture I thought all would be well.
But no. So at the age of 21 I went into london bridge hospital to have the bastard teeth. All out. So never again will they bother me.
I opted for the general aneasthetic. I am a big juicy wimp. And I'd never had one before so why not?
So after I go to sleep and have teeth out I wake up.
I really did feel fine. And thought I would try to stand up. I completely fell of my bed. and ripped the drip out of my hand. And two nurses had to lift me back on.
Then I was wheeled back to my bed, and, as told later by the Wiganer, who, bless her came to look after me, looked HORRIFIC.
Apparently i was whiter than white except for the substantial amount of dried blood completely covering the lower half of my face (really good Wiganer had sense to bring face wipes).
Then, as if i was not disgusting enough they then, without any explanation at all, handed her a small pot. Which contained my teeth (not washed or anything - one was stil surrounded by bits of my gum; the others, all fairly bloody).
So that was all gross.
Eventually got home (having been convinced that i was fine, and subsequently fainting. twice)
Had to wear flat shoes. made a bit of a fuss about that. am only 5'2.5 (rounded up to 5'3) and so have never to date been out in public without at least 4inch heels). Was probably quite a good idea though. was really very unsteady.
But after a day was fine. Went shopping. had a little dance. cooked an entire christmas roast for a party. (Party atmosphere greatly enhanced by the constant display of my now removed wisdom teeth).
So all in all, removal of wisdon teeth not as bad as people make out.
My teeth are the bane of my life. By the age of 14 I had already had 8 teeth out (my mouth is really quite small).
I then got braces. Full blown traintracks.
Now, there are some people who kind of look ok with braces. Those people who you don't really notice have them. I was definitely not one of them.
In fact I was the opposite. They REALLY looked bad.
So after that three year (yes THREE YEARS) torture I thought all would be well.
But no. So at the age of 21 I went into london bridge hospital to have the bastard teeth. All out. So never again will they bother me.
I opted for the general aneasthetic. I am a big juicy wimp. And I'd never had one before so why not?
So after I go to sleep and have teeth out I wake up.
I really did feel fine. And thought I would try to stand up. I completely fell of my bed. and ripped the drip out of my hand. And two nurses had to lift me back on.
Then I was wheeled back to my bed, and, as told later by the Wiganer, who, bless her came to look after me, looked HORRIFIC.
Apparently i was whiter than white except for the substantial amount of dried blood completely covering the lower half of my face (really good Wiganer had sense to bring face wipes).
Then, as if i was not disgusting enough they then, without any explanation at all, handed her a small pot. Which contained my teeth (not washed or anything - one was stil surrounded by bits of my gum; the others, all fairly bloody).
So that was all gross.
Eventually got home (having been convinced that i was fine, and subsequently fainting. twice)
Had to wear flat shoes. made a bit of a fuss about that. am only 5'2.5 (rounded up to 5'3) and so have never to date been out in public without at least 4inch heels). Was probably quite a good idea though. was really very unsteady.
But after a day was fine. Went shopping. had a little dance. cooked an entire christmas roast for a party. (Party atmosphere greatly enhanced by the constant display of my now removed wisdom teeth).
So all in all, removal of wisdon teeth not as bad as people make out.
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