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Jan. 16th, 2007 11:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tacitOk, so it's been a while.
First, there was Christmas, for which we had my family, C's family and a random American. We educated the American in the ways of mince pies, mulled wine and pantomimes, which was hilarious on all accounts. He learnt how to yell out 'she's behind you!' at absolutely the worst time in a panto, and cause the whole cast to get the bent-double-giggles so that the panto finishes half an hour late because nobody quite got themselves together again. He wanted to know why we eat things that nobody likes. We explained that it's traditional. Nobody gets between the English and tradition.
My parents were reasonably well behaved until the last night they were staying, at which point my mother had exhausted her supply of holiday cheer and she complained, whined, sulked and then stormed off. They snuck off before anyone else got up the following morning, which I'm trying not to be too frustrated by. C was quite alarmed by it all - I'm a bit smug because she never really believed me when I said my house was a little on the tense side growing up. I won't go into the fun we had with my brother, who I very much doubt I'll be communicating with until December 24th 2007 despite the fact I'll be going within 10 miles of his flat next month. So, that portion of Christmas was also pretty traditional, but I suspect this one is global.
Then, there was New Year which was surprisingly sober. I sat on a couch in a swanky bar bitching about boys with two of Claire's schoolfriends, and found it all really entertaining. I've never really had any single girlfriends to discuss this sort of thing with, so we really did go on a bit.
I didn't make any particular resolutions (except for agreeing that 2007 is The Year We Find Our Husbands) but I did watch 'Who Ages Worse?' on UKTVStyle, and promptly signed up to the gym. I've been every second day since, which I'm pretty proud of, being somebody who always eyed voluntary exercise from a wary, repulsed distance.
There, there was the exciting part - I went to view a house yesterday, and then again today and I love it! It's absolutely perfect, the profit looks good. There's space for a big extension that'll turn it from 2 double bedrooms and a single, to four double bedrooms, one with en-suite. The current structure doesn't need rewiring or replumbing, so we literally just have to decorate that. Well, and knock out a couple of walls - but as I discovered on my current house, that's alarmingly simple. I spent the afternoon plotting it all to scale on some graph paper and cutting out little scale bits of furniture to help C visualise it despite her total lack of spatial awareness. The challenge is the FORTY FIVE SQUARE METRE extension that C and I are going to build. Ourselves. The biggest wall I've ever built had a total of about fifty bricks in.
God, we're insane. It costs £200,000. We're making an offer tomorrow.
But what's really traumatic was this week's Atlantis, in which they actually killed Carson!! I felt the most love for him I ever have at the point he was very gayly cheerleeding Mrs Charisma about her hot date, her outfit, her perfume. Jeez, he leapt on that juicy morsel of gossip entirely too gleefully - this totally supports my theory that Atlantis is practically fuelled by good goss.
What the hell's going to happen next time somebody's turning into a bug? Who'll come to the meetings and explain it all to the confused command staff? Who'll fix them? Admittedly, there wouldn't have been that bug incident if not for Carson's slightly suspect research in the first place... But after the squee on the gossip he's practically canon-gay now, so how can they have killed him off! I'd even get onboard with Beckett/McKay if they were going to be so blatant about it all - but only because McKay's got tired of waiting for a certain emotionally retarded, oblivious colonel, of course.
Gero, you tease us.
First, there was Christmas, for which we had my family, C's family and a random American. We educated the American in the ways of mince pies, mulled wine and pantomimes, which was hilarious on all accounts. He learnt how to yell out 'she's behind you!' at absolutely the worst time in a panto, and cause the whole cast to get the bent-double-giggles so that the panto finishes half an hour late because nobody quite got themselves together again. He wanted to know why we eat things that nobody likes. We explained that it's traditional. Nobody gets between the English and tradition.
My parents were reasonably well behaved until the last night they were staying, at which point my mother had exhausted her supply of holiday cheer and she complained, whined, sulked and then stormed off. They snuck off before anyone else got up the following morning, which I'm trying not to be too frustrated by. C was quite alarmed by it all - I'm a bit smug because she never really believed me when I said my house was a little on the tense side growing up. I won't go into the fun we had with my brother, who I very much doubt I'll be communicating with until December 24th 2007 despite the fact I'll be going within 10 miles of his flat next month. So, that portion of Christmas was also pretty traditional, but I suspect this one is global.
Then, there was New Year which was surprisingly sober. I sat on a couch in a swanky bar bitching about boys with two of Claire's schoolfriends, and found it all really entertaining. I've never really had any single girlfriends to discuss this sort of thing with, so we really did go on a bit.
I didn't make any particular resolutions (except for agreeing that 2007 is The Year We Find Our Husbands) but I did watch 'Who Ages Worse?' on UKTVStyle, and promptly signed up to the gym. I've been every second day since, which I'm pretty proud of, being somebody who always eyed voluntary exercise from a wary, repulsed distance.
There, there was the exciting part - I went to view a house yesterday, and then again today and I love it! It's absolutely perfect, the profit looks good. There's space for a big extension that'll turn it from 2 double bedrooms and a single, to four double bedrooms, one with en-suite. The current structure doesn't need rewiring or replumbing, so we literally just have to decorate that. Well, and knock out a couple of walls - but as I discovered on my current house, that's alarmingly simple. I spent the afternoon plotting it all to scale on some graph paper and cutting out little scale bits of furniture to help C visualise it despite her total lack of spatial awareness. The challenge is the FORTY FIVE SQUARE METRE extension that C and I are going to build. Ourselves. The biggest wall I've ever built had a total of about fifty bricks in.
God, we're insane. It costs £200,000. We're making an offer tomorrow.
But what's really traumatic was this week's Atlantis, in which they actually killed Carson!! I felt the most love for him I ever have at the point he was very gayly cheerleeding Mrs Charisma about her hot date, her outfit, her perfume. Jeez, he leapt on that juicy morsel of gossip entirely too gleefully - this totally supports my theory that Atlantis is practically fuelled by good goss.
What the hell's going to happen next time somebody's turning into a bug? Who'll come to the meetings and explain it all to the confused command staff? Who'll fix them? Admittedly, there wouldn't have been that bug incident if not for Carson's slightly suspect research in the first place... But after the squee on the gossip he's practically canon-gay now, so how can they have killed him off! I'd even get onboard with Beckett/McKay if they were going to be so blatant about it all - but only because McKay's got tired of waiting for a certain emotionally retarded, oblivious colonel, of course.
Gero, you tease us.
