Merry Boxing Day, My Pint Sized Heroine and Facebook Confessions

Ah 26th December...Boxing Day, who knows why it's called Boxing Day... I was adament when I was  younger that it was due to men with big gloves and long silk shorts throwing choreographed punches the day after christmas. I also thought that Sunday was named thus as one day it was sunny and a random man in a high place decided to name it after the weather. My theory for Friday was an unknown tradition for everyone to consume a Full English and chips, so notable they named it FRYday. Outnumbered's Pete Brockman's theory of 'being knee deep in boxes' for St. Stephen's day is probably more accurate...

Christmas day in my house was pretty much like the rest of the country.
2:30pm: stuff yourself silly with pigs in blankets (which mum STILL calls pigs on horseback) and roasted veg followed by the stodgiest pudding know to man layered in Bird's custard :) I can almost hear my guts begging for mercy...Laaavly jubbly.

3:00pm: watch her Maj tell us about the importance of sport then fall asleep half way through Shrek. Not because it's boring, but because my 'pensioner-caught-in-an-eighteen-year-old' body cannot stand too much excitement, wine and heavy food without needing a nap to sleep it off. Bless...

After that we had the bog standard phone call from my Nan, asking if the pyjamas fit (thanks Nan) and making me ponder why she sent back my naiive scrawls of lions my five year old self drew... I was obsessed with the Lion King as a child and still feel a strange urge to jump around the furniture when I hear 'I just can't wait to be king'.

So today, I dragged my friend Katti 'round to indulge our shared love of BBC's Outnumbered, as she kindly made me a book of Karen's best quick witted quotes and a DVD of last year's Christmas special. If you haven't seen the programme before, it is pure genius based on how three children rule the roost in their suburban London home, whilst their well meaning Mum & Dad try their best as parents.

Below is some of my favourite Karen moments...

Katti has also seemed to have a had a revamp of her facebook profile. She has finally admitted that she is 105 year old Rastafarian man, a closet member of Team Jacob, thinks Edward Cullen is a fairy and has dual employment as my slave and vampire ... not to mention her sudden love for fruit cake and Christmas pudding, despite previously professing putting fruit into cake is wrong ("Why put something healthy into cake??!"). Her musical taste has changed, as she now cites 50 Cent, Tu Pac and Soulja Slim as favourites...next to The Jonas Brothers and West Side Story soundtrack...

Anyone would think the fact she was logged into her account on my laptop before she left had something to do with it...

Numero Uno

So here we go, first blog...

It's Christmas Eve Eve and like the good girl that I am, I'm doing Uni work, but the lure of searching parody videos on YouTube is becoming too much to resist...so I'm giving into temptation as there is so long I can concentrate on Caryl Churchill's love of dinner parties with the fictional dead.

Monday I finally had the Four Flysketeers around ma hood where being the wild teenage things we are...sang along to Disney soundtracks, Laura demolished a bag of bacon bites, had a good catch up of lovely (and not so lovely) flatmates and I showed them why I should kick Kerry Ellis off the Theatre Royal stage and bellow out 'As Long As He Needs Me' every night. Ahem... 

I have been housebound for the past few days, due mainly with the South of England resembling Russia which decided to set in Saturday...whislt I was in town. Let me explain...

The munchkins clad in pale pink that see me as a walking climbing frame were to show their parents all they've learnt from me teaching them to build air snowmen and fly around like Rudolph. However, due to the weather, it was abandoned leaving me to trek through Narnia to town to find all taxi ranks displaying a smug sign saying 'Taxi's will start again when the weather improves..', walking to the buses and would you adam and eve it, they weren't fancying it either. Was half expecting Aslan to come rescue me, but alas no lion, but a phone call to Dad was in order to see if he, my godfather and mum were anywhere near town for me to jump in the car.
I trekked around for an hour, dodging hoodrats with snowballs, muttering obscenities at weird men who like geer at me looking for shelter under the RBS building and sliding around like Jayne Torvill...aged four.
As much as a white blanket turns back the clock for me by fourteen years, it has left me to impersonate a squealing pig when I cough and mornings have left me looking as if I'm auditioning for a remake of 'The Exorcist'. How festive...