Monthly Archives: October 2012

On pre-wedding dreams slash nightmares

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About 6 weeks ago I had my first wedding nightmare. It involved waking up on the day of the wedding and realising I’d forgotten to send out any invitations.

A few weeks ago, I had wedding dream number 2, again involving timing, though on this occasion everyone was there EXCEPT me, and I was running around central London dithering over whether or not it was too late to actually be worth turning up, then deciding yes, it was only about an hour after it was due to start, so I should take a crack at it, and then pelting through the traffic over Kingsway to pick up my dress from ‘home’ (which of course is not there), putting it on and then spending quite a lot of time applying a lot of kohl eyeliner for a sort of rock bride look, which in my dream I remember feeling quite pleased with.

Toenails courtesy of an interviewee in a hurry

This morning I find that even my bridesmaids are dreaming about it: MoH#J says “you were very tactfully asking if I’d thought about painting my toe nails and when we looked I’d painted one foot a rather grubby bluey brown but forgotten about the other one. We tried to match it with something you had! Your flowers were late, I had a rather crumpled pink suit on and everything was pretty random.” Worryingly, that’s not an entirely unlikely scenario, knowing both of us…

So this blog post is going to be a collection of subconcious wedding thoughts, updated on a rolling basis. It’ll be interesting to note whether it ever includes contributions from DH2B. The wedding is in his diary, but I can safely warrant that it’s not floating around his frontal cortex, whereas it’s permanently stamped through mine…

Dec 12 – MoH#J has her second dream: “Very vivid one just before waking up this morning…it was time for the rehearsal and we were in a very beautiful italian-style church, apparently buried in the middle of a city somewhere – lots of dramatic paintings on the wall, stone carvings, red aisle carpet.

You had the full gear on although the dress was a simpler version of the actual one and your hair was below shoulder length and platinum blonde – in fact you looked a lot like Sindy (!) [I love this!!! Ed.]. There was a gaggle of similarly platinum blonde friends who were like something out of a US teen movie and were making a huge fuss over who was wearing what item of antique jewellery which you had produced from your family collection.  Needless to say I was somewhat exasperated with all this, we were running out of time, indeed a bishop turned up in all his regalia for his rehearsal.  So I’m afraid I told you I had to go and (as before) you were the picture of patience and completely understanding [natch, Ed.].  I headed out into the city and found it to be very Hong Kong-esque.  I wasn’t sure where I was going and in walking realised I’d actually behaved very badly as Steph hadn’t been there and she would need me to tell her what was happening and anyway as bridesmaid I could have pulled rank on the other girls and actually maybe that’s what you needed me to do and I needed to go back and make things better but…I was lost in the city and there was no way I was going to find the church again.”

Jan 13. T-4mths, and counting. Now it’s hit the Year of the Wedding I’ve suddenly embarked on a frenzy of prep, almost with relief that I can finally get on with it. Anyway, last night I dreamed that we were having it in a big house on the outskirts of London. There was a lot of very true-to-life stressful argumentation with my mother in the build up, and then somehow we appeared to segue neatly into a post-ceremony moment when there was a bit of a lull and we were seeing some people off who had to go early. Ever the social creature, I tried to gee everyone up: Cakes! Dancing! Let’s get the music going! and moved off into a large, clear living room with a band and parquet floor. A couple of slightly unattractive MBA types in Black Tie asked me to dance and I was enjoying the attention, before thinking that perhaps I’d better have the first dance with my new husband. I turned to find DH2B, who was standing on the edge of the dance floor rather stubbornly, wearing casual trousers and a sweater [which is what his father has said he’s going to wear], with a corsage clumsily stuffed through his jumper. We were about to start dancing when one of the band members pulled back his hood, and revealed himself to be Jamie Cullum. There we go.

Apr13 4 weeks to go and the wedding dreams thankfully have died off, mostly because my days are turning into one big wedding nightmare. I did dream once that we were about to start the wedding only to remember that we hadn’t seen the registrar in advance. So we had to persuade her that we’d go through the ceremony as a formality, and promise that we’d beetle down to her office the next day to get the legals done. Random other dreams have tended to involve not having enough time to do my make up – a situation that might still arise as I’ve got to go driving around on the M4 on the wedding day to have my hair done. I’m pleased to report that Best Woman #2 has also been dreaming (about forgetting her shoes) and even DH2B has had a nightmare – bizarrely on the same topic. I think he’d remembered his suit but only at the last minute realised he didn’t have any footwear. Interesting that all these anxieties are about forgetting… despite the endless number of lists we have lying around in paper and electronic form. The trouble with dreams is that you wake up after this stressful wedding event in your subconscious only to think ‘oh well at least it’s over now’ to suddenly realise IT’S NOT, WE STILL HAVE TO GO THROUGH IT.

