(Jessica)- "Can brains hurt?", "Yes it's hypochondria hour".

I feel like every time I write a blog post I say, "it's been a while", or "I'm terrible at this". So, whilst still acknowledging these two facts, I relaunch our blog for the umpteenth time and say, happy December 14th! The day everyone knows as the day Adrian II began his reign as the Catholic Pope in 867. Let's give it up for Adrian II! A memorable day it was, the food was amazing, although I wasn't a fan of the punch.

How are you my little (in size, not age) lost sister in the wilderness? How have you manage to sustain yourself without one of my bitter diatribes for you to laugh at?! Well, buckle up. As I am now a student of a particular course, I have to watch what I say and anonymise everything! But there are some things that have to be said, some things that can't be unseen and for that, I must share. May I just say that I never want to see a dead man's gluteal crease or natal cleft ever again (I wonder how many people say that in a lifetime). If you don't already know what those things are, ask a responsible parent or guardian. Oh, and try NOT staring at the box of detached feet in a lecture, that's a fun game.

As I sit here in my uncomfortable chair, I think... What can I say? Typically over the years I have mocked my pitiful attempt at dating or all of my unfortunate interactions with the opposite sex, but now I'm in an official relationship (please pipe down, I can't hear over the stunned silence) I have no material. No people to make fun of, no awkward interactions where I can unleash the chained beast that is my Sass. I kid you not, K (my boyfriend, obviously you know that but I like reminding myself that he is real), little sis and I were in the car on the way home from church and we were talking about sassiness. K said that I wasn't really sassy, just sarcastic. What happened?! Where did Sassy McSasserson go? Am I tamed so easily? Little sis put him right pretty quickly, which made me laugh as she said, "Ummm... that's where I get it from!". So proud. 

I feel like this blog will give me a chance to exorcise McSass, in an attempt to become possessed again. She makes me funny. Hmm.. on another note, I think it's a really great sign that not only am I talking about being possessed by another persona, but I am also making reference to a possible multiple personality situation and she already has a name. Hooray for making strides becoming a more balanced individual. We can all laugh about this later, as we sit in the corner laugh-crying and eating our hair.

Speaking of which, Anxiety group sessions. Can we talk about that? I was sitting in a psychology lecture as my professor sat there on his sit/standing perch (why can't they just get a chair like normal people? They always perch, like a spectacle in the 'Flying Predators' hour at the zoo) telling me how ineffectual group sessions are for people with Anxiety! Well, thank goodness I was sitting down for that shocking little tidbit. Phew, I'm telling you, the revelation was real. Yet, I attended them for a month! You know when someone's looking at you, but you're not arrogant enough to admit to yourself that someone's looking at you? Well, someone was full on staring at me in the last anxiety session. I couldn't decide whether it was because I had something on my face or because I was sitting by the window, but either way, there was a little crazy unblinking thing happening so I decided to leave quickly after we finished because I didn't want to have a picture sent to Mum and Dad of me holding that day's newspaper. Rooms with no windows don't flatter my complexion at all.

I had a dream last night that I was a Vet for animals with emotional and mental health problems. I had a suicidal Turtle, a Giraffe with postnatal depression, her calf with Anorexia and an Autistic Crocodile. Perhaps I shouldn't revise psychology whilst watching the Yorkshire Vet before bed, eh? Wise words. As we are on the subject of wise words... have you given any thought to what you'll have on your headstone? I want some ideas for both yours and mine. I feel like they should be an in-joke of some description.

I feel like as I write my memoirs, the main battle doesn't come from expressing myself (first time for everything, yes I know). The battle lies in re-telling events as they actually happened and then my inner monologue which is usually a near-constant stream of sarcasm. More importantly, the real struggle lies in the grammar between the two, brackets are real. Grammar in general actually, let's be real. Why fight between punctuation flicks, lines and dots. Let the speech flow as free and as muddled as it is in my head, and how it falls, confused, from my face.

With this parting thought, I leave you decrepit and old, as it is now actually December 17th...Time travel eh? Mindblown.

Love you,

Formerly known as, McSass

(Rachel) My life is like the hokey cokey: “…and you shake it all about”

This is what I thought when I was exercising this morning. Now, I am not going to make this post about all the weight that I don’t have because…we all hate THAT guy. But, what I will say, is that I am not the most toned person in the world…no one will be bouncing quarters off of my stomach. As such, I do notice, especially when doing Zumba with Isaac (he’s a real pro, that boy), when my shaking movements of my body are disproportionately vigorous to the efforts I’m putting in, if you know what I mean. Like…you do a little shimmy and your tummy or thighs are still shimmying 10 minutes later, of their own accord. You know?

As I was doing said Zumba, I allowed my mind to wander back to all the dancing we used to do together. I’m no Darcey Bussell but, you know, we could move, right? I’m not imagining that. Well, all of that ability has left me. I was showing my Young Women the music video Jess Carr and I made at university. We looked pretty good. Yet, somehow, having a baby has made me incapable of dancing. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the hokey cokey is all I CAN do.

At this point, I was going to bring in my awesome analogy but perhaps I will wait for another day.

On the subject of exercise, the other week, I went to the church’s annual football and netball competition. Now, I am no netballer. I have recently become friends on facebook with one of my high school PE Teachers, which is great but…when I was playing netball, I couldn’t help but see her in my mind’s eye teaching us how to pivot...brought back A LOT of memories about how awful I was! Anyway. I wish I had a photo to show you of the clothes I wore to this thing. I wore a dusky pink t shirt and my super baggy, navy, mens Washington DC tracksuit bottoms. I actually left the house feeling pretty sporty. I am only 24 years old, but since I was last at a sport event, sport fashion has changed a lot. Upon my arrival, I realised that I had clearly missed the memo about cropped lycra capri things. It seemed like every peer of mine was wearing these things. And all of them looked convincingly athletic and gorgeous. You can imagine how I felt in men’s tracksuit bottoms, can’t you.

When we came home, I said to Ieuan “Did I look hideous in my clothes today?” He said “You could never look hideous. Your tracksuit bottoms were a bit frumpy though.” (poor things) I love my husband because he does not flatter me by telling my falsehoods. He flatters me by understanding my point of view. He knew exactly what I meant! So. Armed with this knowledge, I am determined to get me some of these, So that, next time someone flings me out of my comfort zone and into the shooting zone of the netball court, I can at least look cute.

Another word or two on netball. I was Goal Shooter, because, usually, I am a pretty good shot. My hand-eye coordination is pretty good, you know? Anyway. I was TERRIBLE. At one point, the umpire (who, incidentally, was also sporting these lycra capris) told me to take my time shooting. I thought I had suddenly misunderstood the rules. “Don’t you have 3 seconds to shoot once you have the ball” I asked a team mate. “Yup”, came the reply. TAKE YOUR TIME?? Was she JOKING??

In short. Netball isn’t really my scene. I can do a bit of tennis for fun. I can shoot some hoops for fun. You know, I’m actually pretty good at kicking a rugby ball too. Leigh Halfpenny might even be a teeny bit impressed.  At school, the thing I was best at was softball or rounders. I could hit it and I could catch. But, I have decided that if it’s for anything more serious than fun, move along, cos I ain’t your girl.

I’ve written the following song about my recent sporting endeavours and how I feel about the impeachment of tracksuit bottoms.

“Because you know, It’s all about capris, bout capris,

No Trackies. It’s all about capris, bout capris, no trackies.

It’s all about capris, bout capris, no trackies, it’s all about capris.

Yeah, it’s pretty clear, Mine aren’t the same as you

But I can pivot pivot, like I’m supposed to do.

I’ve got that netball that all the girls chase, and all wrong clothes in all the wrong places.

You see these pretty girls, working that capris look? We all know that ain’t real, come on now make it stop. If you want sporty sporty, let’s raise it up cos every inch of you is perfect from your trackies to your top.

Yeah, the Umpire, she told me when shooting to “take your time”.

(If three seconds is ages then life is a pantomime)

You know I won’t be no lycra-clad Olympic athlete

But I’d like for my trackies to not be so obsolete.

Because you know, It’s all about capris, bout capris,

No Trackies. It’s all about capris, bout capris, no trackies.

It’s all about capris, bout capris, no trackies, it’s all about capris.

I’m bringing trackies BACK!

