My name is...Vin Diesel

Thanks to catching the dreaded lurgee off Mark, I sound like a cross between Vin Diesel and a highly emotional and distraught young male teenager whose voice is busy breaking. Oh, and I've been coughing my lungs up, too - so I have six pack in my stomache because of all the muscles contracting each time I cough like a loon.

Go team DJ!

Amy Macdonald

FG heard this young lady first being played on Virgin and XFM. I didn't pay much attention as our tastes are diverging quite a lot, but this evening I heard her most recent song - don't ask me what it was called, as I only heard her name on the radio - and I must say, I quite like her music. She has a lovely, unique voice. I was hoping to go out this weekend and buy a copy of the cd but lo and behold - only due out in Summer, June or July I think.

Rubbish. By then I would have forgotten about her! Gorram it.

Proud Owners of....

These to be delivered on Thursday to FG and myself, at work respectively.

Elated. Excited. Enthralled. All the E's.

Cheap ass, affordable and relatively close places to go to for an overnight adventure would be appreciated.

All ideas by email or comments below.

And no, Ireland doesn't count, nor does the Isle of Wight.

Smirk.

Early morning walks

...are fantastic!

Sparrow and I saw FG and his cough off to a grading session in Crawley this morning very early - a sin!! - this lovely Sunday morning.

I slapped on some sun cream, dragged on ratty jeans, sandals and set off with the Mutley to our local country park, fully expecting to have it for ourselves. Hah. We were surrounded by blue bells, insane birds and flying things that seemed to have it in for the little dog. And naturally there were other people walking their dogs. I peered at my mobile phone. Yes, that's right, it is just after nine and loads of people are out. Damn.

But, even so, the park was glorious and cool, warming up in the strengthening sun. We walked for over an hour and made our way back home where Sparrow decided to crash on the windowsill, like Amsterdam Puppy, displaying his fat little speckled belly to all the world in the hot sun. I am in the dining room, watching the sun creeping across the back garden - once its reached the cement, I will be dragging out a blankie, some cushions, diet coke, popcorn and a book or two to laze about.

Ah. This is the life.

All hail the god of chocolate

I got to leave work early on Thursday because of yet another internal office move. So I got home just after two and walked right into a scene from any Guy Ritchie movie. Lots of scary looking men in cheap black suits lurked outside our house. Some were smoking in that really "I'm so tough I can break bricks with my dick" way that some men have about them, others sat around drinking Stella out of plastic cups. I nodded to my neighbour Mick where he sat in his usual filthy trackie pants and fag hanging out of his mouth. Many of the Scary Men in Black were speaking to him. They eyed me in sullen silence and I felt exceedingly endangered. I locked myself in the house. Then decided that I was being a silly white girl and jumped up on the couches to open the windows onto the street as it was a glorious day.

I popped back out again to go buy bread so I could have toastie sarnies for lunch, got back, fed the pup some crusts, changed and looked out the window and went ice cold. A bloody great hearse was parked outside our front door. There was crying and wailing. It was a scene from a Danny Doyle/Guy Ritchie movie. The hard men in black were standing about getting instructions from the tiny hearse driver, they were nodding. My scruffy neighbour was wearing his Moss Bros hired suit looking very uncomfortable. I retreated and turned the radio off as suddenly it was playing every sad song you could imagine - and I had turned it on loudly to stop the noise of the baby shrieking next door...I didn't think they would appreciate the "Long and winding road" being belted out at that minute.

They all bundled into large black cars, and went off to the funeral. I felt somewhat safer. I didn't hear them come back at all.

Spoke to the Fat Gecko during the cours eof the afternoon and it turned out that his sniffles had turned into a full blown cold. Not even man-flu, I would like to add, but a genuine ague complete with sweats, palpatations and wotnot. In time for the long weekend. Grand.

Clearly someone had thought it a good idea to wipe him out. Too many late nights and not enough sleep and Vitamin C.

So, the weekend where we thankfully had no one turning up for a cooked lunch had turned into an exceedingly restful and self indulgent one. Sleeping, taking loads of flu tablets for the boy, that is, not me, btw. Reading, watching DVD's, sleeping some more. Driving exceedingly slowly into town for a walk around and to drop off excess books at the charity shops - I also volunteered at one, go generous me (this is naturally just to syphon off the really cool books, grin) so will send my application in this week. And today, we had lunch at the pub, proper pub roasts which wasn't too bad, I might add. Go The Olde George Pub!

And that's been it. And of course, there are lovely chocolate bunny things to have later on, if either of us could be bothered, mine from Montezumas and his from Charbonnel et Walker on Bond Street.

Oh, and I found out whose funeral it was: my neighbour Mick's partner's dad.