The Gift of Rock

What finer gift could there be?! When I was 11, my older brother introduced me to vinyl and to Aerosmith's Permanent Vacation. Frances (all round genius and best bud of 24 years) and I slowly lifted the record player lid, we placed the mystical black circle of music onto the turntable and clicked the play button; the moment the stylus hit the record, we fell in love with rock. I remember saying "this is so heavy!", we'd never heard a bass drum reverberate through our rib cages like that before. 


There was no going back, it was Aerosmith, Def Leppard, Guns 'n' Roses - "and so on and so forth" (along with a love of rock comes a love of Wayne's World) - all the way. But I would never have found the Path of Rock had it not been for one band. My inspiration. My first love. The reason I fell in love with extended guitar solos and rhythmic rock beats: Bon Jovi.


In the early teenage years of infatuation, there's no room for musical snobbery. I heard them, I loved them, I wanted to marry them. Once I had a dream that I met Bon Jovi, it was one of the best dreams ever! I rode in a helicopter and everything. Then I had a dream that one of my best friends kissed Jon Bon Jovi, I was furious!!! How could she?! Now "I'm a little older and a little wiser" and I dream about things that make no sense. But my heart still longs for the day when I can see them, in real life, rocking out like nobody's business.

Little did I know that the letter I sent to Santa in 1996 (when I wanted to see the These Day's tour) got lost in the post, but by some miracle he found it! That's right peeps, Dr Guest must have received an email from Santa! Together, the created a gift jam-packed full of Rock and Christmas Spirit. Here it is, in all it's glory:

 

Thanks Dr Guest!!! You and Santa have given me the best, ever Christmas present in Banana-history!

The Guest of the Guests: Christmas Special

Merry Christmas from all the Guests! Dr Guest, Mummy and Daddy Guest, Little-Drummer-Boy-Guest, Salsa-Guest and (the literal guests) Wilde-Guest and Banana-Guest.

Merry Christmas!!!
(From left: Raegon, Banana, Mathew, John, John's mum, Dan, Kath and Adam's taking the pic!)

The Guest household is a magical land flowing with turkey and wine. Christmas Day and Boxing Day were crammed full of serious frivolity. People were eating, drinking and dancing to (heaven forbid, don't tell the church elders!) Rock 'n' Roll.

Here's the lowdown on how the Guest-atrons celebrate the Yuletide season...

Christmas Eve: Go to an Olde Worlde pub and drink lots of yummy ale. Walk home, eat pork sandwiches on arrival. Sleep. What a fine tradition!

'The Stump'

(no I don't mean you Mathew, I mean the name of the pub!)

Kath and the Bott-atron laughing...wait...are they pointing at me?!

The combination of Christmas spirit and the snow's white canvas were alive with practical-joke possibilities. Adam and I teamed up and created this classic 'giant bird in the back garden' prank. We are geniuses! But Adam got mad because I couldn't keep it a secret. Clearly, Adam is unfamiliar with my inability to keep quiet...

Sheer brilliance!

Christmas Day: Banana woke up at approximately 08:35hours as she had heard unsubstantiated reports from a certain scientist, Mr Bott, that The Muppet Christmas Carol was going to be broadcast at 8.50am. Everything I'd heard was true; The Muppet Christmas Carol was indeed on. I dragged my duvet downstairs and Dr Guest, Dan and I partook in the magical spectacle of little, felt, hand-puppets telling a tale of hope, of love and of Christmas spirit...

We then proceeded to open presents (under the strict eye of Momma Guest, she operates a strict present-opening regime (no opening presents all at once!)), gobble some turkey (gosh, I do love turkey), drink wine and, to send the day off with a bang, we used  Banana's trademark celebration device: FIREWORKS!!!

Catherine Wheel: wooooooosh!

That little blue light is from Dan's head torch. He's a firework pro!

I then opened the best Christmas present known to man, tickets to see Bon Jovi!!! Oh yeah! I fell in love with them when I was 11. They are the Banana equivalent of a silly boy band. Oh, how I love them.

