Sunday, May 30, 2010

Party Jug Sundays

Today we revived an old tradition - one which began back in the days of flatshares and messy weekends.

Like all the best things, Party Jug Sunday was born out of necessity. Now we clear out our closets, back then we used to clear out our drinks cupboards, getting rid of old/random/disgusting booze in order to make room for more. Even the cheapest, nastiest sambucca or holiday banana liqueur could be rendered acceptable with the help of a bit of fruit juice and a straw, we discovered.

So we took it in turns to create ever more potent cocktails served in pink and blue plastic picnic jugs on the balcony... and Party Jug Sunday had arrived.

My best friend decided today that it was time to dust down the jugs one more time, after a break of about seven years. It's a sign of the times that, of the original party jug crowd, 2 of us are married, one is pregnant and only one still smokes (I still rue the day I gave up. A necessary evil, but a truly annoying one). Everybody avoided the Absinthe and one of the most popular ingredients was ginger ale.

Not entirely sure our twentysomething selves would have approved of any of it but it was lovely to float home on a cocktail fuelled high still sniggering over jokes about farts. Okay, some things never change.

Monday, May 10, 2010


The UK election has turned into an interminably relentless edition of The X Factor. Can somebody please just make a decision?

Such an anti-climax to what was orginally a genuinely exciting occasion. Like hosting a brilliant party only to find, 4 days later, that your guests are still there... and starting to smell.

I'm almost beyond caring - although it is a bit sneaky that all those people who voted Lib Dem may have actually been voting Tory by stealth, if the two parties do decide to team up.

It's quite odd, having nobody in charge. I remember being mildly alarmed when that chap who was supposed to be running the country was busy playing croquet at some rural mansion instead. But perhaps on a day-to-day basis, there's not that much to do, once you've checked your email and shouted at a few people.

I am also waiting on a result a bit closer to home that's a bit of a life-changer. Not the wee-on-a-stick result (I have so many pregnant friends at the moment. It is starting to have a serious impact on my opportunities to drink wine), but news on whether I'll be leaving London.

If my new rural life gets the go-ahead I might need a new blog. There'll be no more impromptu visits to Jimmy Choo and pornstar martinis after work - i'll be racing home to feed the chickens and do long coastal walks in floating maxi dresses and designer wellies. You can take the girl out of the city... but the city doesn't leave the girl so easily.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Bridal bitchery

If I'd known then what I know now I would not have had any married guests at my wedding. Because once you've done it yourself, you can't help but float through the day mentally making comparisons, and whichever way it goes you end up hating yourself. Either because you wish you'd done your own wedding their way, or because you're feeling sickeningly superior that you had a prettier cake.

The Boy and I were at a wedding do yesterday. The bride looked stunning in a satin gown with a white fur stole (I wish i hadn't worn a veil, said my inner monologue). The first reading was a sonnet which the reader had learned by heart (shit, ours had scripts. But fuck, who has a sonnet on the tip of their tongue in case the occasion arises?).

There were no discernible bridesmaids (I had two. Not that this is a popularity contest. ahem) and apart from the bridal bouquet, no flowers or decorations. The champagne flowed extremely freely (we didn't supply enough at ours)... and there was no cake (our cupcakes went down a treat).

The weirdest thing of all was the lack of after-dinner party. There was no band, no DJ, no dancing. Ergo, no first dance, no bouquet throwing, no embarrassing manoeuvres. I'm not religious but I clearly am quite traditional because I was completely thrown by that. So, in the interests of normality, at the end we jumped in a cab to the Dirty Karaoke bar. I sang Big Spender twice, and all was right with the world once more.