Happy Bloody Christmas!

I've got a cold. A 'Woman Cold'. It's like 'Man Flu'. But it means I still get to cook and clean. I get it every year. For Christmas. Still it makes a change from scented shower gel.

Can someone pass that trumpet? I'm going to blow it for a while. Hell why not? It's the festive season and we all like to blow something once a year. I just want to say, despite this temperature, this hacking cough, this permanent running nose, I successfully managed to entertain 30 guests on Christmas Eve and cook dinner for 7 on Christmas Day. Ok, I had a little help here and there but being a kitchen control freak, it's often better for any willing helpers to steer clear. It's a dangerous combination - me, 'woman cold' and a boiling hot bucket of mulled wine!

And you know what? It was a roaring success. Even though I say so myself. Just a trumpet? Hey, pass me the tuba!! No one died of food poisoning. Nothing ran out. Nobody argued. Ok, one of the ageds knocked a bottle of red wine on the white table cloth, but that's an annual event not to be missed. And it means I get to put the washing machine on on Christmas Day!

So it's now the 30th. And I confess my sum total of doing anything since then has been a disappointing zero. All my plans to clean out that cupboard and empty those boxes have been scuppered by a few good films on tv, a tin of Quality Street and feeling like the walking dead. Still I feel I'm entitled to it. I did all the Christmas shopping, made pickles and chutneys and a Christmas pudding. Just call me Nigella!

OK, you can have the tuba back. Blowing it is hurting my weakened chest. I'm heading back to the sofa. You all know where the left-overs are if you're hungry. I shall be sat here for the foreseeable, desperately trying to remember when I last had a shower. Maybe if I'd got some scented shower gel for Christmas, it might have reminded me.

Happy New Year, friends.

Happy Bloody Christmas!

I've got a cold. A 'Woman Cold'. It's like 'Man Flu'. But it means I still get to cook and clean. I get it every year. For Christmas. Still it makes a change from scented shower gel.

Can someone pass that trumpet? I'm going to blow it for a while. Hell why not? It's the festive season and we all like to blow something once a year. I just want to say, despite this temperature, this hacking cough, this permanent running nose, I successfully managed to entertain 30 guests on Christmas Eve and cook dinner for 7 on Christmas Day. Ok, I had a little help here and there but being a kitchen control freak, it's often better for any willing helpers to steer clear. It's a dangerous combination - me, 'woman cold' and a boiling hot bucket of mulled wine!

And you know what? It was a roaring success. Even though I say so myself. Just a trumpet? Hey, pass me the tuba!! No one died of food poisoning. Nothing ran out. Nobody argued. Ok, one of the ageds knocked a bottle of red wine on the white table cloth, but that's an annual event not to be missed. And it means I get to put the washing machine on on Christmas Day!

So it's now the 30th. And I confess my sum total of doing anything since then has been a disappointing zero. All my plans to clean out that cupboard and empty those boxes have been scuppered by a few good films on tv, a tin of Quality Street and feeling like the walking dead. Still I feel I'm entitled to it. I did all the Christmas shopping, made pickles and chutneys and a Christmas pudding. Just call me Nigella!

OK, you can have the tuba back. Blowing it is hurting my weakened chest. I'm heading back to the sofa. You all know where the left-overs are if you're hungry. I shall be sat here for the foreseeable, desperately trying to remember when I last had a shower. Maybe if I'd got some scented shower gel for Christmas, it might have reminded me.

Happy New Year, friends.

A Life Without Apps

It's a horrible noise, isn't it. You know, the noise of your iPhone hitting the bottom of the toilet. And it's an ugly picture too. isn't it. That one of you watching it tumble out of your pocket and straight down the pan knowing there's absolutely nothing you can do but watch it sink. And being an iPhone, knowing damn well that's the end of it's life.

You'd have thought it was the end of mine too. I was panic stricken. Short of breath. Feeling dizzy. I grabbed it as quick as I could but no amount of falling to my knees shouting 'don't die, don't die!' was going to save it. I watched it flicker as the life (and the wee) drained out of it. Gone. Dead. And it was all my fault. I had no-one else to blame. And that hurt too!