The night wore on and the time for beddy-bies arrived and Mathew went to bed with his two new friends:

Bert and Ernie

Boxing Day: More wine, more turkey, more fun!!! Plus dancing and a game of GIANT cards (no joke).

John Guest, our resident DJ

'Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight!'

Penny in the pot, penny on a card

Yep, they are that big. A4 to be precise.

We ended the night with a celebration of the past and found these killer photos of Mathew and his family, all for your enjoyment ;)

Dr Guest...before the PhD...and puberty.

The Guest-atron, Dan, Momma Guest and Adam.

Lady Killer on the loose. Watch out.

Peace on Earth, homies. Stay warm!

A Car Crash and a Care Bear (in a pear tree)

I know what you're thinking: "Alana, what kind of crazy-ass events could lead to a blog title like this?!".  Well, there was both a car crash and a Care Bear and lots of other things like snow and breakfast. My partner in crime, Dr Guest, and I travelled over the horizon to a little place full of lakes and mountains and people I've known for between 24 and 27 years. Oh, apart from Edward the baby. He's only been around for eight months. Although technically he came from his mummy's tummy and I've known her for 24 years, so maybe I have known him all this time! Anyway, enough of me being weird.


So we started the weekend in a kick ass B&B called the Ditton Lodge in Papcastle (isn't Papcastle the most awesome name!!! Like a castle full of pap.). It got a rating of five Banana's (full marks, congratulations!!!). This was our fancy-pants room:

Super King with dual electric blanket - sweeeeeeeet! 

The view!

Our first mission was a drive to Ennerdale in the snow. Luckily, I've played Mario Kart an awful lot so the slippery roads were no match for me and my technical karting abilities. However, there was no way my little brum-brum was going to make it up the steep, icy, snowy, treacherous hill to Cathow Farm (the Marrs Family Residence). So we parked by a salt sand bin (excellent thinking Banana!) and waited for the magical 4x4 to whisk us up the hill.


Richard, the roughest-toughest-farmer in the West, arrived with a 'toot toot' and Mathew and I clambered in and up the hill we went, further and further still until we reached the magical Kingdom of Caring. Teehee, not really! Sadly, what actually happened was some stupid Audi driver came flying down the one track lane in the snow and couldn't stop in time so he hit us. Silly driver!!! Luckily for us Bed-time Bear was with us, I think he protected us because no one was hurt. If Tender-heart Bear had been there too I'll bet we would have crashed into candy floss. Clever Tender-heart Bear. 


The main injury Mathew sustained was an acute wounding of the pride when he got out of the car, slipped on the snow and fell on his bum. Oopsies! My leggings sustained a minor tear to the knee and thus they have now been demoted to pyjama-wear. Richard, because he is the roughest-toughest farmer in the West, sustained no injuries because he is a hard ass. His Land Rover, on the other hand, was badly injured. The wheel was crushed, the tyre punctured and the corner of the body was crumpled. Poor Mr Farm-hand 4x4. We salute you and your honorable service! His adversary, the Audi, was only one day old (ouch!) and his injuries were slightly more severe. I would have taken pictures but I'd have felt rather rude going "excuse me, can I just take a picture of your chewed up Audi? It's for my blog you see"; that would have registered as a seven on the richter scale of 'inappropriate social behaviour following a car crash'.


So, we used our little pins and walked the rest of the way to the farm. The whole hullaballo was totally worth it because we got to see this beautiful little fella!:

He is cuuuuuuuuute! That's Mammy Marrs
(aka 'Stephanie', former Currie and all round Domestic Goddess) on the right.

Because he is so beautiful I gave him his Christmas present early:

 "I love you Bedtime Bear."

"Daddy, you are hilarious!"

"Feed me Mammy Marrs!!!"

"Look how cute I can be."

