The Domestic Affections

... is the name of a volume of poetry by Felicia Hemans that I'm writing about in my dissertation at the moment. 3,000 words down and only 2,000 more to go. The celebrated epitome of femininity and the poetess of the hearth and home wages trial by combat against the mad, bad and dangerous to know Lord Byron. Celebrity death match. Coming to a crap dissertation near you very soon...

And meanwhile, back at the ranch, there's quite a lot of affection in my own domestic situation, caused mainly by my recently-discovered love for knitting! When James lets me take a photo of him wearing his new orange, brown, purple and green fluffy tie, I shall blog it. I've now moved on to bigger and woolier things - a scarf. It's another form of art therapy now that the Christmas cards are out of the way! Domesticity - it rocks! I also get to go to the pub occasionally...

Christmas: A Survivor's Tale

We were awoken at 7.30 on Christmas morning by Claire. She had promised us tea in bed but told us she was unable to fulfill her promise because Dad was still asleep "in Bernard". Bernard is the name for the front room in Megan's house. It's not a lounge, because they already have one of those, and it's not a dining room or a snug, because they have those too. When they first moved in, Megan told me "I don't know what to call that room". I suggested Bernard, and rather worryingly, it stuck. Dad could be found wondering around on the afternoon of Christmas Day, asking "which one's Bernard?" to anyone in the vicinity. People seemed incredulous that he didn't already know.

Anyway, we opened presents with the children and then started the task of preparing a roast Turkey dinner for 13 people. Mark went up to get dressed for dinner, and came back down dressed like this:

He couldn't find his dinner jacket so borrowed some of Meg's clothes. Meg got very upset, not because it transpires that her husband of many years evidently has transvestite tendencies, but because she can no longer fit into the skirt that he was wearing.

James decided that dress standards were slipping, and decided to make up for it by dressing in white tie. Here he is with Megan, who had already been at the bubbly when this was taken:



What I learned this Christmas:

1. Never trust your parents to buy the turkey (their brains are becoming fuzzy and they mistakenly bought an anorexic sparrow believing that Meg was also serving gammon. She wasn't).

2. Always check the bath for hamsters before you turn the shower on.

3. It's always best to start drinking at breakfast time.

4. Never put a Christmas hat on Mum and Dad's new dog, Rusty. He faints.

5. Never trust your sisters to do unsupervised Christmas shopping for your sadistic boyfriend. He is now the proud owner of several spanking implements and a cut-throat razor. I'm slightly concerned.

6. Labradors love wearing Christmas hats:

7. It's not just 3 year-olds who like bed-time stories!

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

I have nearly finished my Christmas shopping - only one or two bits to get this afternoon and I'm DONE! We usually try to have a non-commericial Christmas in the Williams family - the idea is that we buy things from charity shops, make them ourselves or give promises. (Last year, my brother-in-law, Mark, had to be prevented from presenting Sophie with a promise to massage her breasts with baby oil - I don't think he quite understood what form these promises should take...). It has been difficult this year because the charity shops in Cambridge are pretty poor and I'm crap at making things (apart from the cards, of course -which were a veritable triumph). Although, saying that, as I type I have biscuits baking in the oven for the Porters, but hopefully they'll be drunk enough after their Christmas lunch today not to notice if they taste rather odd (I couldn't find a recipe so had to make one up). New Year's resolution: learn how to make stuff.

I'm going home tomorrow. Just in case I don't have time to blog from my parents' house, I'd like to wish all my blog-reading friends a very happy Christmas. Hope to catch up with y'all in the new year.

Quick Update

1. At home: James has bought himself a new book, "Teach Yourself Judo". He has been encouraging me to attempt to attack him so that he can then beat the living crap out of me. On Friday, after much egging on, I ran at him screaming loudly and brandishing a hairbrush and ended up in a very painful - and bruising - armlock. I think the book is going to find itself confiscated.

2. At work: They underpaid me by 10 hours this month,but that's fine because I'm only hundreds of pounds overdrawn! But on the positive side, two customers bought us sweets yesterday. So it's not all bad.

3. Academically: am being quite a good girl. Have done 2,000 words of my dissertation and sent awf French essay. Now need to do 3,000 words more of my dissertation, write the 3 essays for my portfolio and read several long novels and poems for paper 4 next term. Should keep me out of trouble for the foreseeable future.

All my college friends are abandoning me, one by one. Lauri left today, Ryan's going on Tuesday.. soon it will be just me and James and that blasted Judo book. Trial by combat is moving on to a whole new level.

Dementia Watch

This morning, James found the table salt in the fridge. It could only have been me, as I had been making scrambled eggs 5 minutes beforehand. I'd like to say these things happen because my brain power is being used up on more intellectual pursuits, such as writing my sodding dissertation. But that is sadly not the case. I think it's time to admit that I'm just getting old and potty.

And I think James should apply for some sort of carer's grant.

