Mini break

I’m confused. It’s not difficult I know but even so. The purpose of my weekend away with my lovely husband is as part of my birthday treat so I’ve packed accordingly. Comfy shoes for sightseeing and shopping, a good book, comfy jim-jams, a collection of lotions and potions for the luxury bathroom (as if the freebies won’t be enough) and casual clothes.

Bea is scandalised at this flagrant lack of class. “Darling, you should be packing for champagne at the American Bar, for dinner a deux, for exiting limos elegantly, for sheer glamour. You never know who you might bump into in the lift!”

Janey, currently undergoing a renaissance in her marriage – “I’ve got Darren to admit that he quite likes my stretch marks” – instructed me to pack for my inner sex kitten. I grumpily pointed out that I’d have to find her first. “Body chocolate and silk scarves are the way to go” she added.

Marjorie was shocked when I told her that we hadn’t planned anything special. “What? No role playing?” she screeched at me over the garden wall as she repotted her petunias. “Imagine it, you could pretend you don’t know each other and “meet” in the bar and let nature take its course” she said dreamily, tipping the best that John Innes had to offer all over her flagstones. “I remember our last hotel stay – Frank picked me up in the sauna, it was the best sex we’d ever had.”

Lydia, arriving at ten past eleven to receive the list of instructions for their dog sitting weekend, suggested that I just be myself and re-connect with David. She’s going all Earth Mother having signed up for Birth Classes at the Institute. “Just BE, the two of you as one.” She said as she read the five page document I’d prepared for her.

Mac is remarkably cool about the fact that he won’t see mummy or daddy until Sunday evening – he went off to nursery this morning with a spring in his step. I told his teacher that he will be collected this afternoon by Remarkably Skinny Now Au Pair. “You can’t miss her” I said “she’ll be drenched in perfume and fake tan”.

Remarkably Skinny Now Au Pair was equally flippant when I dropped off Mac’s bag. “She out” she said when she saw me on the marble doorstep, no doubt thinking I was here to see my sister. Once I’d reminded her (twice) that she was responsible for picking up my pride and joy from nursery at 3pm she smiled engagingly and invited me in for “some ‘erbal tea no?”. Bea has observed that it’s like having a completely new au pair: “She doesn’t eat to excess and I no longer have to step over empty KFC boxes in the utility room”

David is on the phone to Matt warning him against any “buggering about” and “if Granny arrives on a whim tomorrow, don’t you dare tell her where we are”. He’s packed – his one bag dwarfed by my two – and has booked the cab for 12noon. Lydia is bonding with Junior Dog who is looking worriedly in my direction as if he knows he’s going to be abandoned for the weekend. It seems my hounds are going to be more concerned about my lack of presence than my son.

Still, David has got a familiar gleam in his eye and I’m getting quite excited about room service…

Oh. Dear. Me

Big Brother 9. Initial reaction? Want to hug two of them, slap three of them, gag one of them and mother the hunky one.

I shouldn't have started watching it......

Reality? Check!

Well! I have a mixed bag of comments with regard to my previous post in which I asked You to decide if I watch BB9 this year. Sharon wasn’t really much help to be honest because she just echoed my own thoughts on the subject, Working Mum warned me about getting sucked into the twilight zone, Millennium Housewife suggested that I watch it and report back (so, when you think about it, it’s a truly selfless act if I do watch it), Kelly (I think) is a very definite “no” whilst Aims asked me if I wanted my brain to melt. Too late there I’m afraid, that went during the whole “Jordan and Peter Andre” debacle of I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.

It’s true, I’m a sucker for reality television. Well, any television really. No, that’s not true. I don’t watch for the sake of watching and only spontaneously combust if I miss/fail to record about six programmes. I can take it or leave it. On the reality front it’s mainly Big Brother (Celebrity or otherwise) and the aforementioned IACGMOOH. I have no truck with any programme that involves Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber looking mock-terrifying on a throne and Denise Van Outen. Sir Alan Sugar’s Apprentice makes my teeth itch, Castaway makes me yearn to find a desert island of my own and, as for Celebrity Love Island or any programme that involves watching nubile young ladies and permatanned young men cavort round a beach has me reaching for the off button.