Isn't he gorgeous?! Sadly, we had to tear ourselves away and off we ventured, down the snowy lane back to my pap-pap (aka: car). We then met up with one of my favourite families of all time: the Curries, comprising of my best buddy of twenty four years, Frances; Marshall Amp and Fender owner extraordinaire, Bill; chief casserole maker and my second mum, Cath; and the honorary Curries, Marc (daddy Wood) and Adam (baby Wood). During the course of the evening one of my favourite quotations of the day came from Bill, musical hero and all-round Scottish genius:

Mathew: Are you on Facebook, Bill?

Bill: I don't get Facebook. I'm not even interested in what I'm doing, let alone other people!

On that note...Peace Out Campers!!! And Merry Christmas Eve!!!

Zomp, Explosives and Turning Twenty-Seven

Saturday 11th December 2010: Banana's Birthday Weekend

This had to be the best weekend in Banana's living memory. Mainly because of the extra special guests in residence: the Glynn-Finnegans; Wonder Woman and Angle Man; Tiger Pig; Jade-arooo and Dr Guest-atron. Throw in a game of Zomp, some cocktails and some fireworks and you've got one hell of a party! Here are a few of the highlights...

The very serious academic: Dr Guest.

Firewoiks!!!

Adam GF miming, erm, something...(?!?!)

The day began with a trip to Cafe Paradiso for yummy foodies and, as always, it was ruddy delightful. This was followed by a super interesting trip to the Side Gallery to see the current exhibition 'Love Me'. It may sound like an exhibition full of rainbows and tigers cuddling baby koalas but, alas, 'twas not. Here's the blurb:

Over a period of five years Zed Nelson visited seventeen countries across five continents. In Love Me we meet the cosmetic surgeons, the anorexics, the child beauty queens, and bodybuilders, the trainee models, housewives, porn stars, businessmen and soldiers. The compelling images challenge “the narrow palette of beauty... ‘Westernising’ the human body has become a new form of globalisation, and the homogenization of appearance has made ‘Beauty’ into a crude universal brand.” This is the territory of Nelson’s exhibition. 

Duuuuuudes, it was totally fascinating.

But the best was yet to come. We got home, ate a giant La Creuset casserole dish (one of my awesome b'day pressies!) full of chilli (isn't the word 'chilli' weird?! 'Chilly' means cold, like "brrrr, I'm chilly"; but 'chilli' means hot! And just look at the word: chilli. Doesn't it look like a weird word?! Read it over and over again, it'll make your head go funny) and Dr Guest, our resident barman, created all kinds of yummy cocktails:

One of Cameron's many Mojitos!

With cocktails in hand, we enjoyed the firework display from the safety of Banana's bedroom:

Let me tell you, there's nothing like setting huge fireworks off in a tiny garden full of sheds and all kinds of other combustibles. Watching Adam, Tom and Mathew run like the wind away from ignited fireworks was sheer, bottled, hilarity.

We drank some champers, played the best game of Zomp to date and then went to beddy-bies. It was truly supoib! Here is a message, sent by carrier pigeon, to my special Birthday guests:

"I salute you, Special Birthday Guests!"

Over and out.

Ecouter aux portes

Ah Paris, the city of love. The place is jammed to the rafters with people smooching, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. Bless their little Parisian cotton-socks (isn't the image of tiny, Parisian-cotton-socks totally cute?!). This was the perfect setting for Alana Banana to get up to her old tricks. The day was Monday and the name of the game was 'eavesdropping' (it was raining, we were sat in a cafe, what else was there to do?!). However, the sneaky old Parisians managed to get one over on Alana Banana with their French-speaking lark. So there I was, consoling myself with an Irish Coffee (which, for the record, was all 'Irish' and very little 'coffee') and suddenly it dawned on me, the people next to me were speaking English! English! Luckily for me, they clearly were French so they had the awesome French-English accent going on (in case I wanted to pretend in my head that they were actually speaking French and by some beautiful, miracle I was able to understand them).

