The Lawns!

This one's for you, Meg. Finally, a Lawn family photo where no-one is pulling a silly face!

Reader, I married him!

We've just returned from the wedding and honeymoon, knackered but loaded with leftover booze and therefore very happy indeed!

I'm not quite sure how to blog my own wedding day. I kept reminding myself to enjoy every minute, even the tense ones, because it would all be over too quickly. I spent the morning in Harleston with Sophie, who was a calming presence as I was having hair and makeup done. She bought me tea and crumpets, as only a sister knows how. When the woman in the tea shop remarked on the flowers in my hair and both our hair styles and asked if it was a special day, Sophie proudly replied: "Yes, we're getting married". Given how similar we are in appearance, the woman must have thought we were very narcissistic lesbians!

James and I flouted convention by travelling to our wedding together and with a bunch of friends and family on the Happy Bus. Daddy drove and we didn't even end up in a ditch, despite the inevitable rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody by a bunch of out of tune drunks on the way home. At one stage, when the singing was particularly loud and out of key, I had a sudden panic because James's mum was on the bus somewhere: I looked back and found her singing her head off, waving her arms around and joining right in. People pulling over in their cars to let the bus pass were really laughing at us. I guess either (a) they could hear the singing or (b) the vision of everyone howling and waving arms without the sound effects was amusing in itself! Another musical highlight of the wedding was Ryan's rendition, complete with harmonica and out-of-key piano, of Piano Man: it was my second favourite moment of the whole day and one that will stay with me for ever (the first was when the registrar said "you may now kiss the bride" and James snogged me good and proper and gave me a triumphant grin afterwards, as if to say "there you go! There's plenty more where that came from!").

As most of you know, we were married in a bar in a brewery thereby proving once and for all that I am capable of organising a piss-up in one! St Peter's, as well as producing jolly good beer, also has a very beautiful medieval hall. Photos will follow. For now, here's one of the lovely place where we spent our honeymoon. We were staying in a B&B at the windmill:

In short, the wedding was just as we wanted it: simple, cosy and involving only the closest of family and friends so that we had all the people we love under one roof.

Mad Irish Julie's mum is probably reading this so I should let her know that her daughter behaved impeccably. She didn't drink too much at all, and certainly didn't accidentally throw any young children into flower gardens. She was so well behaved, in fact, that James's parents want her (and Nicola F-B, her partner in crime) along for the Australian celebrations in December!

Married life rocks!

Glory Holes

When we first arrived at Julie's flat on Friday, she gave us a tour: living room, bathroom, bedroom (all lovely, just lovely). When the tour was over, I noticed there was a door in the hallway that she had not opened. Intrigued, I asked "What's this?". "A hot press", Julie answered. Sophie and I both wondered what a hot press was. "Is that the same thing as a glory hole?", Sophie asks. It turned out to be an airing cupboard, but the term "glory hole" became widely used over the course of the weekend in a variety of vulgar and hilarious contexts. Nicola F-B arrives in the flat, and I inform her "Guess what? Julie has a glory hole!". Nicola smiled serenely and knowingly and said "I think I might have one of those somewhere".

Allegedly, the estate agents' details for Sophie's new house lists, among other delights, a glory hole. Try asking Wikepedia what one is and you will get this rather worrying answer:

A glory hole is a hole in a wall or partition, often between public lavatory stalls or video booths, which can be used to observe the person in the next cubicle (see voyeurism) or to engage in sexual activity with the person next door. Glory hole is also occasionally used to describe the openings in a sex doll or similar sex toy, but the first usage is more prominent. The origin of the word for both usages is unknown, though may be related to the opening of kilns (also a type of furnace) used in glass blowing.

A man may put his penis through the hole to engage in oral, anal or vaginal intercourse while maintaining a certain degree of anonymity. This usually happens in established sex clubs, adult arcades, adult theatres, and adult bookstores. Glory holes in normal public lavatories are mainly used as peep holes, although certain areas are established meeting places at which people can engage in anonymous sex.

Although both the term and the practice originated in the gay community, in recent years both have also been adopted by heterosexuals (see also MSM). Women sometimes participate in this practice, and there are a number of pornographic websites that cater to images and videos of heterosexuals utilizing glory holes.