Go ahead and tell those skinny capris that…

Although I’m playing, I am NOT all that,

And I’m here to tell you every skill of yours is perfect from your pivot to your shot.

Yeah, the Umpire, she told me when shooting to “take your time”.

(If three seconds is ages then life is a pantomime)

You know I won’t be no lycra-clad Olympic athlete

But I’d like for my trackies to not be so obsolete.

Because you know, It’s all about capris, bout capris,

No Trackies. It’s all about capris, bout capris, no trackies.

It’s all about capris, bout capris, no trackies, it’s all about capris.”

(Jessica)- My life is the Hokey Cokey. All in, and all out.

Endless emails from fans and readers all over the world have brought Rachel and I to our knees. We have caved to pressure (which usually is a bad thing, not here though. Kids, the principle still stands. Don't forget, JUST SAY NO.)
...Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages, the confusing and nonsensical sister blog has returned.

Dearest Fruity,

Where to even begin? It would seem we are more adult than ever now. You have an actual fruit of your loins, instead of calling me loiny you have a legitimate reason to do that to someone else now. How exciting.
So for all of you people out there that are a little confused about this, Rachel now has a son called Is. I have been away on a mission. No, not top secret...gosh you people. A service mission for my church. I taught people about my belief and faith in God for about 18 months. Crazy right? Wrong. Well, no, you're right. It was crazy brilliant. *sigh* I digress. SO lots has happened since we last typed.


I usually update you with all of my embarrassing experiences... and I have so many. So buckle up love, hold onto your hats and anything else you'd like to secure as we take a grand tour of my life as a returned missionary.
I have had to get back into practice of being normal again, my main problem with this is winking. My wink is a little rusty. I was home for one week, tried it in the mirror and determined that I looked like a horse with a rare corneal disease. So needless to say this has caused for some serious practice, intense drills (one eye open, one eye shut, rapid eye reps etc) and eye-lid massages. I am happy to report on this day, this wonderful April day, that I am ready to unleash the winkwinker. I will use it. Who knows were, who knows when...but BAM! It'll happen. I'll keep you updated.

There comes an age in one's life where she is called up to serious reflection on her marital status, by the general public. The General Public, let's call them GP to make it easier, the GP... feel the need to remind you of the fact that you may become a menace to society if you aren't married, or engaged, or seeing someone... or even dating. Well GP, I have some news...big news. I am dating. YEP! Breathe it in people. Feels good doesn't it? I am dating myself. Wait, wait. Let me explain before the thundering sound of eye-rolls deafen me. People are complicated. I, myself am a sphinx (I'll be honest Rachel I have no idea what that means. I think it's some Egyptian bear statue, but it sounds mysterious so run with me for a minute). I have no clue what I am about so I think I need to take this time to work out who I am, before I put someone else's ingredients into the mix. It'll take a flippin' pro chef to crack this recipe anyway so whomever he is - he needs a few years of warm up stretches before he can break this cookie. Now, having lost myself in my own analogies, I'll attempt to re-group. Ah yes, I was being a menace...so what else is new?

I like hugs as much as the next socially awkward 21 year old, but I  had no idea just how varied hugs can get. But I have experienced it all , so let me report the array of PDosAbuAoitrtA (Public Displays of sometimes Awkward but usually Affectionate or in the realms thereof Affection ).
One Sided Bear- Someone is giving you all they've got... but they have also trapped your arms by your sides. You are either sad because you can't show them any affection back, or grateful because you don't want to. Like Voldemort and Draco.
Mutual Bear- Almost like you are trying to see who can choke-out who first. That, or you're trying not to seem wimpish as you feel most of the bones in your body do a decent impression of Rice Krispies.
Llama- Sometimes you are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Back to back, interlocking arms. Yes, I have experienced this one recently. But I think it's funnier if I don't share the details.
Especially for Youths and Awkward People with parentals present- The infamously lame side hug. I have nothing to say about this other than the fact that it is severely underwhelming. Although, sometimes there is just no hug more appropriate.
Some Up and Some Down- You are sitting on the sofa and someone hugs you before you can get up. Resulting in either a back-breaker or a quick head turn so you don't get a mouth-full of stomach.
Catch and Release- As little body contact as possible for as quick as possible, like shrapnel.
Taken 4- I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. But I will not let you escape, or move, or breathe. Forever a hostage, carried away by a stranger.
Meow and Purr- Sometimes you just have those moments where the inner cat takes over and you have to curl up on someone's lap. Depending on the moment and how well you know the person...this could get a little creepy. Especially, if you actually purr. I'm just saying. (DO NOT MENTION ELLA THE CAT. *sigh*...but now I feel like I have to explain...so I may or may not have spent a short amount of time utterly convinced that I was a cat. It's not uncommon.)
The Slow Cooker- Eventually softening every muscle in your body. Possibilities may include your brain and heart. These should come with a safety warning- "Users may find motor skills impaired and some speech dysfunction for a few minutes after use, especially depending on make and model of slow cooker."
I'm sure there are more, but at this present time I think I'm still recovering from the latter (let's blame my brain deficiencies on that...)

I hope you are having a good day my little Snafficus. Better than mine anyway. The person opposite me trod in a questionable substance and the office is like an oven. We have also missed out on our daily lunch time phone calls, so I failed to update you on the fact that in my shower today I coughed and inhaled water and shampoo, resulting in the near constant taste and smell of L'0real Elvive. Oy.
Buuuut, on the plus side I am obviously having a good day in the real world.

Love you,
your own little Monroe.

(Rachel) "That's a pretty colour! What is it?" "It's called Vicious Trollop"

Such an apt title for a post about mine and Ieuan's makeover/photoshoot experience.

So...Monday morning rolls around and we are excited! It's set to be a VIP day of luxury and excitement. An easy morning, packing a lovely picnic and filling our new MP3 player with exciting songs for our journey. Then, at midday we set off, with all the hope and giddiness of a child going to the zoo for the first time! First stop was the outlet centre- Clarks Village. I was especially excited for this because, as it was Birthday week, I was fully prepared to snag some delightful bargains in the name of Birthday Treats! When we arrived, mizzle was falling. Mizzle is a word which here means 'miserable drizzle'. A phrase coined by my husband, which perfectly describes that feeling when you look out of the car window and desperately hope that you aren't the one who is designated pay and display sorter-outer. You know? Anyway, the Mizzle wasn't a positive start. Our first stop was Starbucks for a warming hot chocolate. It was gross. Ieuan thinks it's because I had gum in my mouth at the time (a habit which I should probably get out of), but I beg to differ. It was un-sugared and un-milked and had that bitter but authentic taste of Mayan cocoa-beans. You know? You know. So...that was that. In the end, Ieuan and I struck a deal. In order to finish our not-very-nice hot choc, for each gulp I had, he would be brave and have 3. Soon, the thick, almost black dregs were sludging around in the bottom of the mug and we left for, hopefully, a more refreshing experience in the shops. Dodging the cold mizzle, we darted into the shop we wanted to spend the most time in. Fatface. After about 5 minutes in fatface, I began to feel like that child who's at the zoo for the first time, who's travelled for ages to get there but, on arrival, discovers the African animals section is closed and she has to content herself with the rabbits and guinea pigs. You know??? Unfortunately, the magic sale fairy forgot to wave the wand over Fatface. Though things were cheaper than in the normal shop, they were not cheap enough for us. We left with our tails between our legs. Ever optimistic me was soon excited for the next shop....and the next shop....and the next shop....we saw odd bits in odd shops but never really anything that made one Oooh and Ahhh.
Things did eventually work out for us. I got a lovely skirt from M&S for £5, a pair of skinny jeans in GAP for £6.99 and a new coat from Next for £17. Bargains! Ieuan got a couple of lovely tops from Next too. Very manly indeed. So, we were satisfied (I was rather pleased) but, on the whole, not entirely as incredible as we've experienceD before at outlet malls.

Next was our journey to our complimentary makeover/photoshoot. We were running about 20 minutes late which wasn't a good start. When we arrived, we hurriedly filled in some forms, and then I was whisked over to make-up. On the form, I had said that I would like to achieve a look somewhere between natural and smokey. The makeup artist was a lovely lady and we talked about all sorts- including church!! (And before you say it, she brought it up, not me. Being married young makes people wonder whether you are religious....) During the makeup experience, I specified that I didn't want to look dramatic- just like normal. "I normally wear creams and browns and not too much of it. I wear a very light, gentle foundation  too." "I'll put you in those same colours again then". Says she. Famous last words.

