Jackanory

Once upon a time, we had a kettle. And what a fine kettle it was! So shiny! So pleasingly round! Such a nice knobble on the top! So good at holding water and bringing it swiftly to the correct temperature! It looked like this:



One day, a friend came to stay, called Large Robert (he is very tall, and called Robert. Cunning, no?). Large Robert went to university with Mark, and my! The stories he tells! Large Robert is very entertaining. See Mark blush. Large Robert now lives in Canada, and when he came to stay with us he was very jet-lagged. Tired Robert!

The following morning, Mark and I trotted off to work. "Goodbye Robert!" we said. "Help yourself to anything you need!". Large Robert sleepily made his way to the kitchen, and spying our kettle thought he'd make himself a nice cup of tea. "I have the very same kettle at home!" thought Robert, "How comforting." So he put the kettle on to boil and looked forward to a lovely cup of Yorkshire's finest.

Silly Robert!

His kettle in Canada had one teeny-tiny difference. It went straight on the hob! It wasn't electric! Can you guess what happened next?

Oh dear. Large Robert put our electric kettle on the hob, lit the gas underneath it and fell straight over dead after inhaling toxic melting-plastic fumes.



Not really. He didn't die, but he was enormously embarrassed. Although he really shouldn't have been - I went straight out and bought a better kettle, and we all lived happily ever after.

Except for the old kettle, which was ceremonially buried under a full moon. It's what it would have wanted.

Work and Play. Mostly Play

SO! Exciting news, ya'll. I gots me a new job, back in children's reference, my spiritual home. No more karate books! No more powerboating! No more freaking caravanning, and best of all, no more stupendously tedious anatomy books. Oh no, it's dinosaurs, space and pirates all the way for ME. Plus, free canteen! Did you ever hear two more delicious words? Oh wait, I've got more: shorter commute! Hubba hubba.

Naturally, I have been working out my notice period with the dedication, organisation and professionalism I have become renowned for during my time with this company.

This, for instance, is me at my office Christmas party in December (right). A colleague and I got a teensy bit carried away while enjoying a little interpretive dance, but I think it went pretty well on the whole. Yes, sirree.



And this is me (centre) at the office summer party in Hyde Park last year, playfully competing with my colleagues in the sack race. In which, I would like to be clear, all accusations of cheating were both deeply hurtful and patently false.



So as you can imagine, the last couple of weeks have involved a careful tying up of loose ends, ensuring all my books are ready to hand over and generally being an efficient and productive team player. Oh, and this:

Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3

*Cue creaky door noises, hesitant footsteps, a feeble "hello?"*

Bonjour mes pretties! Methinks I have some work to do to win back my three and a half readers.

To recap, in the last five months (WHAAAAA?!) I have:

• Been chased by a monkey;

• Bought a car called Neville;

• Tried unsuccessfully to sell our flat;

• Avoided redundancy but seen my workoad triple;

• Become horribly addicted to Dexter;

• Eaten my own bodyweight in salt and vinegar peanuts;

• Bought a new lemon zester.

It's been all go, I tell you. Feet haven't touched the ground...

Great Expectations. Sadly Unrealised

Is it just me, or is it all getting a bit Miss Haversham around here? Time to dust off those cobwebs wiiiiiiiith... some honeymoon pictures!

Oh, whatever.

So we had a week in Rome and a week in Tuscany and it was totes blissful and shizz. I think. I can't really remember, but let's assume it was. It's probably for the best.

Our first morning in Rome, and it's like I've come home when we find a shop called Ginger Accessories. Accessories for gingers! I buy everything, just in case.



The Piazza del Popolo. Mark decides that these look like two giant boobies. I decide that Mark is a giant booby.



On our second night in the city, we eat at the most amazing restaurant – courtesy of Mark's brother, as his wedding present to us. Best. Present. Ever. We have never been anywhere this posh in our lives – there is a water menu for you to choose your bottled water, and the wine menu is 65 pages long. We choose the tasting menu and enjoy nine courses of utter deliciousness, resulting in the photo below, shortly after which we exploded. The waiter clearly knew this was not our normal haunt – the meal began with some delicious homemade bread and breadsticks, the latter being on the table and sort of posted through a big, inch-wide piece of what we now know was raw squid-ink pasta with sesame seeds stuck to it. Having eaten the yummy breadsticks, Mark picked up the piece of pasta and was wondering whether it, too, was edible. The waiter came over to refill our glasses and Mark asked him, "This table decoration..."