First, let me set the scene. A man in his late twenties is sat at a table with a young, beautiful, woman. They are both drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes like all the cool kids do. There is clearly chemistry, at one point their hands touch, the atmosphere is electric (well, not really, but let's pretend!). Now before you feel all happy inside, you should know that the whooooooooole time he was with this lady, he was complaining about his actual girlfriend. Shock horror! Naughty Parisian. Complaining about your girlfriend whilst flirting with another lady! What followed from this moment, was some absolute conversational gold (make sure you put on a beautiful French-English accent in your head!)... Imagine, he's been complaining for a good twenty minutes and the girl he's with has barely said a word (though she hung on every single word, she clearly fancied the sap) when he comes out with this:

"I don't even work on my music anymore. I come home from work and there is no food in the fridge and I go up to the bedroom and she is drunk and the room is full of smoke and I think to myself 'I can't write music under these conditions'!"

Really? You can't write music because your fridge is empty and your girlfriend is so sick of your complaining she's in bed drunk right now? If you ask me, that sounds like the start of a brilliant song!

"Hello Whiskey, my old friend."

The Eiffel Tower from within the shelter of Jade's

favourite mode of transport, the Batobus.

Our Parisian home!

The classic Paris shot.

Au revoir!

Chips, Lectures and Hope

The night started out the best way it possibly could, with chips. Mmm, chips. Mathew's voice and the dialogue in When Harry Met Sally echoed in the back of my mind while I ordered: "can I have the bowl of chips with the chilli on the side?". Like Sally, on the side is a very big thing for me. Rhianne and I sat drinking our ale and eating our lovely winter warming food whilst graffitiing in Mathew's diary (what's more fun than opening a page in your diary and seeing lovely messages from your friends?! Especially ones ordering you to buy them presents. Classic!). After gobbling down our yummy food, we bravely set out in the ruddy freezing wind and rain and headed to the lecture organized by the Durham Quakers. The author of The Spirit Level was giving a lecture based on the principles in his book:

I love goldfish! I'm sold!

Given the serious carb-overload, I was doubting my capacity to concentrate. Luckily, Richard Wilkinson did not let me down and my thoughts didn't stray on to their usual path into magical lands full of sugar and colours and unicorns. When it comes to what the dude has to say, the evidence is compelling. I found myself turning to Rhianne and doing what all those annoying audience members do going "ooooooooh","we've always said this!" and "you're more likely to die of heart disease if you suffer from stress?!?!?! Shit!" (Ironic how that new piece of information may in fact make me worried about being stressed and therefore make me more stressed! Damn you, Cycle of Doom!).

This is more than a book for the liberal lefties; this is a work of frickin' art. Even if you never touch non-fiction with a barge pole, you need to read this bad boy. AND it's full of colours and charts and visuals! Mmm, visuals. This book ties in so well with the research into friendships and health. Do you know, the closer you feel to your friends and the less strife you have in your relationships the better your immune system and the faster you heal?!?!?! And friends can help you live longer! Wooooooow. Maybe if you become totally awesome at relationships you can turn into a superhero!!! Well, it's worth a try. Although Wonder Woman is already taken... and she's made up with Angle Man! Now there's a turnout for the books!

Hmmm, now what kind of superhero will I be...

The Cove

"You're either an activist on an in-activist. I'm an activist": those words echoed through my head as I watched The Cove. This isn't an easy documentary to watch, by any stretch of the imagination. We're talking about the girl who struggles to watch disturbing films because she's generally unable to maintain the believe that it's fiction. Times that by a hundred, and we're somewhere close to understanding how difficult she finds it when she's watching a documentary about suffering. The mechanism that says "it's okay, it's only a film" dissipates and you're left with the sad facts staring in at you from the screen.


It's hard to respond to a film like this without sounding 'over the top'. Perhaps the less said the better. Either way, in the course of watching the film, I found myself in a position where I realised I was sat on the fence with the In-activists. I guess you could say that this is what makes a great documentary, when it brings you to the realisation that you're currently occupying a position that you no longer want. We have to move, change, do.


Short of quitting my job, moving to Japan and facing a lifetime of being arrested I decided there had to be something I could do. This is where you come in: watch the film, sign the petition, donate, write.