After shooting the breeze with this woman, she asks me if I am ready to see the new me. I am rather excited by this point! The chair goes up and....BAM!!! I felt like Fran from Asda. A man in drag. It's any wonder I could lift my eyes to the heavens to ask "why" this had happened to me...My eyes looked so heavy, I am surprise my eyelids didn't just refuse to open. "Do you like it?"
"Wow." Says I.
"YES!! My 4th WOW today!" Says she.
Of course, I didn't exactly mean "Wow! You've changed my life- I look incredible. Can I hire you to do my makeup every day" Wow. I meant "Wow. This is new. I look like a man." That kind of Wow. But I couldn't put my finger on what made me look so strange! I looked at the eye-shadow. Heavy, but lovely. The eye-liner was a bit heavier than normal but not so much. The foundation was a bit much and the lips....it was probably the lips. Waaaayyy too pink. I asked her to tone them down, which she did, but I still looked awful. In hindsight, I realise that the dark smudges she'd put under my bottom eye-lashes made me look like I was having withdrawals from something with questionable legality and the darkened eye-brows didn't do me any favours either. But, I didn't think of that at the time and so, I rolled with the punches, as it were. (Or at least, I certainly looked like I had been punched. It wasn't that bad....but seriously...) She explained to me that things had to be dark because of the lighting in the photos etc...So, who was I to argue!!

Then came the next blow. I had already done my hair before I came. My neat little curly bob was very curly and my fringe was straight. It could have been straighter, I suppose but my hair could not have been any curlier. Or so I thought. THEN, she whips out the curling wand. "I'm just going to put a couple of curls in the front like mine". At first, I thought she meant that she was going to give me some fantastic up-do with a couple of curls left in the front. Not so. She re-curled 2 already curly curls, which were now even shorter and, thus, made my hair bigger. Then, she crossed a line. She mussed my curls. In all my life, I have been wary of people touching my hair and this is why. On my head, my volatile little head, the mussed look doesn't work. Mussed look + Rache's hair= Frizz, frizz and more frizz. Thankfully, she stopped the mussing before too much damage was done. She called Ieuan in next and proceeded to work on his hair and give his face a moisturising and a powder. Then, we were ready!

We went down to the studio and had quite a nice time- some fun shots, some glamorous shots, some shots with a big fan!! It was fun and we enjoyed it. It was over quite quickly though and I felt like my makeover had taken much longer. Still, I was pretty jazzed about seeing our photos. We waited for about 20 minutes while they edited the prints (they said it would be 20 mins so after 10, I wasn't especially reassured- not when you take days!) They ushered us into a small room with a huge apple monitor. They darkened the lights and played some music and we watched the slideshow of the images. There were some really lovely ones and already I could feel the pressure to choose just one for our complimentary image. We were fixed in our minds with a determined resolution that we were only going to take our complimentary image. We even bought them a box of Milk Tray to soften the blow!! I'm serious! So as we were looking through the photos, there were some I loved and some I thought "My face is too chubby, I look like a man in drag and the lighting hasn't softened my eyebrows or my lipstick at all." So it was a mixed bag of goods really. But I was excited because we had some photos we loved. Then she sat us down and explained the pricing. £60 for a 5x7, £70 for a 6x9 and £80 for a 8x10. OR, £85 for one image on a disc, including all the copyrights to that image. OR £550 for the lot on a USB. We could definitely rule THAT one out. We decided that we would get one on a disc and pay the £25 on top of our complimentary £60 voucher. In the end, we couldn't choose between a photo of Ieuan and I in green jumpers cuddling, or a one of us lying on our fronts in our Rugby shirts. So, we decided we'd pay a bit extra and get 2 prints. We shook hands with the lady, paid our money and left.

It was only on the journey home as we talked that our optimism about the experience slowly morphed into a dramatic realism that made us realise what had happened and what we'd done. We'd given up our deposit towards a second print. That meant....*imagine a lightbulb slowly coming on*....that meant....we'd spent not £40 but.....£70. £70. Seventy Pounds. Seventy Pounds on a photo that, even though it contains our bodies, we do not have the copyright for and so it will always be a 7x5 that no one else will see unless they are acutally in our house. It will never be the canvas we hoped it would be for the bedroom wall. It will never, ever be anything but a tiny photo that cost us £70. Not only did that realisation hit us, but I also realised exactly who my madeover self reminded myself of...

THE HORROR!!!!

So, friend. That was our day. When we came home, we stopped at McDonalds and laughed about our predicament. The Happy meal didn't make me happier, though. Now that a few days have come between my Makeover horror where I felt like I was wearing a makeup ensemble that may well have been nicknamed "vicious trollop", I can now honestly say, we are looking forward to receiving our prints in 3-5 weeks. (£70 is not enough to secure fast delivery, you see). They were lovely and will be lovely! The shoot itself was fun and it will be nice to have a 7x5 and a 6x9 reminder of that event to hang on to forever!! =)

All my love,

Snafs

P.S. We SO didn't give them the Milk Tray. We partied up on that when we got home. It was a consolation gift to ourselves. =)

(Jessica) " 'Is it raining?' 'No. It's national baptism day..' "

Hello Waffle,

SO....You'll never guess the morning I've had. Nope. No guessing, so I shall tell you. I shove a £20 note into my back pocket on my run for the bus, the bus I manage missing, and reach into my back pocket for the twenty and find that it's disappeared, en route I suspect.I finally got on the bus to greet the world's slowest driver...I could walk on my little fingers faster than that bus was going. I finally made the judgement call to take a cab from the city (I secretly had the 'Sherlock' serial killer taxi episode in my head as I got in...). But the guy was nice enough and said to me as I got in, "In a hurry miss?". Which made me smile as I felt almost regal...I felt like a little Miss Bennett travelling to Pemberley. In short, fate steals £20 notes from your back pockets, makes you late and gives you a decrepit bus driver just because she can. Then, she throws you a bone...and calls you Miss.

So as part of my job I have to see foreign students on a regular basis, on average we meet 480 a session. Lots of people. We have to take down and update their contact details. So it was during this interaction that I asked a student for his number...and he hands me his mobile to take down his number and as my hand holds his phone..*exhale dramatically*..he holds my hand.Picture this if you will: Phone, my hand holding phone, his hand holding both. My hand was a hostage, a hand hostage. It was the filling in an awkward hand sandwich!  I stared at the mess of hands in complete disbelief for a little while, looked at him, back at the hands and tried to subtly shake his hand off. Then not so subtly shake his hand off...I guess he thought I was having a fit because he gave me the most confused look. Eventually it dawned on me that the faster I took the number, the quicker my hand would be released from this madman. What's with people? Don't they know?! In England that is not okay behavior. I don't know whether England is an uptight private culture naturally or if it is just how I am. But it is now a new chapter in my book: "Culture tips 101". Chapter 3: When entering a society that you are poorly informed on, it is best to not touch any hands that don't belong to you. Why do things like this always happen to me? People always get involved in my space. Is it just me? I'm to face tattoo...and by face tattoo I mean...

I am a thoughtful guy, I think about a lot of things...I am a thoughtful guy, I think a lot of thoughts about a lot of things- Have you ever thought about where your life would be if you left 10 minutes early to the activity where you met Ieu....what would you be doing now? Our lives would both be REALLY different. Food for thought.

Oh dear dear Shams, I am deeply sorry that you find yourself in the middle of the weight loss pool. But may I be the first to say ...*hits lights and shines torch under face*... "Welcome". Weight loss is a joyful and rewarding process...when it's opposite day and you're in a room full of clown mirrors that make you look like a string bean. Oh my sweet Rachel...you'd eat oaty pillows, which had a closer likeness to cardboard than a breakfast cereal, just to sacrifice 4 calories and reduced sugar content?! Those 4 calories are to stop you from running across the room with your tongue on the carpet, like a lawnmower. The true secret to dieting is not to deny yourself 4 calories worth of taste. But take heart friend, the slower you loose weight the slower you put it on...or so I'm told.