The Other Madwoman in the Attic

Here is a photo of the three Williams sisters. You've already heard about Sophie's latest antics - she's the twisted fire-starter. Megan read my blog for the first time last night. From beginning to end. And she was disgruntled at her lack of appearance: she says the only time I have written about her has been in relation to chickens' short-term memories. I pointed out that this is because I mainly write about what is going on in my life at Cambridge and she NEVER VISITS. But she did, however, visit for our June ball. Only I was too hungover to write about it. So here's another photo for you all:

This is (from left to right) Megan, Mark, Me, Yael, Sophie and James being very nicely behaved at about 2 am. I can't remember much after this point of the proceedings. I'm starting to wonder if I exposed my left breast to anybody seeing as I seem to be missing a strap by this stage of the evening!

Anyway, I wouldn't want anyone to think that, just because I don't write about Megan here very often, that she is not a part of my daily life. Her and Sophie share equal ranking as my Best Friends and I love them more than life itself. Please be gruntled, Megan!!

Art Therapy Rocks!

I don't know, maybe I'm high from the UHU glue or the gold and silver pens I've been using, but I feel decidedly more relaxed and sane having spent the past hour or two making cards. They look TERRIBLE, really spangley - I smudged the ink, got in a terrible mess with the glue which meant there were strange patterns of glitter all over the cards and managed to put the "dangling stars" stamp upside-down on the first card that I did so that they looked like stars on sticks instead. Still, all this creative activity has given James a welcome period of peace and quiet. He's now listening to Gregorian chants. Rock on!

Blue Peter Days are Here Again!

As part of the Williams family drive towards a non-commercial Christmas, I plan to spend this afternoon making my own Christmas cards (I'm looking on it as a form of art therapy). I figure, if my family wants home-made Christmas cards, by golly they're going to get them - and they're going to be reeeeeeeally bad. We're talking bling-tastic. Lots of glitter, silver starts and spangle. Much as I hate to ruin the surprise for Sophie (who sometimes reads this blog), I may post a picture of them here later on today. It depends how tangled up in glue and glitter I am!

Sophie Watch: She's a Firestarter - Twisted Firestarter

Well, she looks fairly normal, doesn't she? But I'm starting to become concerned about her mental health. It all started when she forgot what year it was. I told her this shouldn't necessarily worry her, as everyone is crap with dates from time to time. Then she pointed out that the "What year is it?" question was one posed to Nan by the psychiastrist who was trying to work out whether or not she had dementia. So, warning bells have started to ring.

They rang even louder last week when she inadvertently got into the shower wearing her socks.

And now they are ringing even louder still after she inadvertently set fire to her bedroom. She thought she was being helpful plugging Mum's computer back in after she had been using the power point for her stereo. Only she didn't plug the computer back in: she plugged in a wood-burning iron that she had been using for decorating Christmas presents (don't ask: we have a non-commercial Christmas present policy in my family and it tends to get messy). The carpet is now in rather a sorry state. And Sophie is officially losing her marbles - I may have to make her some new ones for Christmas.

Beware Foreign Ministers Everywhere...

... James is on to you:

http://blogs.smh.com.au/thecontrarian/archives/2005/12/lord_downers_am.html

This reminds me of when I came for my interview at Wolfson. I totally fucked up the entrance exam, and then had 2 hours to spare before my interview. Instead of sitting somewhere quiet and studying the exam paper to have a good think about how I could have done better, I went to the pub with Mum and Dad. They were under strict instructions not to humour me that I might have done okay - in my mind, I had completely ruined my chances of getting into Cambridge, and all I wanted was a pint of beer and pub grub. As dad was tucking into his lasagne, he said "I'm going to tell everyone, when Becky was at Cambridge, we used to go and visit her and eat lasagne at the Red Bull. When Becky was at Cambridge, we also used to drink beer at the Red Bull. They don't need to know you were only for for an interview, dear!".

Have I told you about when I was at Oxford...?

Julie! Take Heart!

Earlier this evening, I was discussing mad Irish Julie's drunken antics with someone who shall have to remain nameless. As Miss Anonymous said: "Oh well, at least she didn't get drunk and offer her boss a blow job on the train...".

See, Julie? Things are never as bad as they seem!

The Ideal Christmas Present for the Williams Sisters?

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/faintinggoats.html

I want one, and I want one now!

Michaelmas Term Ends

Time continues to fly by anti-clockwise, like clock hands in a bar mirror. Michaelmas term is already over. Only it doesn't feel like it, because the academic work will continue as if there were no such thing as Christmas break. I've a dissertation to write (I've done lots and lots of reading, now all I need to do is FOCUS, and start writing up), 3 portfolio essays to re-write and rather a lot of books to read for next term. And I've got to wow the retail sector with my selling skills once more - the Christmas sale starts next week. Such larks!

On a lighter note, James has found a new way to torment me: by playing the children's game, "Simon says". He wins every time, usually in less than 5 minutes. Before I even realise that Simon hasn't, in fact, said, my hands are already on my ears. Darn and blast it!!