Thank you,
Alana Banana

Just What the Doctor Ordered

You know something's wrong when a doctor looks at your throat and says "Eugh!". Now call me old fashioned, but I thought doctors were supposed to be super-stiff-upper-lipped hard-asses. Surely nothing should phase them! After all, they've cut up dead bodies. The mildest reaction I would expect from myself in a morgue is a "yack!", but I imagine a more accurate depiction would include me turning green, saying "I'm going to barf" and collapsing in a heap (the whole time hoping none of the other doctors think I'm dead and start cutting me up. Yikes!).

Anyhoooo, so I have tonsillitis. Again. Third time this year. Stupid tonsils. When I was little I used to think of my immune system as little people, like the berries in the Ribena advert, wearing little hard hats. Well, right now they're getting their asses kicked. To help them, I am taking eight antibiotic tablets a day and eating an inordinate amount of mint Matchmakers ("are they not too scratchy?" I hear you cry. Luckily not, I just feel like I've been shot with a tranquilizer dart big enough to take down a hippo. Speaking of hippos, have you seen that programme about the domesticated hippo?! Weird.).

To help me get through this difficult time, I have sought out the advice and wisdom of another doctor: Doctor Mark Sloan. Yep, that's right, Diagnosis Murder is the only thing standing between me and cabin fever. If I didn't have Mark in my life, solving all these murders, I don't know what I'd do. Although I never got that whole thing about his son being all attractive and sexy-like. AND he's Mark Sloan's son on the show and Dick Van Dyke's son in real life. Whaddada chyances?! (Though, what's up with the name Barry Van Dyke? Really? Barry? Was that the best you could come up with, Dick?) Shamefully enough, I've discovered I've seen all the episodes that have been on this week at least once...or maybe twice...alright, it's closer to three times. This has to be a wake up call for my immune system: if you've seen an episode of Diagnosis Murder more than twice, it's time to reassess your life.

Well, all that's left to do is get better. My favourite motivational quotation of the week came in the form of Mathew's little brother. It has brought a smile to my face every time I've thought about it:

(Re: spending the weekend with Mathew's family) Mathew: ...Alana has got tonsillitis again.

Dan: Well tell her to get her shit together before the weekend.

Hehe. Fo shiz!

Tell Tale Heart

I walked through my favourite park the other day (you know, the one with all the conkers) on the way to the hairdressers (again?! Isn't it, like, only two weeks since the last time?! Well, yes, but this time was for colour!) and I always park my car in the same place and walk down the same street. Every time, I pass this art gallery that always looks beautiful from the outside but, for whatever reason, I've never ventured in. This time was different. The week before, I walked past the window and saw a little sculpture; from that moment, I was hooked on it. So hooked, that a week later I couldn't walk past the gallery without going inside.

At this point, it's necessary for me to vocalize a very important point. You know when you walk into a shop and see something you fall in love with instantly? You think, "Wow! I can't wait to go home and tell my friend/spouse/dog (delete as appropriate) how amazing it is!" So you go home and attempt to describe said-object, but something truly remarkable and mysterious happens. In the distance between your brain and their ears, the beloved object morphs into something truly hideous.  Being a relatively-almost-typical girl, I will use the example of shoes. It would go a little something like this: "I've seen these shoes I absolutely love! They're like high heeled-sandals and they're red and they've got suede-y bits on them but the strap and the bit at the front, which is kind of like a butterfly, are shiny and they have little metal studs on". See? They sound shit. In real life, they're sexy as hell. (I got them for £29 reduced from £100 last year. Frickin' bargain!)

Yumsies!

Anyhoooo, what I'm trying to say is that when I describe the sculpture it's going to sound like a piece of tat. It's like this grey cartoony, completely non-scary looking, wolf standing up on it's two legs giving this girl a cuddle and she looks really happy. (At this point, my brain - maybe because of the association with the red on the shoes, or because of the word 'wolf' - totally jumped to the story of Little Red Riding Hood. Dammit. I can assure you, the wolf looked in no way like it was trying to trick the girl with cuddles and then eat her.) I don't know what it is about this sculpture, but I bloody love it. If only my bank balance loved it too.