What you had to say about Trowbrige's strange mix of beings made me laugh. What kind of person dye's a dog's hair? Someone with either a youtube account...or no freeview tv. I've been strange beings, every time I travel past Anglia Square. There is a shop down there called, "Aladdin's Cave". It has a beautiful oak vanity set in the window...with a cage and a stuffed snake resting on the top. Never a lack of entertainment. I also saw a guy that looked like the Hippie troubadour from GG down in Anglia Sq. Felt like whistling him a little tune about working in a Kinkos...or growing your own veg. Sweet guy.

I am truly (not really all that) sorry for the voicemail I just left. I knew I saw that actress somewhere and it suddenly came to me. I had to share this glorious moment, moment of gloryment if you will, with someone. 1:00am in the morning or not. You love it really loin fruit, fruit that you are.WWTBFCD?? She would love it. I would have called her but alas, we don't keep in contact since the night terror episode of '04. I digress...

I have to journey to the land of nod...nod here being sleep and not the "you can leave your hat on" nod. 

Don't be like that, wipe the brazzlefrat and bendelschnitz expression off your face.

I love you Montgom.
Say hello to M.L for me....or beardy monroe...either. xxx

P.s. “Hey, did anyone ever think that maybe Sylvia Plath wasn’t crazy. She was just cold!"

"Well, Taylor, I'm a 2 inch kinda guy."

An inch is a deceptive amount, you know. Whenever I watch these weight loss programmes, and they announce that someone has lost an inch off their waist, jaws drop, gasps are heard and tears spring to the eyes.
"PAH!" I think. "1 inch?! Are they for real?!"
Now I am in the whole weight loss zone and, if I'm honest, an inch might be a pretty nice amount to come off  my waist! I've not really been measuring inches, etc. Just weight and at 9.8 1/2, I feel pretty good about myself. I made a break through with Special K though. Indeed, I broke through the Special K barrier!! I went shopping at Tesco to replenish my cereal stock. I dashed there because Special K was on offer and I wanted to stock up before the offer ends. What did I discover?? I could get the same amount of similar but healthier flakes for less money!! That's right. 4 calories less, much less sugar and saturated fat per bowl! I also found a big box of Quaker's oat pillows- 99p for a huge box! Also healthier than a bowl of Special K. That means the precious little calories I save I get to re-distribute to more exciting lunches. For example, Melba Toast. Melba toast is like a thin, long slice of crouton. Delicious and...crunchy. BUT, with 12.8 calories a slice, I can have Cheese, Marmite, a little cream cheese on them and it makes a lovely light lunch!
Couple those delicious delicacies with some pilates or some yoga and you have a healthy little Rachie. Just want you always wanted, I know. =)

Trowbridge is the home of a wonderful, eclectic mix of beings. I say beings because not all of the eclectic mix are human. The other day, for example, I saw one of those skinny, wretched looking dogs with the whisps of long hair on its head and tail. That is not abnormal, I am sure. BUT, The long white hair on the head was dyed an aqua like green and tied up in 2 bunches. It took me a while to process exactly what I had just seen. 3 months in Trowbridge and you learn simply not to look twice.

One wonderful thing about our lives here is about our Home Teachers. They are 2 very different people. One who's Ex-Army and into guns and the other who is very mild, quiet and into films and sports, I believe. They are THE most diligent home teachers I have ever had (next to Steve Butcher). They are lovely and caring but they are so funny. One of them gets talking about the army and the other looks at me with raised eyebrows as the technological terms fly, with considerable speed, waaayyy over our head. When roles are reversed and we're talking about rugby, the other is silent. Until....the topic of westerns was broached. I have never, ever heard of a spaghetti western before in my life.

Definition: spa·ghet·ti west·ern
Noun
A western movie made cheaply in Europe by an Italian director.

This I learnt after a mildly heated discussion ensued between our wonderful Hometeachers about what defined it and whether a specific movie title would be considered a spaghetti western or not. It was not long after the silence that followed that I said, in unison with the more quiet of the two...."Ah...so, the message?"
Ha!

I have a busy couple of months ahead with some new training programmes the museum are launching for their treasured volunteers. I get on very well with the volunteer coordinator and just happened to drop in there that I teach history workshops to children and if she ever needed any help with the education side of the museum, she need only ask! She was delighted. The funniest thing though was that she had already pre-scheduled the talks and training I was to come to because my friend Penny was on them. Now I told you about Penny before but...having watched Miranda, I can now, 100% wholeheartedly say she both looks and is like Penny, Miranda's mother. It's actually uncanny. She's so funny and I am excited to be back at the museum with her!

Anyway, please await part 2 after our VIP couples make over session at the photo studio tomorrow...no doubt THAT will present some serious material! X

(Jessica)- "How about 'The We'? Yeah. We are 'The We' "

Rory: She needs a resume and samples of your previous work and, uh, referrals. 

Lorelai: And my bare butt to kiss? 

Rory: If you think that will set you apart from the other applicants, yes. 

------------------------------------

Oh yes, it has been a few weeks of me thinking, "And my bare butt to kiss". Don't get me wrong...I have had a wonderful few weeks but it has been the odd awkward moments, upon which this blog thrives, which have multiplied and replenished very much recently. This blog has done wonders for my positive attitude- whenever something truly embarrassment and horriffico happens I simply think to myself (*in a Louis Armstrong voice*), "What a wonderful blog!".


Do you ever have those moments when you're in a girl's bathroom and you happen to hear a conversation like this, "You have no idea, my skin has been the worst skin since 2012!"...As you know I am now working in a University so I often come across conversations like these on my trips away from a computer screen. I did feel so sorry for the student who has had the worst skin as of 2012....I really did. Until I walked a midst the toxic cloud of hair-spray, Charlie Red and shine powder, only to discover that she was blessed with some of the finest skin I have seen. (Odd thing isn't it...to compliment someone's skin? Perhaps I should say complexion as sounds less...awkward.) I felt like saying, "Well some of us have been bless with crackin' (literally) skin since 2000...so do be quiet!". 
Soon after this moment the tribe of girls left...and I broke the tap at one of the sinks...pulled it clean out of the wall actually...I managed to balance the fixings around the sink and made it just about look like a normal tap, or modern art...depends on your perspective I suppose. My eyes and eyebrows twinned as one and rose to the heavens, I shrugged and thought something to do with Lorelai's aforesaid phrase. 
**And my bare butt to kiss**
I would just like to inform you that I am at work, lunch break- don't freak out. Do you know what the height of chatter is? The basic office conversation? I'll tell you... "So, what have you got for lunch?". Or really any lunch conversation really. It seems to be the office staple diet for polite conversation.I shall refer you to one particularly awkward conversation that we had in the office, not two days ago. I was minding my own business and just working quietly and I heard the tail-end of Simon's (guy who sits opposite me) conversation to Helen (lady next to me)...
Simon-"...If Jess saw me doing that she'd slap me..." 
*Looking to Helen slightly confused*-You have to understand, I am not vocal at all in the work place, so someone throwing slapping accusations around took me by surprise. Anywhere else than the office would be situation normal I suppose...

Simon goes on-"Helen doesn't slap me anymore but that's only because she knows I enjoy it."

*Silence and nausea dawn over the people with hearing*

Helen: "So, what have you got for lunch today Jess?"

You see? It's the perfect 'out' of a weird silence. Even if you have a dinner appointment you are hailed as quite the celebrity...I'm not sure that I have ever caught the strange lunch obsession that everyone has...but I certainly appreciate it.

It made me laugh when I read the last paragraph of your blog about being stabbed in a bus lane. Strangely my odds of being stabbed in a bus lane have drastically increased. I have more chance of being stabbed in a bus lane or on a bus than anywhere else on the planet.
I have recently had some trauma in that department. Which makes me miss Robs quite a bit because he would always tease me about my/our bus adventures...and then offer his limbs in our defense. Anyway, I digress... I was offered some socks...men's Gant socks... as a Christmas present by a person I see on the odd occasion on the number 13. Apparently the acceptance of these socks means, "June Wedding" or the equivalent in modern man speak, and the next time I randomly bumped into him, he decided to take an army and march on Poland. (Poland being my face and an army here being his mouth like feature...less like a mouth in this instance and more like...a chasm of death, a death chasm...in which my face was going to be lost forever). This is exactly what I thought as his face made his way passed my 84cm invisible border...
I did exclaim a noise that was something like- but not necessarily..."Ugghhhhh--Ewwwwww". Upon which he promptly stormed off and I had several abusive texts all inclusive with a wide variety of French.

