Hens vs stags: Two very different dos

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Hen do badgeLocation
Me: Manchester
Him: Munich

Paraphernalia
Me: Two pink sashes, one balloon, and one excellent badge (see right).
Him: PVC lederhosen.

Memory
Me: I can remember every single thing. Every drink, every dance move, every cupcake with a picture of the groom’s face printed on it.
Him: Absolutely none whatsoever beyond 10pm (although he can’t actually remember the precise time he lost his memory so it was probably a lot earlier than that).

Dancing
Me: Enough to excuse me from exercise for at least a month / that it’s a wonder nobody got hurt / that I must never become famous lest the CCTV footage comes back to haunt me.
Him: I’m not sure if stumbling into a cutlery table and smashing it all over the floor of a busy restaurant really counts as dancing…

Entertainment
Me: Food, sitting down, spa treatments, and cabaret featuring a Madonna montage that was so perfect it made me want to buy a cone shaped bra. I’m sure I’d get a lot of wear out of it.
Him: Does watching your friend ‘tombstone’ your best man into a breeze block, knocking him unconscious, count as entertainment? I’m told the answer is ‘not at the time but absolutely 100% yes the following day’.

Vomiting
Me: Ok, perhaps a little but it’s not my fault my food allergies couldn’t even give me my hen do weekend off.
Him: A good keg’s worth each, apparently. But if you will drink your weight in beer and jagermeister, you will suffer the consequences.

Casualties
Me: One pedicure chip caused – I believe – by over kicking to Footloose.
Him: I’m told that at the height of his inebriation he demanded an ambulance be called. Thankfully nobody was sober enough to dial 1.1.2 in the right order so he just had to sleep/vomit it off instead.

Photos
Me: We’re women: if we did it, we snapped it.
Him: Once you’ve seen one picture of your future husband in tight PVC shorts, there’s really no need to see more.

Recovery
Me: I’m writing this on the same day as I returned from the hen so I think I’m through the worst of it.
Him: Completion date TBC.

21 things you shouldn’t put on a wedding gift list

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gift list1. An iPad. Nice try.

2. Socks. What, are you going to put pants on there too? Come on.

3. Clothes for children you haven’t yet spawned. It’s weird.

4. A toilet brush. Nobody wants to buy you that.

5. Anything else to do with your toilet. Rolls, duck and amusing seats are also out of the question.

6. Incense sticks. I’m sorry, are you getting married in the nineties?

7. A year’s supply of birthday presents for other people. Don’t pretend it hasn’t crossed your mind.

8. Same goes for wrapping paper.

9. His and Hers ANYTHING WHATSOEVER.

10. An apron that makes it look like you’re wearing women’s underwear. Do I need to explain why?

11. Massage oil. You’re getting married; you’re way passed all that.

12. An ironing board. People don’t want one for themselves, let alone you.

13. Coat hangers. Yes it would be nice if they all matched but let’s not peak too soon.

14. A pumice stone. No guest will enjoy being responsible for the smoothness of your feet.

15. A banana guard. Even when they understand it’s for, it’ll still make people uncomfortable.

16. Headphones. Noise cancelling technology doesn’t exactly say true love, does it?

17. A tamagotchi. No it is not a good way to test if you would be good parents.

18. A bread maker – unless you aspire to put on three stone in your first month of marriage.

19. An ‘Oh no not you again!’ doormat (Yes, they exist). The one person it genuinely applies to will be the one to buy it for you. The ‘Wow! Nice Underwear‘ mat is probably best avoided too.

20. The Kama Sutra. Don’t give your guests nightmares.

21. Shoes. I know, I was gutted too.

You shall not pass! Why the toilet door stays closed

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You shall not passThere isn’t much we haven’t seen each other do.

He’s seen me fall face first into a dinghy.

I’ve seen him take the world’s longest tumble over a suitcase.

He’s seen me choke on blackcurrant squash ’til it came out my nose.

I’ve seen him drink so much whiskey he couldn’t find our bedroom.

He’s seen me learn the hard way that one must put sun cream on all four of one’s cheeks.

I’ve seen him find out that “Wash at 30 degrees” labels are not to be ignored.

There isn’t much we haven’t been witness to in the last eight years. That’s what being in a relationship means – signing up to be the one that gets to see (and laugh at) every single act.

Except one.

Going to the toilet, using the ladies, popping to the little boys’ room, relieving oneself of all that cordial… whatever you want to call it, we do it alone.