Due to the fear of arrest or assault, or simple common etiquette, few males will insert their penis in a glory hole without invitation from the person on the other side of the partition. A common signal by a willing participant is to insert one or more fingers in the hole, often accompanied by a beckoning motion.

The use of glory holes for sex carries some risks, depending on where the glory hole is located and how it is used. Since the sexual participants may know nothing about each other, they might knowingly or unknowingly transmit sexually transmitted diseases, STD's. Similarly, the person on the "receiving" side of the partition could harm the "giver," either accidentally or intentionally. Rough-cut or crudely fashioned glory holes can cause serious cuts or abrasions to a penis; in some sex clubs and adult theaters, the glory hole is given a protective surface (even one as crude as duct tape) to prevent such injuries. Using a glory hole in a public place (such as a restroom) also exposes the participants to possible legal threats, as such behavior could be considered public indecency or lewdness.

I'm not sure how much of an asset this glory hole is. And bear in mind my money is being invested in this property. Some people will obviously pay very good money for such a feature, but I'm not sure it's really Sophie's thing. I think she may need to go back to the negotiating table...

Ah, Dublin!

I've just spent a terrific four days in Dublin, staying with Mad Irish Julie and joined by sister Sophie and Nicola F-B. I don't really know where to start, so how about at the very beginning. Are we all sitting comfortably? Good, then I shall begin.

We arrived at Dublin airport, slightly agitated after a Ryanair flight - for why, Sophie repeatedly asked, did they have to deck their planes out in such cheap nasty colours? Isn't the service bad enough to remind you that you are travelling with a budget airline? Anyway, we promptly found a bus that was going to Trinity, where we were supposed to be meeting Julie. But unbeknownst to us, we had got on a Dublin City bus rather than an air coach. This meant that, instead of being driven to Dublin in relative coach-style luxury, complete with in-journey video and a polite driver, we were greeted by a driver swearing and being abusive towards a load of foreign students who were attempting to board his bus. "Just shut up", he said (after being confronted about rolling his eyes and saying "for fuck's sake" behind their backs) "and get off my fecking bus". Sophie and I meekly requested our tickets whilst trying to disguise our English accents.

There then followed a comedy of errors in trying to meet Julie (we were on the Dublin City bus, not the posh one) and she had to return to work, having waited for us for some time, only to inform her colleagues that she had managed to lose two English girls. Sophie and I, meanwhile, had found a pub that did delicious toasted sandwiches and it bothered us not that we didn't even know which part of Dublin we were in.

Dublin is great. Living there must be just like being in an extended episode of Father Ted. We were there for the Liffey swimming race, and the commentator said things like "Well, the leader in the ladies' race is also a reserve in the fire service - mind you, I'm not sure I'd want her putting out a fire in my house but she's a lovely, lovely girl".

Dublin is currently hosting a whole load of hare sculptures, and we spent a lot of time posing in front of them - something that I'm sure you'll all agree was highly original and amusing! Well, it kept us entertained for a while...

Other points of note for the earlier part of our stay:

• I had the best Chinese food I've had since I left Beijing. Julie very considerately lives near the local equivalent of China Town and it has some terrific restaurants, some of which even have little individual karaoke booths downstairs. We planned to do this on the Sunday night but stayed home in our pyjamas and watched Bridget Jones instead. However, Chinese food = fantastic - they even brought the rice to us right at the end of the meal, which means it's a Proper Chinese Restaurant!
• Dublin is a fab place to go shopping. Lots of little vintage shops and great fruit and veg markets and fantastic little Italian delis. Sophie and I are seriously considering relocating for the shopping opportunities alone.
• Julie has a great flat right near O'Connell street. So close, in fact, that Sophie and I will be able to find our own way there next time we visit. And we plan to visit often. Oh yes, Julie's going to regret letting us know where she lives!