I did see him on the bus a few days later...he saw me and got off in Norwich 20 minutes before his stop....in Spixworth... Was it something I said?
In the wise words of our Great Aunt Laura, "Jessica, you really need to learn how to drive mate."

As you can see...there is a theme to my narration here...all of these circumstances have that special phrase in common.

Anyway, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Are you excited? I sure am. I watched Muppets...and I will watch, "While you were sleeping" later on in the week. It won't be the same without you but the slippery ice scene never fails to greet me with hysteria. Maybe we can watch it when you're here? You HAVE to watch it with mutual Leonard (Ieuan...for those other than Rachel...mutual Leonard is Ieuan). I think he will appreciate the humor. 

Lucy: Oh! I don't want any flowers from you, I am not wearing black underwear, and I definitely do not want to move in with you, Joe - 

[it's Jack, not Joe Jr] 

Lucy: Jack. 

Jack: Well, I don't have any flowers, I wouldn't mind seeing the black underwear, but under the circumstances, I don't think we should move in together. 

Lucy: I thought you were Joe Jr. 

Jack: [sarcastically] I get that a lot. 

So excited for that magic!

Anyway, I'm two minutes into work time now and have to dash. 

I love you Snafroe! (See what I did? It's the ultimate combo!)

Reply or better....

Lots of love,

Fruity. 

xxx

"Have you ever had mad cow disease?" "Twice last week, and my colouring was great!" (Rachel)

So I've never had mad cow disease but our titles don't always HAVE to be related, do they??
Did you know that Lauren Graham (Lorelai) actually dated Matt Blucas? She is now with Peter Krause...I think you can tell her kind of guy and it is similar to Lorelai's, I think. Anyway....

I am currently sitting in the university of Bath library under the false name and ID card of Ieuan Guy. Shhhh...don't tell anyone. Thankfully, it's a swipe machine rather than armed personnel who check the validity of the ID, or I would be well and truly had by now. As I type, I am sneaking giant white chocolate buttons from my secret stash of chocolatey goodness. Ieuan can't believe what's happened to me! I've gone from "I'll take a satsuma, thanks" to "I could probably eat that whole bar of galaxy cookie crumble to myself". Ah, what those monthly hormones do to a gal.

I want you to know that I am so excited to see you tomorrow. I remember when Ieuan would come to visit me in Lancaster and I would want the whole of the friday to prepare for his arrival that evening..I would take so much pride in doing the shopping and the cleaning, organising everything, scrubbing everything so that when he came, I was the organised domestic goddess I wanted to be. Does it surprise you to know that I feel the same level of excitement to see you? I am just as excited to make my domestic-y preparations! I can't wait for our soup and toast supper.

There's something very comforting about the word supper, don't you think? It denotes firesides, stories, warm slippers, cosy PJs and light, warm nibbles, like soup. It's very much a winter thing. I just cannot wait to pick you up from the station and drive you to my little house! There, we will sit, with Husbandy on our lovely cosy couch, and, bathed in the gentle lamp-lit hues of our living room, nestled in a blanket, we will sip our soup and dip our toast and revel in the joys of good company!

I have made a wonderful friend at the museum....Penny Scott Barret.  She and I had a joint induction when I first went to the museum and we have been firm friends ever since. She is about the same age as Emily Gilmore and is like her in all the best ways; glamorous, enjoys high society, has a beautiful big house, wears lovely clothes, speaks very nicely, drives nice cars...but is as down to earth, generous and enthusiastic as anyone you could hope to meet! She is so funny. She and I giggle like school girls and she managed to convince me to swap my shift at the museum from fridays to thursdays so I can be with her. She is so great. It's so funny because it reminds me of the friendship I have with Pat, Gil and Margaret at Morrisons. I would do anything for those ladies and they would do the same for me. It just goes to show that friendship knows no boundaries! I am so thankful for somerfields and for budgens that have helped me make the most wonderful friendships with people I would not have met in any other way!! =)

So, I heard something the other day that was pretty darn funny. Some comedian was saying that when someone is stabbed to death, a lengthy investigation ensues, and police officers spend months trying to find the killer. When you drive in a bus lane, your photograph is taken, and the have in mailed to your house within 48 hours. Moral of the story? Make sure you are stabbed in a bus lane! Funny guy. It's true though...if violent crime could be dealt with the same severity as parking on double yellows or speeding, the most dangerous people on earth would be caught instantly. Unfortunately, I don't think it's possible to operate that way but...it made for a funny joke. As far as comedians go, I still love Nina Conti and the scottish granny....."Schooom!" Hilarious.

Well, sorry this isn't very interesting but you are coming to visit tomorrow. I will just finish with an artistic creation of mine. Hope you like!
All my love,
Shams.
X

"The bottom line is that too many birds are landing atop the streetlights and relieving themselves on helpless passersby. And I daresay that some of these birds seem to be doing it on purpose."- (Jessica)

-Sometimes you're the bird...sometimes you're the statue (or helpless passerby)...and sometimes you're the innocent bus girl in a sea full of empty seats and the old guy with the revolving left eye, despite where his right eye is looking, chooses to sit next to you....despite the derelict bus, complete with rolling tumbleweed...*Silence*...
Speaking of strange men on public transport... I was on the way back from the London office and I was sitting opposite a man with very long legs. You'd think that once you realised that you were encroaching on someone's personal space you'd move, no such luck. Unfortunately his legs were so long the his knees were either side of mine...The other unfortunate thing was that my right leg got cramp and I had to jerk it out to relieve it...go figure...

Oh hello Shams! Fancy meeting you here. Well, it's not really now is it? Not two minutes ago I sent you a text and a wall post on the Book of Face (see what I did there?) telling you that I posted a "post". In eager anticipation you rushed to the computer to read the words of bitter/pearl-esque wisdom from my keen mind and obedient fingertips...and here we are, Funny ol' world isn't it?

I am shocked and ashamed that our mutual Leonard (AKA-Ieuan for anyone who isn't fluent in "Rachica") doesn't like Stovies Pie?.. Nothing short of despicable really. Leonard, I am ashamed. You are a very luck filled man to have had such a wonderful morsel of delicious food. Hang your head boy. Hang. Your. Head.

Here is a tale of The Laptops Three...A collection of short stories about the female Boss...
Are you sitting comfortably? Good, then I shall begin...
Once upon a time there was a lowly worker called Temp, who was happy*ish* in her job. ("That's not happy" I hear you say...well, it's happy with an ish, and she was content). She would do her best to run around and to please. Her boss was small and friendly. She had a pleasant manner about her and a forgetful type head.
One day Boss told Temp to bring the laptops (plural noted please) over to a different building...on the way over she was talking to a lady called Fellow Employee. Now Fellow was chatting to Boss about electrical beauty products and Boss was both entertained and distracted. Temp had three heavy laptops slung about her stooping frame and staggered across campus. When they arrived at their destination..Boss looked at Temp surprised, "We only need the one". The words hung in the air like mist over Glencoe...Temp collapsed to the floor in slow motion. The end.

In all seriousness though, I do like my job and it does have the odd occasion of making me laugh. I was working in the law buildings for a few weeks doing some Visa work and on my last day I was asked to clear the office completely...printer and all. I had to box everything up and wheel it back to the office (which is completely across campus). In this struggle I was pushing this heavy box full of printer, with other boxes on top balancing on a trolley like contraption and throwing all of my weight behind it. In fact I was very much horizontal to the pavement with the effort. People stopped to look, and chuckle and then moved on. Right as I entered the effort and was overcome with the sheer power on my own womanly awesomeness, "The perfect bathroom trip" song came on my MP3 player...
I could not help myself. I burst out laughing and blew like a whale...the boxes tumbled. The picture of me walking into a very quiet office, heaving these boxes all the way across campus for a woman who is half my size, with that song playing just over took my senses and I lost control of my composure for a good five minutes. Ahhh.....my madness made me thing of you.

You know what? I actually have Dave and Andy's number if you'd like it. They are angels of the auto world. I love them both dearly and will always have a special place for them in my heart...Especially Andy...and Dave...I just love his face! Those are two characteristics I want in my future husband...Andy...and Dave.
The "Dandy" gene...(see what I did there? How clever is your fruity?)

Caitlin asks me to wake her up whenever I come up to bed, so she knows I'm in the room. She has taken to putting her her index finger up to me (in a "don't worry" type fashion) until she's lucid enough to say goodnight...cracks me up every time.

