Moral guardian? That’s a bit of a worry

I am so excited. I’ve been asked to be a Godmother which is such a privelege.
What’s more, the poor unfortunate little girl saddled with me as her moral guardian, is an absolute sweety. She is just so cute and I can’t wait to be given the opportunity to lavish lots of love and fuss on her.
Ever the PR, I have also managed to make my Mum extremely happy, well she can be a God-grandmother and, as she ruefully ponted out, it’ll probably be the closest she gets to the real thing.
I feel so honoured and you can’t wipe the smile from my face.

Decoration woes

We have an interesting patchwork effect in our dining room. It comes from the inability of paint companies to make a paint that resembles anything like the colour that the colour chart indicates. I know Dulux has that thing where you take in a piece of old blanket or a photo of a sunset and they magic up exactly the same colour but what happens when you can’t find something that is the colour you want? I’m sure the dullards at B&Q won’t be able to do anything with my description of ‘well, it’s kind of like a wine colour but a bit less in your face’. We’ll probably just have to live with the patchwork effect until we get bored and paint the whole thing magnolia. Until then I’ll shut the door…

I’m normally much more obsessive

About Big Brother that is…although general comments on my unusually high levels of obsessive behaviour generally will be noted.

I just can’t seem to get into it this year. It’s either that I’ve grown up (my love of Hollyoaks went the same way - well it was a combination of increased maturity and the irritating sign language people on the omnibus edition), or the Big B people have got it wrong by constantly introducing just too many new people too often.

It’s not a case of “Who goes? You decide.” More “Who goes? Who cares,” unfortunately.

Not one but two

Holiday’s that is. Yes, I bit the bullet and I’m going on holiday - hurrah!

For the first one I am venturing out on my own. Terrified I tell you. But I am under dr’s orders to remove the stress from my life. She did say she’d like to sign me off work but that’s not really an option, I asked if I could be signed off my home life, turns out that’s not really an option either!

Second holiday is a jaunt to the Big Apple with my Mum. She is like a small child with a new toy and the first thing she did was rush out and buy a guide book. I can see myself being dragged to all sorts of unlikely places and having to avoid certain areas for fear of terrifying her. It’s not New York is scary - certainly no scarier than London - but my Mum is from the deepest darkest countryside where racial mix is often mistaken for a more exotic version of an Indian snack product and the closest thing to high rise is the church steeple!

The prospect of four days alone with my Mum is also quite terrifying. Don’t get me wrong, she’s lovely, just a bit OTT sometimes. For example last weekend. Now admittedly I haven’t seen her for about a fortnight but I do have my own life and I did leave home 18 years ago, but last weekend the pressure was on. ‘Please come down to see us’, ‘can we come up to see you?’, ‘can we take you out for lunch?’. I just wanted some space for myself so then she brought in the big guns, commonly known as my Dad. I have to point out that I’m not a daddy’s girl by any stretch of the imagination but my Mum uses him tactically to make me feel really guilty. The upshot? I gave in and spent an hour and a half in one of those special south west London traffic jams before reaching some distant part of Surrey (technically half way except for the gridlock) where lunch was had and parents were satisfied - ah but for how long?

One year on

I have spent a lot of time today reading the comments on the BBC website on 7th July one year on and am disappointed (but not surprised) at the amount of politics people want to enter into on a day like today.

Whatever your views on Iraq, Tony Blair, George Bush et al (and believe me I have many), today is not the time to air them.

Two minutes’ silence is not a lot to spare and it demonstrates our unity. Just because we don’t have two minutes’ silence for the victims of the IRA or for the innocents killed in Iraq doesn’t mean we shouldn’t stand united for peace and hope and to remember that 52 people died, 100s were injured and they and their families should be given the opportunity to mark a moment that changed their lives forever. 

The final World Cup blog

Well the competition isn’t over but my interest in it has plummeted. France Italy in the final - bleurgh!

I spent last night in little Portugal which is nestled neatly between Stockwell and Vauxhall and was jammed back with red and green. The atmosphere was brilliant and - even when Portugal lost - the party continued.

I need a holiday

This is not a ‘I really fancy a holiday’ moment. This is ‘I’m desperate to get myself away from my every day life’. The problem is it looks as though I may have to go on my own which kind of takes the fun out of it. It’s not the travelling on my own or indeed even the staying in the hotel room on my own (think of the spreading out possibilities - what luxury). It’s the eating on my own and the not having anyone to talk about my day with.

I am a fully capable, independent woman but my Billy No Mates status in the world of holiday fun is paralysing. Will I get over it? Watch this space…

Not a very successful exercise

Okay, I admit I got two wrong. One (Germany getting through) quite pleased about. As for the French, well all I can say is come on Portugal! As for the England Portugal match, it was a truly poor game. Portugal failed to capitalise on England’s 10 man status and showed absolutely no flair and commitment apart from Ricardo who is an amazing player.

I have to confess that by the time it went to penalties I wanted Portugal to win because one more minute of watching England play with the collective flair of a two day old cheese sandwich would have driven me insane. I did want Ronaldo to miss though, he’s a smug little git and has that really unattractive quality of knowing he’s very good at something and showing off at every available opportunity - miracle that he didn’t do a step over when taking the penalty.

Why England can’t get past the quarter finals is a bit of a mystery as - on paper - we have talent in abundance. May be it is Sven’s fault. Perhaps if he did focus on the field of play instead of playing the field then we might have a more cohesive team that could play together. But all of that is passed and perhaps a less cerebral and more guts and glory manager will help the team achieve their potential (having said cerebral management hasn’t exactly harmed Mr Wenger’s career has it?).

I am extraordinarily pissed off that Sven will continue to be paid. It’s just a farce. He needs the money pourquoi? His contribution to the management of the team will be?

Anyway, I refuse to be drawn on who will win tonight (I suspect I want Germany to go through but can’t exactly put my finger on why). Tomorrow I will be on the South Lambeth Road, downing a Super Bock and enjoying a bifhana and telling people proudly that meu marido e portuguese. Hopefully at around 10pm, I will be being squashed by happy, smiling mustacheoed men.