In this house, the bathroom door must be respected. Sure, he can wander in and grab his toothbrush when I’m washing my face, and I can interrupt his morning shower to remind him to please put the bin out, but if there’s anything else happening, we steer well clear.

But why be so prudish about something as basic as a little excretion? CHILL OUT GUYS, everybody wees, you might say.

Well yes they do, but that doesn’t mean it requires an audience. If a man uses the loo and there’s nobody there to hear it, does the flush still make a sound? I’m happy to take his word for it.

After this many years together it can be hard to maintain any illusion. We’re not the people we said we were on Date One and we’ve had to come to terms with that; he doesn’t really like Coldplay, he just said that to reel me in, and I don’t like football, I just meant that I would watch David Beckham games. He knows now that women’s legs aren’t permanently smooth (or smooth at all between October and March) and I realise that living with a man who goes to the gym has its sweaty, pungent downsides. But – if nothing else – at least we have spared each other the sight of what we look like when we empty our bodies of waste.

There’s not much privacy in a long term relationship – Why are you shaving like that? Are you sure your phone is charged? What are you doing sitting down when the bin is still overflowing? – so bathroom time is pretty much all we’ve got left.

Like so many things, I guess you just have to find what works for you, whether it’s an open door policy or the threat of divorce if you’re ever caught with your trousers down.

Either way, I recommend making sure you agree on this one. Otherwise, if you need the toilet as frequently as I do, you’ll find that you’re arguing about every 20 minutes.

And that’s just unhealthy.

Weddings: Get married, become a celebrity (if only for the day)

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405Weddings are about lots of things: love, friends, family, cake, champagne, not falling over in front of 120 people…

And for those of us who live in the real world where nobody notices if you do pretty much anything, except smudge newspaper ink all over your face or mistake a shop mannequin for a human, it’s also the closest you’ll come to being famous – if only for one day.

When I’m at a wedding, even if I’ve seen the bride and/or groom throw up after drinking too many mojitos or argue about who is better at Articulate, they’re suddenly escalated to stardom. I gasp when she enters the room, blush if he looks my way, and am willing to queue to have my picture taken with them.

Now that our wedding is only three months away, I’ve started to realise that – for just 12 hours – it’ll be us that gets treated like minor gods just for repeating the words after the registrar correctly, or consuming a canapé unsupervised.

But why does this happen?

Money money money
Weddings are expensive. And because everybody knows you’ve re-mortgaged your house, sold your priceless first edition Gary Barlow autobiography and eaten only dry Ryvita since you got engaged, the least they can do is make it worth your while. So they treat you like the new Posh and Becks / Beauty and the Beast / Ron and Hermione in the hope that the memory will keep you going when you’re still eating crackers in six months’ time.

Lights, camera, lifelong commitment!
I don’t know about you but when I apply my make-up in the morning, put on my shoes or go to the toilet, there’s nobody there to snap the evidence. But on your wedding day, you can’t burp without somebody getting it on film (so probably best not to if you can help it). Having two people change from individuals you’d normally leave to have their tea without documenting the event, to people whose every chew is worth papping, adds to the Hollywood-style illusion.

Walking into a room is harder than it looks
The best most of us can hope for when we arrive to eat dinner with pals is a friendly wave or a (hopefully) meaningless flick of the bird from our most cheeky of chums. But at weddings, the arrival of the bride and groom is worthy of the same reaction as scoring a World Cup winning goal. Look at them! Aren’t they clever! They can be married and walk into a room! You roll out the red carpet (or whichever fabric best matches the colour scheme) and give them a hero’s welcome, just for saying ‘I do’ at the right time – and then you drink everything in sight.

Eternal happiness is a strong look
It’s a fact that nobody looks better than the bride and groom on their wedding day. Even if he opts for a Dumb and Dumber inspired suit and she becomes a walking talking meringue, wedding attendance rules state that – just like publicans faced with a film star – it’s your job to tell them how fantastic they look (and then tweet what you really think later).

Everybody wants their turn
Let’s be honest, as much fun as it is to woop as the new Mr and Mrs cut a cake or shuffle around in a circle to ‘Flying without wings’, it’s even more fun to picture the day when you get to have a go. So we treat our chums to a spot of short-term celebrity, secure in the knowledge that at some point soon, they’ll do the exact same for us – and send you off into marital bliss believing OK! magazine will want to hear about it.

As somebody who cries when people sing Happy Birthday or are in any way nice to me, I think I’m going to need some practise in keeping my sh*t together in the face of all this attention.

