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.

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.

CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!

This weekend I truly got into the Christmas spirit.

On Saturday I opened my TWO advent calendars (one picture and one CHOCOLATE - was a deprived child and never allowed one before), bought Christmas cards, decorations, planned mine and Wigan's mini Christmas Roast and decorated our tree. All to the the XMAS party classics CD.

And I had a lovely time. It was wonderful and I am truly in the Christmas mood.

Our Christmas tree is a little pathetic looking. Being only three foot tall. And really quite bald.

But we covered it in far too many baubles. And loads of other foil based decorations.

We even topped it off with an angel (homemade by Wigan and I out of our cheese grater with some tin foil wings stuck on the back).

After that I decided that we needed to give the windows a bit of a christmas look. So we made paper snowflakes (and may I just add, Wigan was truly appalling at this. she is being paid an obscene amount of money to look after a couple of kids, and all they do all day is crafts. and yet ask her to make you a paper snowflak..... well after frustrated grunts, angry jabs with scissors and severe snowflake envy, the Wigan admitted defeat)

We have also got very into the festive food. The Wiganer has set a new record for eating. She has managed to get through not one, but three boxes of mince pies.Since december started.

We have a fourth, but it has been hidden, and is only being adminstired under strict supervision.

She is blaming the Tesco buy one get one free offer.

I shall be keeping you all up to date with my festive antics over the next few days. As I'm sure you can tell, they will be extensive.

Worst day at work EVER

I work in a pub. It's nice. I quite like it. As with any job it has its ups and downs.

Last week wednesday however, secured itself as the worst day at work EVER. In fact so many things went wrong, it stopped being awful, and all I could do was laugh.

My pub is called The Albany. It is opposite Great Portland Street tube. Which is on the Metropolitan line. As is Wembley.

And last wednesday (the day of doom) happened to be the date of the England v Croatia Euro cup qualifier.

So, for those who have not yet worked it out, my pub was well and truly in the firing line.

But that's ok. I'm good when its busy.

So I get to work. And it's just me, the Polish guy Kasper, who is lovely, and Greg. He is in charge.

No one else turns up. So we are understaffed. By two people. Problem number one.

I notice that we are a little low on glasses. And all the tables, and the bar, in fact all available space is inundated by dirty glasses.

I go round, at great personal risk, as angry, thristy England fans do not like bar staff who are not making them drinks, and collect glasses.

The dishwasher is broken. We have no way to wash glasses.

There is a dishwasher (albeit from the 19th century) downstairs.

The lift is broken.

So, to clarify, we are missing two staff members, we have no clean glases, the dishwasher is broken, and the only way of getting them clean is literally to carry them, glass by glass, down two flights of stairs, and we are so busy, people are queuing to get into the pub.

After about an hour of constant abuse (wearing a football shirt seems to remove any concept of common decency, turning even the most respectable gentleman into nothing short of a yob) the crowd starts to die down.

The queue for the bar is still about 8 deep, but we can see light at the end of the tunnel.

I then hear a very strange noise, followed by screaming.

Water is POURING out of the ceiling. in the middle of the pub. In sheets. Within minutes, the surrounding customers are ankle deep in water.

Greg's solution is to put newspaper down. This swiftly turns the water into a swamp.

By the end of the night, after many people saying, "er, your floor's really wet" and "why have you got papier mache instead of carpet", aching arms, and more smashed glasses than whole ones, and it is time to clear up.

I am just about to leave. To go home to a clean(ish) house and sleep, when my Wiganer calls me. To inform me she has just been sick. A lot. Joy. Home will be nearly as good as work.

Football.........

I don't understand football. I don't pretend to. Nor do I particularly want to. I sometimes feign interest for the purpose of the boyfriend but in all honestly I find the entire activity dull and a little pointless (boys chasing a ball - little reminiscent of dogs in a park?).

And yet. the other day I, yes the embodiment of ultimate football disinterest, had to do a report on Ebbsfleet United.

They have become the first football club to be run by fans via a website called MyFootballClub.com. Members pay to join up, and then, alledgedly, get to have a personal contribution to how the team is run.

Somehow, out of a group of 5, including a boy, and an avid football fan, I managed to land this story. But, in a truly professional manner, I took a deep breath, and went for it.

I interviewed the club director (a man called Roly - like the pudding). And he didn't seem to notice my utter football ignorance. In fact, at the end he asked if I spported Ebbsfleet. That was followed by an awkward silence.

Using the interview I wrote up my entire report, and by the time it came to reading it, I actually understood the whole concept.

Don't get me wrong, I asked a LOT of questions, needed a LOT explained to me, and still have not got the correct football jargon. But I did it.

And I have now developed a very strong attachment to Ebbsfleet United. In fact, given a few more weeks, I may become a real fan.

Croydon nights

Many people think Croydon is a dump. And many bits are. Many also think that Croydon is dangerous. Again, they are not far wrong.

Fair enough, you will without fail see at least six fights, police vans line the streets, you have to go throug metal detectors to enter most of the clubs, and many of the other clubbers represent the crudest cross-section of society I have ever encountered (and I have a friend from Romford).

But there is something about Croydon that I am strangely attached to.

If you want a cheap, fun, cheesy night out, Croydon is probably your best bet. There are pubs where you can buy a round of five drinks, and still have change for a tenner (The Goose). There are clubs where you pay a whole £2 to get in. Mojama's is a good laugh. There is a Walkabout. And a very nice new cocktail bar (Svelte). And almost anywhere you can dance like a complete lunatic, and not get a single shocked/scared/disapproving look (the wiganer loves this).

And while many of the people you meet may have complete potty mouths, they are surprisngly friendly. One girl I met was more than happy to indulge in near acrobatic dance moves with despite not knowing her at all. Another didn't seem to mind at all when my wiganer accidentally spun into her. In fact, the opposite - she grabbed her hands and joined in.

Don't get me wrong, after long Croydon does start to drag, but go there once a month and I guarentee you will start to develop this strange love.

Old School Internet

My internet troubles have now come to resemble a saga of epic proportions. We now have a phone line (thank you Bt - we only had to wait a total of two months). And should finally have a wireless broadband package by december.

So, until then, I am stuck using this internet cafe.

And what a charcter building experience this is. The cafe is basically the front room of a guy's house. There are about 10 computeres in here. The newest, I would estimate, is about 20 years old. In fact these computers are so big, not one can have been made any earlier than the mid-80's.

Eacgh computer is precariously balanced on coffe tables. Most of these are missing at least one leg (some helpful bricks, and in one case a pile of mouldering newspapers is the replacement)and due to the vast size of the computer there is no room for either a mouse, or a keyboard.

So, the keyboard is balanced on my lap. The mouse is on the floor. Although I must be careful when reaching down for the mouse as my chair has three normal legs, and one, and no I am not joking, about a third shorter than the rest. It's a bit like being on a rocking chair. But less stable.

Today I have been lucky. As only two of the keyboards actullay have a full range of letters, often you have to wait for one to come free if you are indulging in activities such as writing a blog. Sometimes I've thought I can get away with it, but if the missing letters are "a" and "d" it really is impossible. There is one keyboard which is missing an "@" - fine, except for that all important internet acitivity of emailing (although, saying this, the internt here is so slow, that someytimes I wonder if it would perhaps be less stressful and more time efficient just to post a letter).

Periodically throughout my stay in here I am offered by the mute owner, "carribean coffee". As far as I can tell it is just two heaped teaspoons of kenko coffee and some hot water in a chipped mug. It's no tea at the Savoy.

ALl in all though, I shouldn't complain. Last time I was here I stayed for 2hrs, printed off about 20 pages, and was only charged £1.