I have a theory. And I’m not justifying the fact that in a few hours I shall be watching the housemates arrive amidst flashing camera bulbs BUT……it’s a form of People Watching isn’t it? And I’m a great People Watcher. Some people (David, Lydia and Charlie) call it being nosy. But it’s not – it’s human nature. And it’s human nature to want to watch human nature if that makes any sense. Why do you think that all the body language experts and psycho-analysts line up to appear on the spin off BB shows? Not that I watched them, that’s taking it all too far, even for me. Apart from the fact that they were earning out of it, naturally. It’s because we’re so fascinated in why people do what they do. Whoever knew that raising your left arm six inches up and a little to the left when faced with the object of your desires meant that you were actually revealing your entire personality. Or something like that anyway. Saskia recently attended a Body Language course for work. It was terrible, she reported on her return – she’d upset three people in the space of ten minutes because of the way she held her body whilst talking to them. “By the time the course had finished, none of us were talking to each other”

I was fascinated by the whole Big Brother 8 Chiggy escapade purely because she was an apprentice bunny boiler and he was a failed pop star who loved himself. Charley was compulsive viewing as the South London It Girl from Lewisham. Bea was horrified at this and very nearly moved her entire family to the country – she spent weeks telling people that “Dulwich is not really anywhere near Lewisham”. I’ve had my favourite contestants in all of the BB’s – the only year that failed to capture my imagination was the 2003 one. Cameron Who?

I’ll tell you what you won’t find me doing though: confusing television with reality. Did you hear about the woman who sent a wreath for Vera Duckworth’s funeral? How worrying is that? I know that when I’m watching Stenders or Holby or whatever that they are actors playing a part. It’s not real. None of it. The fabulous Amanda Mealing who plays Connie Beauchamp would probably recoil at the sight of real blood but thinks nothing of plunging her arm into chest cavities on a regular basis. Pat Butcher in Stenders may be a bleached blonde harridan with gigantic earrings and a penchant for leopardskin PVC coats but I happen to know that, in reality, she is quietly and well spoken and favours clothing that don’t require a wipe down with a damp cloth.

I love Teletext and Ceefax. I flick through the pages checking my horoscopes, the news pages, football and the Soap Updates. Just for a laugh. Anxious people like “Dave, Bridport” or “Cath, Essex” regularly write in to express their concerns about the inhabitants of Albert Square or Coronation Street with gems such as “I agree with you Bev, Ken and Deirdre have got lots of money and yes, Blanche does own a house on the street so I don’t know why they’re telling everyone they have no money!!!!!” or “Tanya is heading for a fall with that Jack! Ange from Derby”. It makes you wonder doesn’t it? About whether reality, for some people anyway, has been suspended.

Go on. I dare you. ITV Teletext. Pages 116 and 117 and I think 118. It’s a whole other world

Big Brother 9

Should I watch? Or not? You decide!

Postscript to last post

Hm. Maybe I have got an issue with him carving people up and putting them in a meat and potatoe pie. If not that, then certainly the fact that he consorted with a pox ridden pie shoppe owner!

Now, where's my DVD of Henry VIII.......?

Lord Ray of Winstone

I salute you. He can strut around in doublet and hose shouting at ladies in crinoline. He can carve people up and put them in a meat n potatoe pie. He can stare moodily as he walks through London's mean streets. He can even munch on that bloody cereal. Whatever he does, he does it with style and..........sigh.......he's lovely.

BBC2, 9pm, tonight. Have got a steaming cup of coffee, a bag of Minstrels and I'm ready.

My birthday

Is it wrong for a 36 year old woman (as at 9.15pm this evening) to get almost hysterical at the thought of a birthday gathering? Not hysterical as in "needs a good slap" but hysterical with excitement at the prospect of birthday cake and opening a multitude of cards? David thinks it's endearing, Mac finds the whole thing highly embarrassing. He's approaching that age where a goodbye kiss from me at nursery is enough to make him run screaming into the playground. Never mind, I enjoyed myself immensely. I wasn't sick, nor did I have a tantrum, but I did eat jelly and ice-cream with gusto and Charlie who was responsible for providing the confections.