Because if I don’t, nobody’s going to want the photographs, and that magazine deal could really come in handy.

Honeymoon booking: The curse of the online review

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IMG_2897We’re planning our honeymoon.

With the trials and tribulations of deciding how many sausages to allocate each guest at the wedding day barbecue, and which hairdresser is resilient enough to take on my mane, the promise of a massive holiday is doing wonders for morale.

We’re going to Bali. It’s very far away, so any unpaid wedding suppliers will have to really want their cash to travel for 17 hours to get it; it promises to be sunny, otherwise I’ll demand my money back; and, as far as I know, the Northern Line doesn’t run that far, and I could really do with a break from it.

Now that we’ve booked the flights, we need to choose where to stay. And, thanks to the internet, we can peruse every hotel, beach and bathroom Bali has to offer from the comfort of our lounge. But, like it or not, we can also see what every joker with an internet connection has to say about it.

Most of the time, reviews are very useful. I want to hear from real people whether a hotel’s sheets were clean and the doors were on their hinges, or if they would sooner sleep under a bridge than stay there again, but there are some details that should be left on the plane.

And so, I’ve put together a list of questions wannabe reviewers should ask themselves before they start typing, to save future holidaymakers some time…

1) Have you actually stayed at the hotel in question?
Now, one would assume this was an obvious requirement but apparently not. When investigating why a hotel we were considering was deemed ‘terrible’ by a reviewer, we discovered it was because they had ‘popped in for an evening drink and been very disappointed with the fruit cocktails which did not contain anywhere near enough tequila!’ Firstly, unless you checked in and spent a night there, I don’t want to hear from you. And secondly, maybe just ask for a bit more Tequila…?

2) Did you check a map before you booked?
You have nobody but yourself to blame if you are disappointed at the proximity of your hotel to the sights. Yes, I know you should be able to trust the words the hotel (whose main aim in life is to get your cash) wrote on their website, but if you didn’t take a millisecond to google the place and do a bit of measuring, then you deserve to be a 15 minute walk from the beach (instead of the advertised seven).

3) Would you have preferred to spend your holiday at home?
It seems that some people just go on holiday to be frustrated at how much harder it is to live their lives exactly as they do at home, abroad.
“The selection of TV channels was ludicrous! There was only news and foreign programmes I couldn’t understand!”
“It took 10 MINUTES to log onto the hotel Wi-Fi. Margaret and I were spitting feathers!”
One would hope that having paid to fly to the other side of the world, you could find something better to do than tweet your disappointment at not being able to watch QI repeats on Dave, but if not, I’m not sure it’s grounds for a one star rating.
If you’re on a business trip then I understand – you need your screens – but otherwise a couple of weeks without the internet will be good for you. Especially if you’re just going to use it to write a review about how long it took you to log on.

4) Did you converse with any human beings?
I appreciate that if the mattress was made of glass, the food saw you bedridden for three days, or the receptionist told you to bugger off on arrival, then a bad review is justified. But if you just didn’t bother to speak up when simple things that could have been resolved annoyed you, just so that you could write a bitchin’ review when you got home, I don’t want to hear about it. Yes, it is frustrating when hotels don’t telepathically work out that you’d like a second towel for your sun lounger, or that your toilet roll has run out in the middle of the night, but if they’ve got a nice pool, are near the sea, and have a healthy approach to cleanliness, I’m probably still going to consider staying there.

And so, after we’d filtered through the good, the bad and the shouldn’t-ever-be-allowed-near-a-computer-again of the online review world, we made a selection. For the first five nights of our trip, we will be staying in a hotel that, according to TripAdvisor, 664 people think is Excellent/Very good, and that 39 people think is Terrible/Poor.

I can only hope that the majority is right. Otherwise, the internet will be hearing from me.

Wedding dilemmas: The guest list

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IMG_2901They say it’s the hardest part of any wedding. And they’re right.

I thought the dress would be difficult. Finding an item in which you look so incredible people gasp for air in your presence sounds tough. But it turns out that anyone will look nice in a wedding dress. Even someone who still has a skin condition only babies get 27 YEARS after they were born.

And finding a venue was easier than I thought too. They have food and tables and are willing to serve you booze until the early hours of the morning. What’s not to like?

But the guest list is tricky. It’s sensitive, it’s complicated and – above all else – it determines whether you’ll be so strapped for cash after the honeymoon that you have to eat your wedding cards to survive.