Well friend on the subject of goodnight...I shall read my letter from Dearest one more time over ice cream and hit the sack.

I love you muchly, sorry the post is so short Fruity.

Love,
Your Fruity Snaffs
x

"I know how to protect you from Agent Orange and Shrapnel. Just ask me how!" (Rachel)

Well! It has been a long time since I last wrote, but your post simply could not keep me away! =)

It just so happens that this very night, I was taken in potato mashing and, to keep myself going during the mashing process (which, depending on how raw/ cooked your potatoes are, can be quite lengthy) I recited to myself those carefully prepared and ingeniously delivered lines of yours. The transformative effect was quite something to behold. All of a sudden, I was a curvy brunette with a deep and abiding passion for food….in my head, I consoled myself lovingly…. ‘It’s only a whopping knob of butter….Nigella cooks like this all the time’. I fantasised that I was a famous chef….mashing potatoes in my Rachel Allen bowl did not help either. Then I missed you, my fellow virtual chef!  Then I noticed that my potatoes were looking like the wrong side of Velcro and, my bottom lip curled in despondence until a familiar phrase replaced the twinkle in my eyes…as if by magic, yours and Nigella’s voices came into my mind and, with hands extended reassuringly, they said “Don’t worry! Milk is your friend”. And boy was it! It saved the day with its creamy lashings caressing my mashed potato, soothing it into a smooth, creamy delight…..

Anyway, on with other matters. So, I am a working girl now (no, not like the ones with the Tiffany Lampshades). I am a PA, so they tell me! I power dressed the first day….cream Oxbow trousers, short green jacket…you know, you know. Only to feel very underdressed so, back to jeans it is. As I walk to work though, I do feel that underneath my coat is a smashing black pinstriped pencil skirt suit, court shoes and a fitted white shirt. Then, I go and get my Decaff latte with non-fat nothing, because I don’t drink coffee…but the thought of collecting my bespoke hot drink is always there. I then try not to look down at my shabby fake Toms and my bottle of crusha. It ruins the image somewhat! Besides all of my daydreaming, I love my job. I am learning so much! So much, in fact that I believe I could convincingly tell you how to protect your carpet from Agent Orange and Shrapnel. =) Each day at work is filled with tiny victories that make me feel satisfied and successful. A small mercy. =)

Would you like to hear something amusing?? Well, the other day, I went into sainsbury’s to buy a few lemons… I have taken to regularly keeping some fresh lemon juice in the fridge to add zing to water or to soothe any ailed senses in a hot drink form. So, on this particular day, to nurse my brewing cold, I bought these lemons and took them to the self-service machines. I also saw the recipe magazine they offer free of charge, so I grabbed one of those too and put it in my basket. NO sooner had I scanned each lemon, than I started to reach for my magazine when some eager whippersnapper, polecat, muckety-muck decided he would top his BCPH (Baskets Collected Per Hour) by whisking my basket away. I literally had my arm extended ready to grab thin air as he and my basket disappeared. My mouth was open….in awe…in surprise…in disgust….in offence….poised ready to say “Erm…..excuse me….I actually wanted that magazine”. When the words finally came out, he was oblivious. “Excuse…..erm….the basket….The magazine….sorry…..it’s mine…I wanted….never mind.” Like a forlorn goat, I rebuked my arm for remaining outstretched in mid-air for the entirety of my one-sided conversation. Then, I shuffled away, lemons in hand. I soon found where Basket biy had put my magazine. He’d put it on top of the Customer Service counter. Quite right too!! I’ll give him customer service!! My recipe book lay there….unwanted, unloved. Stolen away from a chance at happiness; an opportunity to flee the stack, if you will…to mingle with other recipes…. An opportunity to fill my shelves with light, colour and delicious potential. There it sat. I looked Basket boy straight in his baskety eyes and picked up the magazine from its lonely place on the side. With a sassy salute with the booklet, I left. PAH! Take that PUNK! I reign victorious.

Tonight’s dinner was somewhat interesting. I made corned beef hash. I always worry when meals have names like that, don’t you? Effective advertising works in the home too…

“Honey, what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Corned beef hash!” (I say, enthusiastically, being fully aware that what I have just said is a euphemism for ‘a hash of corned beef’)

“Ahh….is this one of your own recipes?”

(Come on! Give me some credit. If it was my own and I was really trying to conceal the fact that it was a hash of corned beef, would I really have called it Corned Beef Hash?? That begs the question, what would I have called it? ‘Corned Beef Surprise’ might work…adding surprise at the end of a meal always adds a touch of mystery and intrigue. Or perhaps ‘Corned Beef confusion’ would work better. Still not out and out admitting it’s a mess that looks as though it’s been through an animal a good few times, but acknowledging the fact that it’s not exactly a pristine  cake. Then there’s the blatant falsehood option. It’s called “Roast Beef and Potato delight”. The Satan principle…99% truth 1% lie. Definitely Beef and definitely potato….definitely not roasted. =) See where I’m going with this??)

“No, my Mum used to make it all the time- I really liked it growing up” (I mean, have you ever heard of a baby corned beef hash?)

“Cool.”

“SO….out of 10, darling…how much did you hate it?” I can read vibes like Prince John collected taxes. Pretty darn well. He did like it really but, when you think about the way it looks, and how it fills up your mouth with nothing to chew exactly, it is a bit of a non-event sometimes. It is tasty, it is easy, it is cheap…but it isn’t the way to a man’s heart. Remember that, okay? It will serve you well.

The wheel bearing has gone on our car again. AGAIN! I told Ieuan that I might call Dave or Andy for advice. We may not live close to home. We may not have a perfect car. We may not have a private jet…but. We. Will. ALWAYS. Have. DAVE! (This was the tag line I used on his promo poster. I think his business will be booming.) His workshop should be called “We will always have Dave!” or… “You will always have me!” or “Puppy eyes.com” I am confident either will work. Aw, Dave. We love Dave. Nawww (waggling finger affectionately at Dave).

Well, it’s time to retire. I love you. By the way, in my calendar for today, it’s talk like DB day. Good luck with that!

Have a great evening….and don’t forget! We will always have Dave. We will always have Philadelphia!

Snafs xxx

(Jessica)- "Those boys are not interested in your friendship, unless the word "friendship" is tattooed on your butt."

Humphers,
I miss you terribly...who invented Bath to be so far away?! Rubbish people.

I was mashing potatoes today, and I thought to myself, " I wonder how I would describe the art of mashing if I were on a cooking show.." (Obviously my thoughts springed to you as no one else plays cooking shows in the kitchen with me...) So I came up with some thoughts, catch-phrases if you will, that you can repeat to yourself in your kitchen when mashing the potatoes.
"Making mashed potatoes is purely instinctual. Many chefs cook via taste, but when it comes to potatoes, it's all about the texture...." (I may be able to sell that one to Nigella, I was rather chuffed with it).
"If your potatoes are starting to look like the wrong side of Velcro...(extends hand reassuringly)...don't worry... milk is your friend.." (Again, this one prompted a small smile of pride)
Then my cooking experience went a little down hill as I shook the "masher" (does it have a real name?) into the bowl and potato flicked all over me, all down the cupboards and up onto the walls...
I exclaimed, "Oh no, I shook the potato..."  Which to my dismay... made me laugh harder that I expected...(note: I was alone in the kitchen at this point laughing to myself...yes, out-loud)..and in short my television career as potato masher is nought. They'll never let me on the air again. But maybe I can make it as a youtube sensation....I digress...

You know the song by Frank Sinatra, called "The Girl From Ipanema"? It goes like this...
"Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes - ah"
It was only today that I found out those were the lyrics! I thought they were actually,
"Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes squawking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes - *sigh*" (as in a sigh of exasperation for the girl who goes around squawking....)
Who knew?! Although Frank's version makes more sense I have to say I prefer mine...I can more relate to the girl who goes around squawking than the girl who makes people wistful by walking.