What hurt even more was the realisation of how much I relied on the damn thing. Checking emails, what's on TV, what's on at the flicks, the weather, the traffic, Facebook at any time I cared to, Twitter, Ping, Bing - you name it, it was there at my finger tips. And the games! Oh the games! Those precious minutes of down time where I could play mindlessly on Doodlejump, or Coin Dozer. Ye gods! Coin Dozer! I had over 5000 coins!! Took me months!

I don't know when my period's due, what the football scores are, whether the Central Line's down (probably is), whether I've won the lottery (probably not) and I can't jump on Wikipedia to resolve an argument that's about to kick off.

But the worse thing of all is being without googlemaps! As was demonstrated very clearly last weekend when I found myself in the middle of nowhere armed only with an Atlas (a dusty, usually out-of-date road map of the UK for those of you unfamiliar with the term. It didn't even have the M25 on it. Most of it still showed farmland and areas recently conquered by Vikings. So goodness knows how I was expected to find a small Essex village. I couldn't even work out where I'd been, let alone where I was going. It was more luck than judgement. Still at least I had an Alcatel mobile phone c.1982 to make a phone call (phone call - oh how retro!) for the hosts to talk me down.

However, this 3 week exercise in being minus smartphone has had it's advantages. I actually got a few things done. I read a book. Did a crossword. I wrote lists - and subsequently regained the power of handwriting. And more importantly, I actually had a few conversations with people I'd normally Skype, Ping or Facebook.

So maybe it wasn't the worse thing in the world after all. Although the temporary loss of numbers was a bit of an arse. And the £50 excess. But it has made me think about relying so ridculously heavily on a piece of technology.

Everything in moderation, huh! Must dash though. I've got some Angry Birds that need dealing with!

A Life Without Apps

It's a horrible noise, isn't it. You know, the noise of your iPhone hitting the bottom of the toilet. And it's an ugly picture too. isn't it. That one of you watching it tumble out of your pocket and straight down the pan knowing there's absolutely nothing you can do but watch it sink. And being an iPhone, knowing damn well that's the end of it's life.

You'd have thought it was the end of mine too. I was panic stricken. Short of breath. Feeling dizzy. I grabbed it as quick as I could but no amount of falling to my knees shouting 'don't die, don't die!' was going to save it. I watched it flicker as the life (and the wee) drained out of it. Gone. Dead. And it was all my fault. I had no-one else to blame. And that hurt too!

What hurt even more was the realisation of how much I relied on the damn thing. Checking emails, what's on TV, what's on at the flicks, the weather, the traffic, Facebook at any time I cared to, Twitter, Ping, Bing - you name it, it was there at my finger tips. And the games! Oh the games! Those precious minutes of down time where I could play mindlessly on Doodlejump, or Coin Dozer. Ye gods! Coin Dozer! I had over 5000 coins!! Took me months!

I don't know when my period's due, what the football scores are, whether the Central Line's down (probably is), whether I've won the lottery (probably not) and I can't jump on Wikipedia to resolve an argument that's about to kick off.

But the worse thing of all is being without googlemaps! As was demonstrated very clearly last weekend when I found myself in the middle of nowhere armed only with an Atlas (a dusty, usually out-of-date road map of the UK for those of you unfamiliar with the term. It didn't even have the M25 on it. Most of it still showed farmland and areas recently conquered by Vikings. So goodness knows how I was expected to find a small Essex village. I couldn't even work out where I'd been, let alone where I was going. It was more luck than judgement. Still at least I had an Alcatel mobile phone c.1982 to make a phone call (phone call - oh how retro!) for the hosts to talk me down.

However, this 3 week exercise in being minus smartphone has had it's advantages. I actually got a few things done. I read a book. Did a crossword. I wrote lists - and subsequently regained the power of handwriting. And more importantly, I actually had a few conversations with people I'd normally Skype, Ping or Facebook.

So maybe it wasn't the worse thing in the world after all. Although the temporary loss of numbers was a bit of an arse. And the £50 excess. But it has made me think about relying so ridculously heavily on a piece of technology.

Everything in moderation, huh! Must dash though. I've got some Angry Birds that need dealing with!