"No Sir," the waiter interrupted, with a kind of weary resignation.

"You can't eat it."

Well it was worth a try, right?



The Colosseum from the inside. Disappointingly, Russell Crowe wasn't working the day we went.



The Forum – essentially lots and lots of really, really old shizzle. I have an A Level in history, you know.



The Colosseum again, from the outside, and with an idiot standing in front of it. It had a habit of sneaking up on you round every corner (the Colosseum, not the idiot, although she did get around).



Look who it is! Russell Crowe, standing next to a souvenir stall! He was happy to pose for photos.



At the Trevi Fountain, one of the obligatory and very persistant flower sellers gave me three red roses – "No charge for the beyewdiful laydee, you a lucky man" [to Mark]. Then he said could he just have a little bit of money, to which we said er, no, so he took the flowers off me. Waahhhh!



Walking round the ginormous Vatican museum, we came across this statue. How nice! Nice statue! Tra-la-la!



Wait – hang on – what's that now? Let's go in for a close-up.



It's a scorpion! Chewing on the bull's balls! How delightful. And holy.

Also in the Vatican, the dopiest-looking leopard EVER. We called him Larry. Larry the Leopard. Larry is a little slow, so you'll have to forgive him. What's that you say Larry? Duuurrrrr? Come on lad, sharpen up.



And what Michael Bolton was doing there is anyone's guess. Perhaps the Pope is a fan.



Eeee, it's a bit fancy-pants, innit?



DUDE, check out those pantaloons! The Swiss Guards model some awesome threads.



Castel Sant' Angelo and GREY SKY, booooo.



Private Gingernut, reporting for duty.



Tuscany now, and one of them thar hilltop villages they're so fond of – Montepulciano in this case.



Tuscan rooftops, innit.



Rome was generally very hot and sunny, but our week in Tuscany was a smidgen more damp, made us feel right at home. Here, nothing daunted, Mark tries to keep the barbie going despite the drizzle. Because we are on HOLIDAY and we will have a BARBEQUE if it's the LAST THING WE DO.



That's just how we roll.

Yawn

OK, so I know you're, like, totally over the wedding stuff now. I know! So am I!

Unfortunately you'll just have to suffer a bit longer before I move on to honeymoon goodness, because I got the official photos back and I want to put some on here. Why? Because I am a photo whore. And also totally not over the whole wedding thing yet. I lied.

Indulge me, won'tcha?

Ta-dah! And it only took me four days to get ready.


At home, before leaving for the church.


Arriving at the church.


With me da.


Excitedly waiting.


This was the bit where they ask if anyone has any just cause or impediment. Just checking!


Ahhhhh...


Our readings were awesome. Khalil Gibran, Thomas Hardy and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.


Doin' the do.


Signing the register.


Mazzered!


Being pelted with confetti (no gentle throwing for us).


Driiiiiiiiiink!


The table decorations, including those slate name places that we scavenged for in the rainy dark back in December.


Caaaaaaake!


Psychopathic husbaaaaaaand!


Hoo yeah.


First dodge.


Parted from my beloved already.


As if we weren't enough of a target already.


Shocking behaviour on the dodgem rink, apparently.


Oh dear. I think I've had enough.


Honeymoon next, I PROMISE!

DING DONG, The Bells Are Going To Chime...

So I'm, like, totally married and everything. DING DONG.

Here's how it went down. Prepare for a looooot of pictures. I've tried to protect the guilty, so unfortch for you, it's nearly all about ME because I was a BRIDE and I DUG that shizzle.

For reals.

So, the morning of the big day went on forever while all the action was all over in a flash. I knew it would be like that, but still – Time, what the eff? How about slowing down a little over here? Anyway, it was all pretty calm and chilled in the morning, except for this one moment when I was doing my makeup (note to all brides: PAY FOR A MAKEUP PERSON. I put on makeup every day, pretty much, but it totally stressed me out having to do it for the biggest day of my little life). My mum kept trying to make me eat a sandwich, and I was all, I have to just do my makeup first, I can't stop halfway through an eye, and she was all, you need a sandwich, just stop and eat something, and I was all DUDE, PLEASE. Etc. Which isn't too bad really, as bridezilla moments go, but it was enough for my sister-in-law to slip discreetly from the room. Hee.