Something terrible happened...I was honked.... *high pitched whisper*..by bald men...*higher still*...in a transit. Now, don't get me wrong, I like an ego boost as much as the next man...but...as I turned to look I saw 3 men (old enough to be older than my Father) leering in white vest tops at me. I'd like to make an announcement to these men (referring back to the title of this blog) I have no tatoos.
And I was wondering something as this happened...does the honk technique actually work? I wonder if there have been weddings and in the speeches the groom says (excuse me while I take some artistic liberties with my characters...),
"I met Sandy one hot summer day in two fousand and free. I was leaning outta my transit eating a bacon sarnie and ketchup sauce was drippin' all down my face...searching for a napkin in the glove, I looked up and saw her there...crossing my freshly laid tarmac and fought to myself, 'Georgie boi, you gotta woo this woman 'ere'..so I did what any man would've done and I laid on my horn...*BEEEEEEEP*"
-Sandy chimes in...."I've never been the same since, have I?...What woman doesn't love that? Am I right girls, d'ya get me?!"
(I've come to love George and Sandy in my head...watch this space...my lovable Norfolk folk may feature in more stories...bless. Happy anniversary George and Sandy.)
But seriously now...has it ever happened? I'm honestly curious, so do let me know.

Oh friend...I have a confession...When I was in America a party was thrown...and I attended ("Quick Bob get the kids into a minivan because the world's coming to an end!"-Yes. Thank you.). That is not the point I'm making Rachel, pipe down. I ate devilled-eggs. I KNOW! Devilled-eggs are good for throwing at cars and threatening people with...but have you stopped to try a delicious morsel? I tell you what...choirs sung, eyes were teary and horizons were broadened. Not bad, not bad at all. We shall bake them and eat them when I come down (somewhere after we draw on our feet and play Harry Potter-Can Ieuan be Dumbledore and if so can we stick cotton-wool to his toes?...No?...Just thinking out-loud).

As for your cake conundrum..."Lorelai: I'm gonna have pancakes with a side of pancakes". Let the people grow darn it!! I am glad that you have made an oath to one another about this...I hope that I too can one day have a husband who is sensitive to my cake needs as well as his own...people without cakes is like...*shudder*...It's a dark, dark place Rachel...there's no coming back from it.

Anyway friend (I went into Caitlin to kiss her goodnight tonight and she pulled her covers down just below her eyes, but enough that I could see her cheeks billowing into a smile, and said in the most delighted voice, "Oh hi friend!". We have one little sister there who is a lot like us...) I have to love you and leave you, as I sweep off the internet for bed...big plans tomorrow...I have to get money out of an ATM for my bus fare. Enviable isn't it?

Love you lots Shams...Love Snaffs (saying snaffs makes me want to wrinkle my nose in an adorable fashion...I haven't done adorable for a long time though...at least it's something I can work at on my way to the ATM)
xxx

(Rachel)-With a crunch and a zing and a hm hm hm HELLO!

"Okay, so our house is burning down and you can save me or the cake. Which do you choose?"

This, dearest Safs, is what I want to address with you today. Which do you save? I learnt an important life lesson yesterday whilst buying cake with Ieu. A lesson I especially needed.

One of the things that I love the most about my Husband is the way he talks. I love how he exaggerates and expresses himself. I find him hilarious and interesting and it's great! However. I do sometimes misinterpret what he means when he says certain things. You see, ever since our wedding, he has been hankering (nb. NOT hunkering) after cake because he didn't feel that the delicious bite he had at the cake table was sufficient. Of course, for me, The delicious bite I had at the table was enough- I loved the cake and would happily have had more but I didn't REALLY want it badly. He did- or seemed to. At various intervals, on and off for the last 2 weeks, he has expressed a desire for cake in the following words; "Mmmmm....cake", "MMmmmmm....I want cake" or just " CAKE!". Now, you, like me, may have assumed that he REALLY wanted cake. SO, when we wrote the weekly shopping list, I suggested we put cake on the list. Next scene: Morrisons in the cake and sweet treats aisle. Ieuan and I were eying up the cakes. I was in  a rare "GIVE ME SUGAR" mood and rather fancied a nice bit of sponge. We were looking at a coconut cream sponge and a victoria sponge. I could see that the decision was going to be difficult so, because he was the one who had wanted cake for such a long time, I left him to choose the cake he wanted while I went to get bread. After I had collected a few more items, Ieuan returned with two trays of millionaire shortcake and a pack of mini rolls. NO cake. I asked where the cake was. He said he wasn't getting any. Now Millionaire shortcake is my all time fave. I also expressed a desire for the minirolls so, assuming he'd done a Ieuan and chosen the things that I would have liked best, I did a me and asked him to take one of the trays back and get some cake for himself. Quietly he did so and came back with the coconut cream sponge. "Now, are you SURE that you absolutely want that cake? There isn't another you would prefer?" He looked at me exasperated and said "Can you please trust that I am happy with my choice?". With that, we did the rest of the shop.

Later that day I raised the issue of cake with him. As it happens, he didn't need cake, he just fancied some and the mini rolls would have done. My constant cake pushing for cake made him think I wanted cake, so he chose the cakey things I would like. In my head, I was thinking that I would never care enough about cake to dominate the decision making process- I would be happier if he chose one he wanted. In his head, he was thinking that I had been telling him to buy cake for ages so I must really want it and he wants to share this cake with me and so he will get one that we both like. See? Men, women and cake.

A tricky combo.

After our chat and after the light dawned on me, we made an oath. My oath went something like this "I hereby pledge that I will never again assume that Ieuan is desperate for cake and I will trust that he is happy with his decisions. I also pledge to be more decisive." His was, "I hereby pledge that I will never again make a decision based on what I think Rachel wants without checking whether she would be happier if I made the decision based on my preferences or not". In the end, pledges aside, we agreed to always put the other first and, next time the subject of cake comes up, to communicate more clearly. Now we have a box of 15 mini rolls, 1 tray of millionaire's shortbread and a coconut cream sponge to get through. So glad the exercise regime kicks off tomorrow!!

Learn to understand each other before you buy cake. It will save time, and possibly money. =)

AAO

(Jessica)- "If you die young, waiting for my blog posts..."

...I'll lay you down in a bed roses, I'll sink you in the river, at dawn and sail you away to the words of fantastic thoughts from my head. You like that mountain ninja? You like the taste of my bronze sword?!

Okay, I'm sorry. I am sorry that it has been so long since I have last blogged. There is no excuse, other than the fact that whenever I had the time... you were home. Did I hear someone say pointless? Yes, me. 

CHILAQUILES!! I have never been more happy to reply to your posts when they have such inspired titles! A bulwark is a wall? Who knew?...Oh my gosh there is far too much to reply to in your posts! Why did you do 3? I mean, I didn't reply. Get a microscope and look at the hints Sherlock! In good Lara Croft style, time was stolen from me and no matter how many times I locked the groaning butler in the freezer, I had no way of getting it back. But guess what? Now that you are married I find myself with a huge void...so guess who is going to blog post drop-kick you?...Yeah, still not me. I have coursework.

So, about your wedding, it was a fantastic day wasn't it? It was chilly...but no doubt from the warmcuddlyglow-stares you and Ieuan were swapping you didn't feel the cold did you?

Anyway, whilst you were getting lost in his eyes you missed out on some serious news. I have now usurped you in the Cain household (children-wise). I am now their favourite and they love me. They were telling me this as we were getting ice cream. I'm going to spend a weekend over there for a play date. That's right my friend. I have a play date. Don't cry.

Haha you also missed my Ever After moment, "Prince Henry: Am I to understand that you find me arrogant?"...(What Danielle would have said if she were me: "Yes, and it's very annoying *and stupidly attractive*") Remind me to tell you about that some other time. Seth and Kirsty know what I mean.

I'm trying to think of things that have happened to me since you've left...and even now my mind is blank. My life is interesting I swear, but nothing blog worthy of yet.

Someone said to me today, "Text-bomb her. Tell her you miss her". Hahaha can you imagine?! Me texting you to say that? Absurd. So I whispered back (in my head), "I'm not sure that you know this...but we share a brain. She knows."

I have heard that you are poorly! As am I!! Oh the sadness! I walked home from work almost 2 weeks ago and as it turns out I have formed into a cross between a horse and a husky...  Horsky... anyway... Doctors tomorrow. Hopefully Doctorette Antilla can save me.

It may have come to your attention that we had the BYU singers staying at our house Thursday night. Which meant I had to give up my room, and my beds to some girls. They were a really nice bunch actually and joined us for midnight ice cream when they got back. But nevertheless, I had the living room floor, which I don’t mind so much, what I did mind was my awakening.

