She's pretty good ain't she?
http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2008/aug/08/disability.health?gusrc=rss&feed=society
Well done Lucy.
Last Friday, we finally got the news that Eliott had been given a place at his school. It's taken a house move and thousands of pounds, but I don't care. Watching his face light up this morning, when he saw his new school uniform, and reading through his end of year report today, reminded me (as if I needed reminding) that it has all been worthwhile.
Tomorrow, we celebrate.
I is still alive.
With everything that happened in the last few months, blogging kind of slipped down the agenda. I lost my lovely, lovely aunt very suddenly, Minks' mum has been so poorly, Eliott's school situation got worse before it got better (who'd a thunk you could move down a waiting list?) and still isn't resolved (although our recent house move might sort it out).
There have been good things. Work has been as busy as ever, we've been socialising like it's 1999 and Eliott is an absolute star. He did his first school assembly this week - not for the faint hearted - and his first sleepover at a friend's house last night. How the heck did he suddenly get so dang big and independent?
I could tell you about holidays, day trips, drunken adventures in tacky nightclubs, sambuca-fuelled line dancing in the rose, birthdays, cracking The Times, Brighton, Liverpool, Eliott's lack of a school place (disaster!), meals out, meals in, Kate Moss' new Top Shop collection (and my addiction to it), new hair, new coats, studio sessions, football parties, freshly decorated kitchens, false alarms, drunken husbands, drunker wives, family visits, family fall outs and my continuing struggle to find time to write my book...
or, I could just implore you to click this link, listen to a lovely song, and help send my other half and his band of merry men on the road to V.
There's a photo of a previous winning band with Uncle Dave Grohl. Need I say more?
I am covered head to toe in a rash.
This does not bode well for my girl's night on Friday. No amount of make-up can cover the hives and the antihistamine is knocking me out instead of easing the burn. I can't work out what has caused it - maybe I am allergic to being 34 (who wouldn't be?)
I better be on top form for the weekend because I am going to the best place on earth this Sunday. I'll let you guess...
10 years! 10 years with the same man, I tell thee. Only a handful of nights spent apart and not a single indiscretion (unless you count trying to French kiss a policewoman - or was it a policeman? - on my hen night).
Vodka has been downed, champers has been quaffed, Vietnamese tucker has been scoffed.
I've had the most bizarre day in the history of me but all that matters now is having my health, my happiness and my Matt.
I should write a book about this particular rollercoaster ride. Hmmmmm. Watch this space........
The last few weeks have been a complete rollercoaster. Due to the sale of one of my old-faithful mags, I lost a bit of regular advertorial work. Then another client, becoming a frequent and well-paying gig, let me know that commissions were going on hold for a few months. A feature I'd had commisioned was dropped and an opinion piece spiked. Not the best few days I'd ever had.
You can imagine how, in my usual, undramatic way, I responded.
Howling at the moon and moaning to anyone who would have me worked a treat, though. I got the kick up the ass I needed and sold three stories (one to a HUGE new client) in as many days. I am also pestering an agent to within an inch of her life to take a shot on me and my new book project. Sometimes it takes a bleak week to make me raise my game.
Although I didn't manage to stick to my detox plan, I have made good on my most important resolution - to get to line-dancing classes on Mondays. I absolutely love it and after a terrifying first week in early Jan, I can already see the day when I will be doing 'Backstreet Attitude' with the best of them. Kick ball change all the way!
I've also been booking lots of gig tickets and dreaming about holidays. We're off on one shortly, to France, which I can't wait for. Also dreaming about a crazy dress I saw in Brighton yesterday. I might have to go back and buy it this week, in time for my birthday-related girls night out. I need it.
Having the quiet week work-wise afforded me a rare opportunity to watch the millions of films I've bought in the last few months. Naturally, my favourite was Eagle vs Shark. Jemaine Clemment is a legend. If you haven't seen it yet, watch it immediately!
Anyone else cooking along with Mr. Ramsay this evening? We've just been out to get the ingredients courtesy of WM Morrison who, it has to be said, had everything in adundance. I bet there's not a king scallop left in a Waitrose this side of Luton.
I know exactly how this interactive TV/kitchen extravaganza will pan out (ha ha) in our gaff.
Eliott will refuse to go to bed for starters. Then he'll moan about having to watch a 'mean man' cooking a dinner instead of Charlotte's Web aka The Pig Film. Once I've forced Eliott to bed on pain of a weekend TV blackout, Matt and Big Richy will start arguing over who gets to be head chef and criticising Ramsay's culinary methods. Richy will giggle whilst winding Matt up to fever pitch. Matt, under pressure, will say that Ramsay is teaching him how to suck eggs (we've already had a chorus of 'steak and frickin' chips - how hard can it be?' this afternoon).
Meanwhile, Jay and myself will get ratted on Kaluha and probably have to go to The Rose and order a double Tia Maria when the chefs get to dessert and realise we've plundered the booty. By around 10.10pm, myself and Jay will be too drunk and senseless to eat. Matt and Ricky will be taking all the credit for Ramsay's genius and Matt shall proclaim: 'These are the best chips I've ever tasted.'
Maybe I'll watch Vera Duckworth kick the bucket instead.
Well, I fell spectacularly off the wagon at the weekend and am currently nursing a red wine, curry and cider hangover so the detox is officially over. Perhaps I didn't need it as much this year? Or perhaps I am fantastically weak-willed? Either way, I had a damn fine weekend of family meet-ups, partying and force-feeding my precious Valium supply to the unsuspecting public.
Last night we went out to celebrate my brother-in-law's birthday. Eliott dressed as a cyberman but looked more like Vince Noir. People keep telling me what a stunner he is all of a sudden. It's funny, because when he was a baby he wasn't an angelic little cherub and was largely ignored by the adoring public (apart from when he was bawling his bonce off). I always remember Minks saying that she expected El to pop out looking like a proper mini-man, and he did exactly that. Now he's growing into those mini-rock star looks and we can't go anywhere it seems without people fawning and telling me (and him - read on) what a looker he is.
The downside to all this is that Eliott is already becoming vain. I can't talk - it must be in the genes. I caught him yesterday, in said cyber-dress, admiring himself in the mirror whilst reciting the list of guests thus: 'Nanny will think I look cool, Uncle Andrew will think I look cool, Auntie B will think I look cool...' and on receiving his first compliment of the evening he turned round to me cooly and whispered, 'see, mummy, I do look cool'. On Monday he told me that, according to his girlfriend, he's 'pretty' (he's THREE gashdannit), and apparently, the best thing about his costumes and nail polish is: 'Everyone looks at me mummy!' I see a future of being chased by dribbling teenage girls (and boys?) as Eliott struts his stuff in outrageously camp high fashion and platform boots. Can't wait.
Convince your husband and child that what they need is a big, fat, feck off holiday in Florida. With a 52" colour TV, a jacuzzi next to the bed and Spiderman and Shrek 3D rides just a stones throw away. They didn't need much convincing.
I'm going to shat my pants with fear/excitment. I might start taking valium now in preparation for the flight.
Let's do it!