So let's cut to the action. Here I am waiting at the door of the church with my dad. The vicar was telling everyone about, er, something, and all the people near the door were craning round to look at me. I was so excited. I thought I'd be really nervous, but I just wanted the show to get started already.



I couldn't stop smiling as I was walking down the aisle, and kept seeing people I really wanted to stop and say hello to, only, er, it wasn't really the time or the place. When I got down to the front I realised I hadn't looked at Mark at ALL, despite having told him repeatedly that he HAD to turn round and look at me and not stare at the front like a man doomed. He was apparently looking at me the whole time. Oopsies.



The service was awesome – profound, moving, joyful, all that good stuff. I wish we could do it all again. Mark was incredibly relaxed and kept squeezing my hand and whispering to me. I thought he'd be like a man in front of a firing squad, so this was excellent news.



We're totally getting mazzered, ha ha!



While our mothers were witnessing the signing of the register, Mark leaned down to me and said "Smell my face".

"Er, excuse me?" said I.

"Smell my face," said he. Naturally, I obliged. He was wearing this aftershave balm that I love the scent of, you see, and normally when he properly wet shaves and uses this balm, I can't stop smelling his face. All totally normal, only we were in church. And getting married. And the vicar was a little perplexed. DIG THAT SHIZZLE!



We paused at the top of the steps so that peeps could take photos. It was totes like being a film star.



These kids just got married!



Awesomeness. And check out that sky. Not a cloud to be seen.









Then it was reception time. A stiff drink was the first order of the day.



This is what the marquee looked like before 110 people, enough meat to feed a small country and more booze than I have ever seen before in my life got involved.



It's all about the details. Here, Mark shows off the embroidery on the inside of his jacket. It reads 'U Can't Touch This'. I may have mentioned before that he has this... party piece... where he... dances.... to the MC Hammer song. I believe it was taped by someone, and I will post the video if I see it. In the meantime, you have to imagine someone rhythmically fitting. It is awesome.



He also had his lucky pants on, natch (underpants, that is, not trousers). The waistband reads 'Feeling Lucky'. What can I say? He's a classy guy...



Here are the bridesmaid's flowers – mine were similar but the bouquet was a bit bigger. They were gorgeous, and smelt devine. Vandella and blue pacific roses, lily of the valley, sweet peas, nerrines, freesia, nigela and jasmine.



C'est moi! This was during the speeches. If I'm looking a little peckish it's BECAUSE I WAS. That goddamned dress wouldn't allow me to eat anything without severe discomfort. Fortunately I was too hyped up to drink much, or the much-dreaded Drunken Bride might have made an appearance. The next morning, though, I was RAVENOUS and ate a full cooked breakfast – scrambled egg, bacon, mushrooms, sausage and tomato – plus four slices of toast and marmalade, two cups of tea and a glass of pineapple juice. If I could have eaten the plate as well, I totally would have.



I was really worried about the speeches, probably because they were the one thing completely and utterly out of my megalomaniacal iron fist of control. This was definitely a good thing. They were, all three, funny, touching, affectionate and lovely. Mark proposed a special toast just to me! He kissed me twice right in the middle! My dad made me cry! There was a photo of a highland cow! Maybe you had to be there. They were great.



After the speeches, we ate some cake. I can't find any pics of it – I haven't had the official photos back yet, these are just a selection of friends' photos – but here is a shot from t'internet. I was just as delicious as it looks, and we had it with strawberries, raspberries and cream. I managed to eat this, despite my evil dress. Dude, there's ALWAYS room for cake.



Then, it was dodgem time. HOO YEAH! We are both appalling dancers (see MC Hammer, above) so instead of a first dance, we had a first dodge. It was tres romantique.



The bumper cars were seriously the most awesome idea in the history of ideas. We had no children at our wedding (boo! hissss!) but the looks on people's faces was like having a whole nursery school of kids there. People were beaming. Plus, they had been set up in a car park that was through the gardens and across a lane, so there was effectively a three-hour break in the drinking. This was probably a very good thing (see mountain of alcohol, above).