Dear god!

On why you should not wear clog boots to Waitrose if you’re in a hurry

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I have a gorgeous pair of clog boots.

I bought them from Plumo last year. As with most clothes purchases, there was a web of reasoning around The Purchase:

  • They were on sale, reduced from three figures to two. Always an incentive.
  • I love clogs, after being the only person in Denmark under the age of 55 to wear them through the spring of 1993, while loafing around Københavns Universitet reading Livy and enjoying fun days including ‘let’s see if we can have a day where every meal consists of chocolate’ (we did – AND WE WEREN’T SICK!)).
  • I wanted some shoes/boots I could pull on and off very easily as I trotted in and out of the house a thousand times a day putting children in the car/putting out bins/trying to stop DS2 from escaping down the road.

In general, they have been extremely succesful; they get lots of nice comments from other girlfriends (to DH’s bemusement (he probably preferring a boots concept involving thigh-high patent leather)), and they are super-comfortable, as long as you’re wearing thick socks.

But

They do NOT work if you’re trying to push a shouting toddler in a trolley round Waitrose in record time while the rest of the family wait in the car.

I discovered at the weekend that if you try to take a corner of a supermarket aisle at any speed with them, then the boot remains gripped to the floor, while your foot pivots IN THE BOOT. As a consequence, your body rotates and lurches after the trolley (which has momentum), but your foot remains trapped in the clog’s position. So as the trolley pulls you in an arc round the end of the aisle, you fall after it, tripping over your boots, which have taken on a will of their own. As we had to do a full shop, which involved going up and down almost every aisle, this was quite a traumatic experience, both for me, and for random others, such as the girl behind the deli meat counter who saw the trolley go left but me seem to hurtle straight towards her with a look of alarm on my face, and DS2 yelling (happily) HA HA HAAAAA.

AND the repeated friction has worn holes in the soles of my socks.

So there we are. Either take it slowly, or wear close-fitting sneakers. And to Waitrose and its shoppers, I apologise.

It was the boots.

 

 

The 5:2 intermittent fasting diet: 3 weeks in

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So I am writing this EXTREMELY hungrily and grumpily, on the second fasting day of this week, having had today:

  • 1 choc hobnob at about 11
  • soup + sandwich at lunch
  • 1 choc hobnob at about 4.

I forgot to take my multivitamin pill at lunch, the aim of which is to supplement the hobnobs, but I don’t think that would have made any difference to my mental state this evening. I know that using up about 30% of my calorie intake on chocolate biscuits is not ideal, but, hey, I’ve been in charge of 2 children under 4 (plus a sick DH lolling around the house), and it’s been pouring with rain, and tempers have been strained…

How’s it gone so far? Well on days like today I would chew off my right arm for a nutritious meal, plus chocolate, but I know it’s almost bedtime I and should just be able to stagger through until tomorrow morning as long as I’m horizontal and asleep. In weight-loss terms, it made a bit of a difference at the start, and slowly my average weight is still edging down. My hip/waist size shrunk a bit at the start, though still not enough to get me into the W-dress (which I’ve now bought!! da-daaa!! (another story)), but I’m going to start running and hula-hooping again and see if that makes a difference. Chart inserted..

Observations so far:

  • Mondays and Thursdays seem the best fast days; I couldn’t do anything with just 1 day’s break in between.
  • On non-fast days I’m finding myself a bit disappointed with the quality of food I’m shoving down. There’s a bit of a crisp craving that goes on, and then I think hoorah I can eat my weight in chocolate, and then I just feel a bit oily and have a Benecol. I’m going to try to ensure I eat some quality savoury stuff, and my meals are interesting.
  • I cannot see myself sticking to a 600 calorie limit, as inputted on my iPhone, twice a week for the rest of my life… I would like to be free to finish the children’s jambalaya at 5.30pm, if I’m hungry, and they don’t want it. But I can see that days when maybe breakfast is late, or dinner’s skipped, would be fine, without any raging cataclysm occurring.
  • It is HARD to fast when you’re at home, cooking and feeding children, and everyone’s getting cross. DH has a much easier time in the office, he says, as long as he keeps himself busy over lunch. This blog post was interrupted by a phonecall on a work matter, and suddenly my spirit improved (shows how bad today was, when talking about data analytics is a cheer-up), and 50mins had gone by without me uttering any sarcastic comments to DH or skulking around the kitchen picking up crumbs with my finger tip (“it’s so microscopic it can’t possibly have any calories”.)

So there we go. On to the next 3 weeks. Just hope my DNA is doing some good bloomin’ regeneration work.

Oh, another plus point – not eating in the evening does free up an enormous amount of time, and saves on washing up. Extraordinary!