Saturday 31st December

So, here we are, New Year’s Eve.

Whilst everyone is out enjoying the ‘hot-ticket’ in town, getting all liquored up and grabbing some cute guy whose face they’ll attach themselves to like a Dyson on a hair-ball, I shall be contemplating the ups and downs of 2011, whilst hatching my plots and plans for 2012.

Obviously, based on the fact that many of my plans either involve my kids beginning to ‘do me proud’ or on my ability to continue to hold down a ‘day-job’ for more than a day and a half, said schemes have little chance of surviving past lunchtime on New Year’s Day.

Nevertheless, plot and plan I shall.

2011 has been a mixed bag.

The Teenager’s Rebellion has been a recurring theme which I suspect is far from over and due to the hair-raising, rollercoaster nature of attempting to negotiate that particular handful, I’m afraid that for the last part of the year, trying to find something amusing to write about it all has been completely beyond me.

When your children are small, ‘Smug-Elders’ are fond of telling you that ‘it gets worse’. I used to wonder what could be worse than a baby screaming at three in the morning. This year I discovered that the sound of a police car at 3am, coupled with the empty bed of your teenager is the noisy equivalent of going to an interview with the back of your skirt tucked into your pants.

Handsome-Rob and I unfortunately had to part on the grounds that he had very serious ‘keeping-his-trousers-up-when-hot-looking-chicks-who-definitely-weren’t-me-were-just-chatting-to-him’ problems.

Cest la vie.

Officially I wish him the best.

Between you and me, I hope that it took him ages explaining to his Guv’nor why there was cress growing in his unit car.

On the upside however, I have managed to hold down a ‘day-job’ for about five months, and Annabelle isn’t pregnant or living in a bedsit with anyone called Tyler yet. These things are, by Single-Mum 2011 standards, definite wins.

2012 is going to be better. I’m absolutely sure of it.

On that basis, I solemnly vow that the following will come to pass;

1)      I will try to remember that wine is a ‘sometimes’ drink.

2)      I will finally get around to writing my million-dollar-best-seller.

3)      I will write my superb blog every single day.

4)      I will find a smashing bloke and get married at Hampton Court.

5)      I will try to remember that Twiglets are a ‘sometimes’ food.

6)      I will try to remember that walking the dog is not the same as opening the door and telling him to come back when he’s hungry.

7)      Ditto entertaining Annabelle.

8)      I shall work hard and be happy, merry and gay (happy-gay, not proper gay. That would be well gay and that).

Yep, 2012 is gonna be just swell.

With achievable goals like that, what could possibly go wrong?

Neverthess, my lack of contact with reality aside, Happy New Year and the best of luck to you all, wherever or however this New Year’s Eve finds you.

Friday 30th December

You know when you buy your kid a toy for Christmas but don’t really think it all the way through?

Well, a remote to a Wii might be about to go missing.

Just after Christmas, things frequently disappear in our house. There was, for example, the year that the buttony-go-thing for the remote controlled car that kept slamming into the furniture because ‘it’ll get all ruined if I take it outside’ vanished, or the time the batteries kept ‘falling out’ of the Hungry Hippos game.

The Scary-Arsed-Baby-Doll ‘probably went off to start pre-school’ the day after it scared the bejesus out of me by starting to cry, for no reason at all, at 11pm one night when I was watching ‘Let The Right One In’.

Anything that yaps, bleeps, barks, cries or needs me to help play with it always seems to come to a mysteriously abrupt and tragic end round our way.

I’m now trying to fathom how I could have been stupid enough to think that a Nintendo and Just Dance 3 was a good idea? Did I not learn from the High School Musical Dance Mat debacle (someone had to accidentally tip clear Estee Lauder nail polish on the turn it on/turn it off bit to get it to be ‘broken’).

Annabelle has barely slept since Christmas Day. She’s a leaping, shrieking, street-dancing bundle of nerves, whose limbs and facial muscles continued to twitch in time to some unseen beat on the one occasion that I did manage to lure her away long enough to eat a Pot Noodle.

I tried to stuff her into a bath but the combination of thrashing limbs and the bubble-gum-pink Hello Kitty bath bubbles she got from Cousin-Emma began to resemble some gruesome scene from Jaws so I was forced to let go of her legs whereupon she leapt from the tub, grabbed a towel and shot, dripping wet, down the stairs.

Door slams.

Brief pause.


I wonder if anyone would notice if I just moved out?

Wii seem to have landed ourselves with a bit of a problem.

Thursday 29th December

So what’s up with North Korea then?

I know that the plot involves the death of a very angry, very wrinkly little character who suffered, as sadly, many dwarves do, from little-man-syndrome.

Furthermore, as far as I can gather, his hulking son whose name I assumed would be something along the lines of Lenny or Benny-Boy or some such, but turned out to be ‘Dim-Sum-Hot-Pot’, has taken over the family business which I think is something to do with the production of Gestapo style costumes with natty red collars that quite honestly, I can’t see catching on.

Itchy I should imagine.

Since NK PLC are obviously bringing us their Eastenders-esque Christmas finale, I think maybe they should have thought about diversifying into Santa outfits. Or elves.

Rows of marching elves would have been much nicer.

Definitely points should be awarded for the snow, which looked much more realistic than it ever does on Albert Square and let’s face it, everyone loves a good funeral whilst they’re munching their turkey but I think, in my humble, that the staging looked a bit fierce and third reichy for my liking.

Were all the guns really necessary? Even Fat-Pat-Butcher wouldn’t be seen dead in ‘Dim-Sum-Hot-Pot’s’ bizarre hair do and the crowds of wailing extras were, frankly, a bit lot on the unbelievable side.

On the whole, I didn’t find it very Christmassy and I think that whilst it’s true that Zainab and Afia did do their fair share of howling outside the B&B this year, they were, to be fair, actually related to the potentially deceased.

The rest of the Eastenders crowd were relatively contained and although they were demonstrably quite concerned, they just busied themselves doing things like “Oooh-ing”, “Aaah-ing” and shouting “No, don’t go in there”.

I think the script writers at NK PLC would benefit from a creative writing course, because if their goal is to beam this rubbish around the globe and expect us to buy into it, they are sadly mistaken.

Still, maybe it’ll turn out that the old dude isn’t really dead and will turn up parachuting into the grounds of Buck Palace with a union jack chute a’la ‘Gustave Graves,’ which I grant you, would be quite entertaining, but for now, I’m going to have to leave NK PLC and their dreams of beating the Christmas Day ratings game to die another day.

I’m not gonna be taking up precious space on my Sky box planner with that crap.