Picture this: You are waking up all blurry-eyed and dropping in and out of sleep, you can faintly hear Sam and Caitlin around me and Mum and Dad. Nice, no?

But as I finally came around my ears fuzzily heard Dad saying something about a visitor…

And then hearing, “I have sisters, don’t worry. I have seen it all!”

My sleepy mind thought, “Whoa now. I don't know who you are just yet, But I'm pretty sure that I am not your sister…so it’s irrelevant whether or not you’ve seen it all because you have sisters...that is no excuse to see me in whatever state I am in...because I'm not your sister!!!”

One eye reluctantly pealed back to see Tim Kay sitting on the two-seated sofa. My sleeping mind whirled as I tried to bury myself into our carpeted floor…As I usually sleep in a large shirt…and the zip to the sleeping bag I was in often broke… I tried to casually sense if my legs were bare or not…because if they were…and Tim didn’t move, I could very well end up being in that sleeping bag for a very long time. Mercifully I had the insight the night before to wear my Bermuda legged tracksuit trousers. I still wasn’t totally comfortable with “bear hunt-ing” (stumble trip stumble trip) my way out of my confused array of sleeping bag, blankets and pillows with him 2 feet away from me. I made some confused sleepy mumbles to make it seem like I was asleep, and incoherent, but my mind was alive with how this would make a fantastic Miranda episode. I felt like poking my head though the blankets and pillows to throw a sarcastic and slightly terrified look to the invisible camera, followed by a little shake of my head and a “this cannot be happening to me” whimper. But at the time there was no such saving grace to make this situation even slightly funny. A few seemingly witty remarks were made by the recently multiplied men in the household about teenage laziness as they walked out of the room for breakfast…little did they know I had mapped out a battle plan in just a few, world record long, minutes to ensure my safe passage out of there…either by making him leave, or getting myself out. All of these, minus number 3 and 6, require total body and face coverage whilst remaining immobile…

1.      Cry. It is a truth universally acknowledged that weeping women scare most single men.

2.      Pull a Rob. German chanting, Russian threats.

3.      Project Pony-launch. I was tantalisingly close to Caitin’s pink play horse…No, you’re right. Bad idea.

4.      But I’m a Gilmore. No one can argue with myself like I can. Voices and everything.

5.      Ghost voice. “Timothy…TIMothy…TIMOTHY!!”

6.      Staring competition-...almost this the portrait from Scooby Doo that stands in the haunted Mansion. That would promote some awkward shuffling out of the room.

7.      Recite “Bee I’m expecting you”

8.      6^th sense. “I see dead people”

…See? This took me minutes. Teenage Laziness indeed, teenage planning by stratagem. I think so! 

I appreciate this isn’t a long one, I’m sorry. But nothing huge has happened to me. I’ll play chicken on the A140 or something this week so I have something to report.

I’ll love you and leave you.

Reply or better…

Yours,

Jess
P.S. Got a hand full of barbie

(Rachel)- Chilaquiles! (Chilaquiles) CHILAQUILES!!

Today is national Chilaquiles day (aka- talk like Cesar day) so.....join in....CHILAQUILES!! I hope you enjoyed 'talk like Peter Jones day'...don't know about you but mine was pretty uneventful. (Sometimes, when I think about what other people must think of us when they read about the things we do and say to each other, I think they must worry for our mental stability...conversely, they may just be jealous that they don't have as many 'in-jokes' as we do. We're pretty unique in that regard!! To all readers who aren't Jess! We are sane, honest!)

Well, so much has happened since we last blogged (the royal 'we' of course because the last 2 blog posts have been done by me), I hardly know where to begin. OOoh, I found something out about one of our nicknames. I'm afraid it's pretty sad news. I was talking to Ieuan about our nicknames and he asked what some of them were (because, as you know, anything pretty much goes) so I reeled off a few. "Humphrey, Humphers, Monroe, Montgom, Shamu, Snafu..." "WHAT?!" "Humphrey, Humph..." "No, the last one." "Oh, Sanfu." "Why on earth do you call each other Snafu?" "Well...I don't really know. It's a gilmore girls thing, I think." "Do you even know what SNAFU means?" "Not a clue." "Oh...It's a military term. It stands for Situation Normal All Fouled Up (only the 'Fouled' is a replacement)."...............*awkward silence*........ What on earth was I supposed to say to that?? All this time, we have been swearing at each other! Who knew?!

So, I'm 21. Did you know? I must say, Snafs (oops....there I go again!) it feels different. I am a fully grown adult. I think I've pretty much felt like a 'beginning woman' for at least 8 years now. I bet you will feel older when your birthday comes around. You see, you've been older than me for a long time now and your age is only just starting to catch up!!

Let me tell you a little about my dissertation meeting the other week. Now, I have known Patrick (my suoervisor) for about 1.5 years now and, because of my research, I have spent quite a bit of time in his company, have invited him to church several times, have argued with him many times and have helped him out with things many times. This means, I know him quite well. I could instantly tell, on this morning, that he was quite quiet. It took me abot 20 seconds more to realise that he was in an absolutely stinkingly foul mood. Oh dear. Considering it was first thing in the morning, I knew one of the things that had probably put him in that mood was my dissertation. I could feel emotion welling up but I stopped it. It might be alright. Then I made a fatal rookie mistake. Probably rule no.11 in Gibbs' book. I asked, sincerely, why he didn't seem very happy. I know. A very Rachel thing to do. I should never have asked. "WELL, To be honest, this hasn't put me in a very good mood...." And so it began. I felt a little like I did when Mr Randall told me I had got an E for my Maths mock at GCSE. With what he was saying, I had 3 options.
1- Cry. He was tearing apart something I had put my heart in. Tears would have been a legit response.
2-Yell. He was tearing apart something I had put my heart in. Yelling would have been a legin response.
3- Smile and take it. He was tearing apart something I had put my heart into- he just wants to help me make it better. He probably woke up on the wrong side of the bed too.

Despite my self and my desire to whip out a crazy combo of both 1 and 2, I went wth 3. Standard. I felt a little like Kathleen Kelly when she's brandishing the carving knife at the part and cannot think of anything to say. Why can I never say anything?? =)
It ended up being okay. The fact that I had taken it all like a trojan meant that, at the end of it, he felt pretty bad and thanked me for being nice. He said "Had I sent you out of this office in tears, I would have been distraught so thank you for taking it so well". That made me feel better but oh boy! I have some serious work to do on this baby! I'm still ahead of the game though... Gotta get my, get my, head in the game.....

You know how I work in bullet points? Well, the my long-standing method was tested yesterday. I was with two of my friends and we were planning a presentation for next wednesday. I was surprised by how long it was taking. By the third hour, I was feeling pretty bored of the process. The three of us have too much fun together and we talk too much and I think we were over complicating things. Laura writes a lot of notes. DETAILED notes and she was writing everything down that we were saying. I began to question why it is I don't take notes like that. Then I decided it was because I have a simple mind. Laura and Simon are more....careful in their note taking. I like basic notes because that allows me to expand on it myself. Just FYI, I have no idea which is better, all I am saying is that I do not think my brain could handle changing its note taking method now. It would tip it over the edge. Just saying.

Before I sign off, I would like to tell you about a Jason Bourne moment I had on Monday. So, my train back from Ieuan's house was delayed by 85 minutes meaning that I got back much later than planned. I was on the Virgin Pendelino service to Edinburgh Waverley and we pulled in at Lancaster. My big rucksack was in a luggage area at the back of my carriage towards the doors. I walked over to get my back out but the queue to get out was long and so I would have to wait until we actually stopped at Lancaster and people got off before I could get my bag. But that was okay because I had put it at the top of the pile. As people alighted the train, I wriggled my way through to the luggage bit. No bag. I say no bag...there was a bag but it was under 3 suitcases. People were still coming past me and so I couldn't step into the aisle to get my bag out until EVERYONE had got off the train. But I was still on it and I was not going stay on it. Noooo Wayyy. I heard the bleeping of the doors. They were about to close. With an almighty "NOOOO!" I yanked my bag out, let the suitcases tumble, I leaped over them, ran through the carriage to the door and, with an almighty jump, landed on the platform, just as the whistle blew for the train to leave. It was epic. Wish you'd seen it.

Anyway, McSass, I best be off.
I hope you are feeling better soon! Remember I love you loads. I can't wait to see you next week!
All my love,

McShams. X