The H Factor

We’re All In This Together - Cast of High School Musical

I have decided that one day I will write a book entitled `From Aerobics to Zorbing: The  A-Z of Things That Are Ill-Advised When You Have A Giant Hangover’.  It will include such sage advice as “G is for Gym – attempting to sweat out the lager and Smirnoff Ice Turboshandies you drank last night is a foolhardy endeavour”.  I smell a bestseller.  Although it might be the lingering whiff of vomit, in fairness.

Until today, H has been for Housework, or Hospital Dramas, or possibly David Hasselhoff, but now I’ve had a re-think.

H, my friends, is for High School Musical.

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Break The Ice - Britney Spears, Blackout

On Sunday, it will be my daughter’s 9th birthday.   Gin and valium, anyone?  I’ve started early this year.

Last year, we had a baking party, and I can tell you now that if hell exists it will be paved with flapjacks and full of shrieking little girls. These days small girls are only allowed in my house two at a time, and even then they have to be accompanied by a responsible adult and a gagging order.  

This year, we are having an ice skating party at Bristol Ice Rink.  Hoorah!  I mean, what could possibly, possibly go wrong?

Any predictions?

I Love My Chick - Busta Rhymes ft. Kelis

Hard to say when I will ever find time to blog again, because I now have chickens, and they are extemely demanding of my time.  But hey, it’s another box ticked on the `how tiresomely middle class am I?’  form.  Only the urban 4×4 to go, and I’ll be able to claim my free Cath Kidston tea towel.

In the meantime, and to keep you amused until I have mastered the art of chicken husbandry, one of my blogs has been featured in a book, and if that’s not a good enough reason to buy it (pah), please do so because it’s all for the charity Warchild.   I think some bits are quite sad and moving, and other bits more funny (look, I haven’t read it yet - I’m busy with chickens, remember?), but there are some very good bloggers in there so it should be definitely worth a read.  

Back soon - Lola, and the other two (as yet unnamed, feel free to make suggestions) are calling me.  Coming, ladies!

Hx

** CHICKEN UPDATE ** -  We called the other two Henrietta and Myfanwy (the price you pay for marrying a Welshman), and on their third night Lola went missing, and we couldn’t find her and thought she had escaped, and I cried, and then in the morning she was there, pecking about without a care in the world.   Turned out she had been hiding in one of our shrubs and had laid an egg!!!  So in the space of 12 hours we lost a chicken, found one again and got our first egg.   Wa-hoo!

Another Planet - Pendulum, Hold your Colour

This week, I have mostly been:

• Enduring the annual living hell that is my daughter’s school musical (this year based on the fables of Rudyard Kipling;  who, it turns out, does not make exceedingly good showtunes)
• Being hypnotised on stage by Derren Brown.
• Sat on a sofa discussing the relative comedy merits of the word `cunt’ with Frank Skinner.
• Attending my local village fete.

But which to write about?  All these things genuinely happened (ask Gay Best Friend, he was there for three of them, although the lucky bastard entirely managed to avoid the dreadful school musical), but clearly I can’t write about them ALL.

I knew it.  You want to hear about the village fete, don’t you?  Oh, OK then.

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Mercy - Duffy, Rockferry

Doctor’s surgery, day:

Highly Regarded Oral Surgeon: “And so you’ll be glad to hear, H, that it was a very successful operation and the lump in your mouth was nothing to worry about.  Isn’t that good news, Mr H?”

Other Half: “Yes, very.  We were a bit worried.”

HROS: “Well, if I’m honest, so was I.  You’ll need some dental work to make sure the infection doesn’t come back, but it will be fine.”

Me: (calculating likely vast expense of this but staying calm) ”That’s very good news.  I take it the hole in the roof of my mouth will heal at some point?”

HROS: “Yes, it will take about a month, so you’ll need to keep an eye on it to make sure the infection doesn’t come back”.

OH (caringly): “Is there anything we can do to speed that up?”

HROS: “I would definitely recommend a daily salty mouthwash”

OH: “HA! Now that I can DEFINITELY help with. Hahahaha.  Hahahaha.  Hahahaaaaaa.”

Seriously. I despair.  I just do.

Can’t Speak French - Girls Aloud, Tangled Up

So of course last night was the musical mayhem of the Eurovision Song Contest, and my original plan was to write about it here, as I have done in previous years.  But then I got asked to write about it somewhere else instead, and it didn’t seem to make sense to write about it twice.   And frankly they were paying, so, you know.

So if you’d like to know what I thought about this year’s Belgrade shenanigans, take a wander over here.

Do enjoy your Bank Holiday weekend - I’m off to bake a cake and think about something else to write about here instead.  Suggestions are of course always welcome.

Hx

That’s not my name – the Ting Tings

A little bit of end-of-week amusement passed on by the lovely Anna – the game is to put “[your name] likes to” into Google and see what it comes up with.

So of course my name is Heidi.  I think most of you probably knew that, because some of you hang out in the other place where I write occasionally in my real name, and some of you have become lovely blogpals since I started this here blog, and some of you were friends/family beforehand.  But for any of you that didn’t know, Heidi is my name.  Hello.  I was born in Germany, and I’m guessing my parents thought it would be funny.

So, the results from the Google Jury:

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Incredible – Madonna, Hard Candy

General  Charles De Gaulle once said “You may be sure that the Americans will commit all the stupidities they can think of,  plus some that are beyond imagination”.   This alone provides justification for naming an airport after him, and almost makes up for the fact that he was French.  I said almost.

So today’s Reason I Will Never Move to America  - no. 304 of….oh, an infinite number, is the race to win the Democratic Presidential Nomination. Actually less of a race, more of a turgid three-legged egg and spoon with intermittent bitchslapping. 

But of course Obama must win and become president, because it has all been foretold in Series 7 of the West Wing.  It will all come down to Nevada, and then he will ask John McCain to be his Secretary of State.  Or the bloke who played Hawkeye in Mash.

Anyway, yesterday Hillary Clinton scored a landslide victory in West Virginia, with twice as many votes as Obama.

The reason, of course, is because the population of West Virginia is dominated by people who are older, low income and (with the exception of their shiny red necks) whiter than a jetwashed swan. 

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