So, on to the Saturday. Well, Nicola F-B arrived, we did some more shopping (cos it's great) and then got ready for the evening's entertainment. Instead of opting for a traditional English hen night (and Dublin was host to a good many that weekend) which usually means wearing matching hats and t-shirts with names printed on the backs, we decided to have a bridal dinner chez Julie. We bought our dresses from charity shops or e-bay or, in Layla's case, fashioned our own. We had a wonderful evening and all felt like very beautiful brides. In fact, Julie and Nicola even got confirmation that they were beautiful brides from members of the public when they had to nip out to buy more wine! I'm not sure how Nic managed the walk, seeing that she must have been staaaaarving. You see, Julie managed to leave a knife in the oven, which then melted, caught alight and covered Nic's monkfish with noxious fumes. But, as we repeatedly pointed out to her, that's what you get for being a vegetarian.

That's all the blogging I can manage for the time being. I'm rather exhausted after our trip home which involved a taxi strike, huge delays at the bus stop, realising when we reached the airport that we had booked flights for September the fecking 11th, landing on one wheel of the plane and careering all over the runway (I heard one passanger say very knowledgably "That was not a manual landing". Someone asked him how he knew. "Well", he said "you'd have to be a complete fecking eedjit to land a plane like that, wouldn't you?") and then having to help a poor lady who fell flat on her face on the tarmac getting off the plane. This involved mopping up blood from her face, getting her into the recovery position, seeing her off in the ambulance and wandering around baggage reclaim trying to track down members of her family who had wandered off completely unaware that anything was wrong. We found them and told them what had happened. "Thank goodness for that!", her sister said "I was starting to get worried about her!".

I leave you with some photos of us lovely, lovely brides:

Escaping to Ireland

I'm off for a non-hen weekend tomorrow. I'm going to Dublin to stay with Mad, Crazy, Bonkers Irish Julie, accompanied by Sophie and Nicola F-B. We are going to indulge in a lazy girlie weekend, mainly involving eating, drinking (lots of tea and lots of wine but not both at the same time), walking (hobbling in Nic's case -she has sprained her knee), gossiping, lazing around in pyjamas at inappropriate times of the day and generally vegging out. We're having a special dinner party on the Saturday, which I shall tell you all about when I return - I'm hoping the photographic evidence will prove most amusing!

And how wonderful it will be to escape wedding-planning responsibilities for a few days. No talk of canapees, buffet items, the great confetti v bubbles debate, or late additions to the evening guest list consisting mostly of old friends of my mother who neither she nor I have seen in years. Peace, blessed peace!

How to Train for a Gorilla Run

James was quite shocked by my assertion that I will need to do at least one training run for my gorilla race (24 Sept) in my gorilla suit. My idea was to get up very early and do a training run on the treadmill in the gym so that I don't need to unnecessarily frighten and confuse members of the public (it doesn't matter about college members; they are generally confused and psychologically disturbed anyway). How else am I going to know if the suit is going to rub and cause blisters, or how quickly I'm going to overheat and need the attention of a vet? He's refusing to come to the gym with me. Not very supportive, huh? I might have to go to the Registrar's office and raise an objection to our marriage...

Anyway, on the subject of treadmills: how's about this for a way of livening them up:

http://www.sugarjar.com/media/49236

Coo-eeey, everyone, remember me?

I've not been writing on here much because the website has been playing up: not allowing me to log in, not publishing posts when I've finished writing them, and generally being irritating. I know it's a free site, but I want my money back anyway.

The countdown to our wedding day continues with alarming speed. Did you know that it's impossible to make white butter icing for a wedding cake unless you use lard (thereby making it not buttercream but lardcream - ewww!), that it takes 10 minutes to pour 35 glasses of bucks fizz, that people drink on average half a bottle of wine per head at a wedding meal and that if you marry an Australian you have to get permission from the Home Office to go ahead with the wedding and pay a large amount of money for the privilege? Well I know all this and a lot more besides and I am very, very glad we chose to get married at short notice, otherwise I would have had loads more time to fuss over loads more details.

James's mum and my mum are finally going to meet. I fear they may explode, they are sooooo alike. They are either going to get on like a house on fire or detest each other immediately! Let's hope it's the former, although the latter would make for a more interesting wedding breakfast!

I would write more, but I fear it will all be deleted and lost in a void for all eternity, and quite frankly, I can't be arsed!