The funniest sight was two of Mark's uncles, who literally would not be shifted all night. Everyone else was pretty good about taking turns, and there were about 15 cars so everyone got as many turns as they wanted pretty much, but these two uncles, one with an incredibly large, grey beard, just spent the entire evening going round like the clappers, enormous grins on their faces. They were loving it.



The new Mrs Gingernut takes the wheel.





After the dodgem fun, it was dancin' time. We're talking hardcore 80s cheese. Things may have got a little messier.



Um, yes, well...



Honestly, I wasn't drunk. Just merry.

Not long after this, our taxi arrived, and we hot-footed it to the four-poster room in a beautiful old coaching inn that I booked back in November. Only to discover that the room had accidentally been given to two of my relatives with the same last name who were also staying there. Waaahhhh! As Mark pointed out, though, if this was the only thing to go wrong all day, we had it pretty lucky.

And we did. It was awesome. I want to do it all over again.

Next post: humblymoon!

Aaaaand Relax.

It's been a whirlwind few weeks – suffice to say that I'm getting married on Saturday.

Married!

On Saturday!

And anyone who has ever organised one of these bad boys will know that, no matter how fanatically organised you are, things have a habit of popping up right when you'd like to start detaching from the whole process in order to actually enjoy the day. Things like, oh, I don't know, the marquee people phoning you at 10pm on Monday telling you that the generator you didn't realise you had to hire until a month ago is twice the amount you thought it was, due to the costs of the crane they require in order to deliver it.

Say WHAT?!

And when you ring the owners of the venue to stress that in future it might be useful for brides-to-be to know that they can't use power from the house from the start, so that they can factor those costs in, it doesn't help to be told that they're SURE they mentioned it, I must be mistaken, A-HAHAHAHAHAAAAA. Ha.

BUT, it is all sorted and tickety-boo and I am shortly leaving to catch a train back home and begin the relaxation process in earnest. I am ready.

Photos at some point, I promise, but probably only once I am back from the honeymoon. Honeymoon! Yay for the honeymoon.

Smooches!

Das Ist Gut, Ja?

Call off the search party! I have not been crawling my way out of a crevasse for the last two weeks, with nought but a pair of tweezers and a Cadbury's Curly Wurly for survival. Nor have I been digging myself out of an avalanche with a toothpick. I am just lazy.

BUT, I am here now, and I have photos. Oh God. The photos.

So a fantabulous week was had skiing. It looked a bit like this:



And also like this:



Purdy! I spent the first three days back in ski school with Paulo, an Italian ski instructor who did the necessary: improving my technique so that a kamikaze death-wish wasn't the only weapon in my skiing arsenal. Good times! On the final day we had an actual race like in the actual Olympics, only Paulo was a man of few words and didn't really tell us what was happening. He just beckoned me into a little hut (ooh-er) which turned out to be the top of the course, with a little gate you had to go through to start the clock. He asked me if I was ready ("Er... for what?") and pushed me off. Wheeee! I came second. Here I am on the podium (left) shortly before downing a shot of.... something alcoholic. It was about 10.30 in the morning. Austrians do things a little differently, I discovered. Awesome.



Later that day, after more shots, I climbed a snowy mound (ahem) and celebrated once more. I was very much onboard with how Austrians do things by that point. Perhaps a little too onboard.



Action shots!









Dude! Totally.

Of course, it wasn't all action. Sometimes it was extremely important to rest up, take it easy.



And sometimes it was very important to fall over. All part of the learning experience. This is one of my snowboarding friends, who executed a perfect face-flump into the powder. What? It's a recognised Olympic discipline, y'all.



So to summarise, there was a lot of snow, a lot of drinking, a LOT of silly giggling, and a blimmin' brilliant holiday. Oh, and a painful journey home, delayed by twelve hours. Question: you're stuck in Innsbruck airport for a long, loooooong time. There is one shop, and it sells very little bar some ornamental thimbles, 932 comedy yodelling marmots dressed in leiderhosen, and some dashing Tyrolean headwear. What do you do?



Ten out of ten if you guessed this, and setting off all the marmots before pegging it to the bar.