My Uncle Michael

Back home. Dem'shire spek.



Pangs of homesickness!

Plunge? No Thank You, I Prefer The Balcony!

So I'm supposed to jump out of a perfectly good plane at 14,000 feet?

Why? It's not going to crash is it?

The only down side of this plane is that it's slightly dry.

NO GIN. NO CHENIN BLANC.

....Well of course I shan't jump.

Ridiculous really. You can't jump unless you have a little jumping juice in your tummy?!


Expecting my face to look like.....


When really it's like....

Case closed!

The Story Of Uncle Len

About five years ago when Dave and I were living in deepest darkest 'king Aberdeen we were chatting wistfully about puppies one night.



Dave: I've always wanted a dog.

Me: What would you call it?

Dave (without hesitation): Uncle Len.

Me: .....?



We were pissed (obviously) and so we promised each other that one day we would have a dog and name it Uncle Len.

So that's how this weekend we found ourselves the proud owners of Uncle Len....






...and then five minutes later we came to our senses and realised that she was far too beautiful (with not a comb over in sight unlike her namesake) and so had to spend a frantic weekend thinking of girls names.


Everyone, please say hello to Poppy.




You didn't really think we'd call her Uncle Len did you?

Thirty One Celebrations

My birthday.

It started well. Fresh faced and sober....



but it led to this.....


this...



this....




this.....


and finally to this?


Surely they will never allow me to sit the 'grown up exam' at this rate?

Sneaky Celebrations

Natalie on Friday, 24th August. Too much blood in her alcohol stream to do a jot of work!

So as this Friday 24th August approaches I just wanted everyone to know that I am in fact not wanting everyone to know that it's my 31st birthday.

I like keeping a low profile for these things don't you know.

However, if, perchance you find out that it is indeed my 31st birthday on this coming Friday the 24th August, I will (reluctantly) allow you to leave notes of adoration and birthday wishes here!

....but sshh. I don't want the whole world to know!

The Flaming Turd

The scene: It's nine thirty on a Saturday night. Dave and I are watching telly and consuming copious amounts of vino. The doorbell rings.

As we open the door we are faced with a paper bag burning with vigour. The thing to do would be to stamp on it and put the flames out.

We're too pissed to care and so watch it, fascinated, as the flames die down.

The flaming turd trick completely wasted on us.

I like to think that the little buggers were watching and were suitably disappointed!

The Slow Drag

me this week....

I'm not freakishly tall by any means. I think 5'8" is ok for a woman. I mean, of course I still get a little self conscious when I'm out in heels (taking me to well over 6') and all of my friends appear thousands of feet below the cloud line! I do seem to stoop a bit more but that's only because I can't possibly hear the conversation from my lofty position. I remain grateful that I can claw my way to the front of the crowd at a gig and be able to mosh in the front few lines without missing any of the hot band action.

This week though, I have had to re-assess my situation and have wished for the first time that I was just a little smaller....maybe 8 inches or so!

Swing dancing is to blame.

I had attended another class with a genius named Shane (my inappropriate crush for the winter, resplendent with tattoos and wearing trousers befitting any grandfather! Swoon.... but I digress) and we were to learn the slow drag. This is a swing dance for those times when the music slows and you're trying to woo the lady of your dreams. The man approaches, takes your hand and then thrusts his body into yours achieving contact from the chesticles to the hips. From there he swings you round and you endeavour to look a little like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing but with the man less shining torso a la Patrick Swayze-the delish and more flannelette shirt a la Doug-the idiot.

Here within, the problem lies.

What happens when a perfectly skilled Asian of less than average stature tries to swing you into one of these slow swing moves?

The old joke of the Doctor examining a woman's breasts, comes to mind.

"Madam, before I examine your breasts I shall have to numb the area...

....numb numb numb numb, num... yum..."