I made the mistake of wandering around the gallery and it wasn't long before I saw another sculpture which my heart then leapt out and clung to. It's a sculpture of this little girl (the one with the shark!) wearing a viking hat (a viking hat?! Is that actually a thing?! Like, is that what they called them?! Surely not, there's no way some buff viking dude said to his wife "darling, have you seen my viking hat?") and she's sat on the back of this huge, gruff, bison. I can't explain what it is about it, but it's amazing! It's like when you're little and you see something you really, really, really want and you think you might die if you don't have it. As I walked away I felt like I left a piece of me behind; a piece shaped like a girl sat on the back of a bison and a girl being cuddled by a wolf. 

(L)eavesdropping

Ah, Autumn. I was sat in a crappy traffic jam the other day when I looked over and saw leaves falling slowly, like blossom, from the trees. They reminded me of those funny helicopter seedling thingies that you used to throw into the air and watch pirouette back down to the ground when you were a kid. Come to think of it, I haven't done that in aaaages! Why do adults to crazy things like have civilized drinks with friends when they could be outside throwing stuff back up at trees that has just fallen down?! You know, like pine cones, or sticks, leaves, mini-helicopter-seedlings (especially two at the same time so you can watch them race!). When you've finished watching gravity do it's job, you can turn little conkers into real soldiers (what is it with me and conkers?!) by threading string through them and bashing them against another kids' conker. The winner should be promoted to Chief Conker!

On a less conker-related note, Autumn makes drinking warm, yummy, lattes in quirky cafes even more satisfying. Especially when there's a cool old dude with long white hair and a salmon pink shirt two tables up from you reading the Guardian and muttering and folding his arms and saying 'humph!' with every turn of the page. I have to say, I LOVE sitting in cafes and listening to people. My awesome salmon-pink-shirted friend made me laugh with his not-so-subtle moral indignation. At this point, I knew if I looked over he would take the opportunity to share his wisdom. I couldn't resist. Hidden within that fleeting moment was, what would become, my favourite quote of the day: "These bloody Liberals (i.e. the Lib Dems...), going back on their promises! All they care about is being in power. They should be ashamed!" 

True dat, bro. True dat. 

 

Divide and Conker

It's one week following 'Operation Conker' and things are looking good, I have yet to see a stinky spider (please don't let that jinx it, please don't let that jinx it) in the house. If only the same could be said for sleepy world. I've been dreaming about spiders an awful lot; damn and blast! I say dreaming, really it's more like 'nightmare-ing'; clearly, spider-proofing doesn't extend to non-conscious happenings... Hmm, maybe I should have a go at that lucid-dreaming lark and strategically place conkers all over the shop (armed with a hoover, of course).


On the way to the hairdressers I walked through the very same park where my spider-fighting-hero and I found our magical horse chesnuts; ah, memories. Sadly, I didn't see my little spider-proofing-squirrel friend. I did, however, see loads of little kiddies scampering all over the place hunting for conkers. One little girl had the most gargantuan bag full I've ever seeeeeen! What a month for kids, conker fights; Halloween; Bonfire Night! Wow! Maybe I should save a conker or two for an old style conker-dual with the Guest-atron. Then, we shall prepare for Hallows Eve! How I wish I had a doggy just so I could own one of these bad boys.


All in good time, Banana... all in good time...

Conker All Evil

So, it's that time of year again. The rain comes and the sneaky spiders of the world decide that the great indoors are better than the great outdoors. Imagine this: a hard day at work, driving home in the rain with little hope of ever seeing the sun again until...well, who the hell knows! You get out of your car, run and put the heating on, make yourself a nice dinner then snuggle under a blanket on your sofa. Sounds like heaven. But then, out of nowhere a giant eight legged beast runs across your living room floor striking fear into the hearts of all in it's path. Now, at this point, the audience will be split. Like my Nana always used to say, "don't worry, they won't hurt you, and they eat flies". What a proverb. Flies, aside, I'm telling you when I jump up that fast you can pretty much guarantee I'm going to get hurt. In addition to bashing one of my flailing limbs on the furniture, there's the sheer mental anguish that ensues from one of these confrontations. This is where the annual ritual of spider-proofing comes in.