So how do you choose who to invite? There’s a lot of advice around about what justifies an invitation to a wedding: how long you’ve been friends, how close you are, the likelihood that they’ll buy you that Cath Kidston rolling pin you’ve had your eye on… but very little on how to rule people out. So here’s a check list to help slim down those numbers:

1) Do they get dangerously over-excited in the presence of food and booze?
It’s customary for guests to be given some kind of meal and beverage at a wedding. And if black or deep red were the colours brides wore then this may not be a problem, but white and cream are much less forgiving. One ketchupy paw here, another gravy soaked cheek there and all of a sudden your couture looks like a mucky tea towel. So choosing guests who don’t need hosing down after dinner is advisable.

2) Will they think it’s funny to shout out mid-ceremony?
When I’m standing at the altar and the shit is about to get real, I can’t imagine I’ll be in the mood for jokes. As entertaining as it is when somebody bursts in during a soap opera wedding at the ‘Does anybody have any reason why these two mugs should not be married?’ moment, I don’t think it would be so funny in real life. So if you’ve got a friend whose pursuit of laughs is likely to outweigh their fear of being punched in the face with a bouquet, maybe leave them off the list.

3) Would your fiancé be better off marrying them?
The groom’s final chance to make a run for it before the ball and chain is attached comes when he’s arrived at the venue and is watching the guests arrive. So be careful not to invite anyone who might make him think he’s made the wrong choice. For example, my other half likes festivals and camping and generally being sociable outdoors. I, on the other hand, don’t even like watching festival coverage on TV because all the mud makes me angry. So I won’t be inviting any women with a penchant for portaloos lest he realises at the last minute what he’s missing. Best to opt for your most offensive acquaintances to make sure you stand out as the best option.

4) Will they notice if the registrar’s eyes don’t match the centre pieces?
As a couple for whom it took more than 12 months to change the light bulb in our bedroom, I think it’s unlikely that we will be organised enough to ensure every detail of our wedding is perfect. And that’s fine as long as nobody mentions how much of a shame it is that the wedding vows are not written in the same font as the invitations, or that the sausages on the barbecue are not the exact pink of the flowers. So I recommend crossing off any perfectionists you know and prioritising your less observant friends and relatives – they won’t notice if the wedding car banner actually says ‘Just Barried’.

5) Can they dance?
The best thing about wedding receptions is that everyone lets their hair down and dances like idiots until their feet can take no more. And just as good singers are not welcome at karaoke, good dancers have no place at weddings. I want air punching and hip thrusting and the occasional robot. So if you’re as dangerous as I am on the dance floor, leave anybody with rhythm or co-ordination at home, they’ll just make you look bad.

So there you have it. It’s a cut throat approach but at least it’ll prevent you having to spend your big day in a marquee the size of Wales.

Or if you choose to opt out then just make sure you buy some honey. Card can be ever so tasteless on its own.

How to sober up in 10 seconds

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IMG_1799If you venture out of a Friday night, consume a cocktail or four and not much dinner, you may well feel a little dizzy on your arrival home. What one is looking for in this situation is a piece of toast, a sit down, and perhaps a calming bath. Upon my return last night this was exactly the trio I had in mind, and yet what I found when I opened the door was a very worried looking boyfriend (mine, to clarify) and a fair level of blood scattered around the flat.

A number of questions popped to mind at this sight, and it was only when he put his two bandaged fingers in front of me that I was at least able to confirm that there was a rational explanation. The expression on his face was similar to that of a child showing a grazed knee – unsure as to how he’d done so much damage, scared by the blood, and just starting to realise that it really really hurt. Of course the main difference is that there were no tears and no bike involved. No, this little injury occurred due to the accidental close proximity of a razor and a set of keys in his bag. An eagerness to get in the front door and a lack of light led to what I understand was a very quick and sharp shredding of the tops of two digits. Let this be a lesson to us all.

If there is to be anything good to come of this unexpectedly bloody start to the weekend, let it be this: I am the most squeamish of people and really no use to anyone in the face of a physical crisis; something happens to my knees and my arms start to flap and I generally try to keep my eyes and ears closed ’til it’s all over. But I was pleased to find that when asked by my injured dear this morning if I would take a look at the damage to assess whether stitches would be required, I stepped up. I can only take this as a sign of true love because I can assure you it was not pretty. The other good thing is that the distraction of last night’s events managed to make my brain forget that consumption of cocktails usually means that it must make the room start spinning every time I close my eyes.

It’s nice to find the silver lining.