I got lots of nice cards with lovely things written on and in them and a fair few long sought after, fantastic, original, amazing, thoughtful presents. David's present was one of the best however and required the support of my wonderful sister and stepson and close friend. "It's all arranged" David had said as I clutched onto the envelope and gaped. "Mac's staying at Bea's from nursery on Friday until Sunday evening and Matt and Lydia will be staying here with the dogs while you lap up luxury." I glanced at my mother in law who had a face like a bulldog sucking a wasp because she wasn't part of Team Give Joanna a Nice Weekend Away. She was also in a foul mood over the whole Lydia Pregnancy Situation but that's another story. Mac made much of the fact that he'd "given mummy lots of money to buy new clothes" and brushed his father's assistance with this under the carpet. "I went into the shop with you daddy to buy the vachers!" he insisted with a pout that he's inherited from me. "But why aren't you happy I'm going to be a nuncle Granny?" was his other outstanding contribution to the evening.

"Aaannnnddd....." David said in a teasing fashion as he pretended to stagger into the room under the weight of the cake and the 36 candles that my Auntie Ivy had made, "....I'm even missing the opening games of Euro 2008 just for you!"

This led to a fifteen minute debate by the boys in the room - David, Dad, Stephen, Matt, Jack Next Door, Darren, Uncle Jim, Frank, James the Gorgeous Cardiothoracic Surgeon With Audi and No Wedding Ring who came with Charlie and Simon - about how terrible and awful and shameful that England wasn't in the tournament. This set the girls in the room - me, Bea, Lydia, Janey, Auntie Ivy, Marjorie, Charlie, Eliza and Saskia - off into discussions about just who is the sexiest footballer in the tournament, y'know, in the absence of Mr Beckham. Amelia pursed her lips and tutted us all loudly, her daughter especially. Ginny ignored her.

"Why don't we have a stakesweep?" Darren suggested. "Or a sweepstake" Simon pointed out. This was greeted with even more enthusiasm than the vol-au-vents that Marjorie provided.

There was then a burst of activity as David searched for pen, paper and a big box. Followed by an even longer burst of brain activity as we all attempted to work out how many teams were in the competition in relation to the amount of people in the room. As you can imagine, five bottles of champagne down, this took a while. "Sixteen!" Saskia announced as she peered at the computer screen after finding this site. She was the only one on the Schloer because she was due on duty at 9pm. "So, we all pick a team out of the hat, stick two quid in the pot - to make it worthwhile - and the winner takes all!" Simon said as he shook the box to shuffle the teams.

"And if you don't want to do it?" Amelia asked as she stacked up the cake plates. "Oh come on mother, don't be a stuffed shirt!" Ginny was rummaging in her pockets "If you win you can donate the lot to charity". "And if you don't know the first thing about football? Other than the majority of footballers are uncouth yobs who think spitting should be an Olympic sport?" Bea enquired, despite clutching a two pound coin in the hand that wasn't holding a glass of champers.

Because there was more of us than there are teams, David drew Spain on behalf of Mac and Janey chose Poland for Scarlett. Bea got highly excited that she had drawn Italy and started talking earnestly about Milan "for shopping darling". Lydia selected Greece for The Bump which made Amelia's lips disappear disapprovingly. Needless to say, the killjoy that is my mother in law declared the whole thing "ludicrous" and proceeded out to the kitchen to "make a start on this mountain of washing up".

All in all, an enjoyable day. I'm currently sitting in bed, typing this on David's laptop with yet another glass of champagne on the bedside table. My wonderful husband is splashing around in the bath having promised me a "preview" of next weekend. "You do know that England are playing tonight don't you?" I queried as I flicked through the Sky TV guide earlier. "S'alright darling" he said as he headed bathwards, towel draped provocatively around his waist "We can have it on in the background".