Picture this: a couple walking hand in hand through the park when one cries "look, conkers!" And there they were, like manna from heaven. Be still my beating heart. So, like the squirrel just across the path from us (incidentally, it looked like he was spider proofing his home too. I saw him patting his little hands over a leaf. The erudite among us understood, he was hiding little conkers.) we gathered up those sweet horse chesnuts. With my pockets full, we ventured home.

For those of you who haven't heard about the conker's magical powers and are hugely confused, I suggest you visit google then come back. For the skeptics, all I can say is: I'll try anything!!! Personally, I think it works. Now, whether that's because deep in my subconscious I believe that the conkers are keeping spiders away therefore I'm less likely to see any; or because conkers are actually magic and they deter spiders; or because there's some yacky chemical that spiders hate: I don't care! Anything is better than living in spider town. Back to the original story...

Today was the day. Operation Conker was set in motion. Armed with the hoover (just in case) and my conkers, I set out into the world of the spider. Venturing into the darkest corners, nooks and crannies, ready to face the creatures of the deep. I pulled back the draft excluder, which had spent it's summer pressed against the wall, and jumped for my life: hiding in a little cranny of it's own was a dreaded spider! Thank God I'd brought the hoover. I maniacally released the nozzle, powered it up and sucked the dreaded beast into the abyss. However, the abyss isn't so 'abyss-ey' given my hoover is a Dyson so I kept it going for a while, watching the dirt whirl around until I was sure the spider had breathed it's last. Battle over. Banana, one: spiders, nil. I couldn't let this little scare stop me, I was sure he was a decoy, sent to prevent Operation Conker from continuing. Nevertheless, the show must go on. So on I went, hoovering and conkering until each corner of my house was covered.

I can now snuggle under my blanket in peace, safe in the knowledge that my house is manned by those little, round, incredibly brave, spider-fighting-soldiers. Conkers, I salute you!

He Drives Me Crazy

In a situation where the non-teetotal partner can drive and the teetotal partner cannot, it's only so long before the crazy-wine-lover cracks and demands a chauffeur. Either that, or the teetotal amongst us have to bite the bullet and book a driving lesson. So in the spirit of patience and love, I took my better half out in the car for his first taste of the road. Sadly, it didn't look quite as exciting as the open road in California:

Exhibit A

Nope, we had to settle for a car park outside of an abandoned warehouse in Newton Aycliffe's Industrial Park. Wowee! After stalling a few times and scaring the bejesus out of me as we headed towards a giant crash barrier at full throttle, the Guest-atron finally got the hang of it. Go Captain Guest!

In the meantime, we'll be learning how to drive the Nintendo Wii Way with Super Mario Kart. Letsa go!

Rumpelstiltskin

That's the image I had in my head when I thought about David Cameron yesterday; stamping his little feet with glee at the thought of facing Ed Miliband in future elections. If only this were a fairy tale! Ah well, like all healthy adults, I will repress my inner thoughts and feelings and dream of a happier time...

Mmmm, sparkly alcohol... Yumsies!

I see two clear options: become a journalist on the Today show or become a champagne-drinking-lady-that-lunch(es). Hmmm, tough choice. Hannah, why don't you join me in a life of wine tasting and eating oysters?! Okay, okay, responsibility and all that. Let's sleep on it! Nighty night!

The Banana Tapes

Like 'Sex, Lies and Videotape', only without the sex and the lies. Oh, and the videotape. So, my first blog goes out to the owner of the broken 'InSinkErator' (personally, that sounds like the name of a light-rock-boy-band). Who would have thunk it? Who knew hand washing could wreak such devastation? Well, here's to the broken-hearted owner of the broken InSinkErator:

Cheers!

So I guess I'll be documenting day-to-day happenings and generally talking crap. Enjoy!