As Girlpants is still away, I thought that I would help him out with his chores. In our house, I clean the house, I cook a variety of home cooked from scratch, shop within the budget and look after the little living things when they're ill in the night, malting tumbleweed like no-ones business or need feeding early in the morning - the only line I draw is cleaning the fish which as far as I'm concerned is man's domain. Girlpants chores are basically all the DIY's and the laundry. But as I'm actually missing the man as this is the longest he's been away for the longest time, I thought that I would help out with some of his chores. Not the DIY as apparenty I'm too disabled to hold a screwdriver due the half labotomy that I've automatically got with pregnancy on the NHS. o - I decided to help out with the other.

Gentlemen - I read the manual on how to use the darned washing machine.
Ladies - I sorted out colours and managed to complete two washes.
All - I forgot to both throughly lint the cat blanket plus put in aside for it's own wash and presumed that it could all be put in together.

And now Girlpants has some very furry chinos and shirts. And I have less than 24 hours to sort it out.

I won't mention the state of the underwear....

Girlpants has abandoned me for a week. And all in the name of jollies.

I have become a bit possessive of spending time with Girlpants of late, howver I don't begrudge him the couple of days wine tasting in several vineyards scattered either side down the Rhine Valley with views to die for in the land of Deutsch this weekend. Not that I'm green with envy. Because I know last night he was in a basic foam bed on a University campus in the middle of nowhere. And whilst he may enjoy the wine tasting, it will be surrounded by talk of work and the German efficient long working day.

But how does a girl keep herself busy when she's barred from shopping and DIY in the home on the long lonely weekends without the solace of gin? Well folks, the addiction rears it's ugly head again. That's right - reality TV is here for the summer, although with any luck, I can avoid the trap that is BB9. However, there is the joy known as "Got Talent". And I do believe, ignoring the irritating Cheeky Monkeys who denied the well deserved and south-west homegrown Flava out from their top spot, I do believe that 2008 is the year of dance.

But whilst Britain's Got Talent is now over and the final top three were the same as my own, I now have a vaccum in my life and no Girlpants to pick on the next week. So what is a girl to do besides look across the water..?

Well - maybe it's not all dance. And I am such a mug for reality tv :)

Advice for those first time parents going for their scans...

Number 1 - Remember to tell the sonographer that you want a photo that you would like picture to ensure that you get a good snap, unlike so:

And secondly, prepare yourself for the baby to look at the camera when the picture is taken and therefore looking like an extra from Stephen King, as so:

Ladies and Gents - I might just be having an alien...

For some awful reason, the last month or so, I've become an avid worrier.

Whether it's my number on worry of money because my job may not be renewed in September, getting the DIY jobs in the house done or even second guessing myself on choices already made, each night I seem to wake in the night in a slight cold sweat. Last night was no exception...

It's probably because Girlpants and I spoke about when I should leave work - the outcome is leave it as long as viably possible mainly for the money but also to allow for handover of work. When finally winning some of the duvet back from the thief that is Girlpants, and I finally managed to settle down, I started to dream that it was August already, that I had just left work and was finally starting to relax around the house. And right at that moment, just like a nasty cold virus at the weekend, the cramps started, with the occassional twinge at regular intervals as you do.

Needless to say, Girlpants treated it like a conference and took it all in his stride, even stopping to make me a name badge. For some readon the character Kyle from Southpark needed to be strapped into his car seat which was a maxi cosi - the best on the market don't you know... before we set off to try and make our way to the local hospital via the quickest route possible. Which didn't really work as meanwhile, all the cars around me were going slow whereas the buses were ready to take everyone out. And everywhere around me was roadworks with the obligatory rather large road workers with trousers halfway down their bums, using huge evil drills to take up huge crevices of tarmac, revealing all underneath.

I dreamt that bump was not too large but I still managed to make it to the hospital and give birth in 4minutes 35seconds. Even with the length of it's tail which refused to break off. Slowly, I realised that mini-hd looked remarkably like a cat.

And in the background, I could hear a constant drilling, whilst Sir Alan Sugar then walked in and yelling at me that I was fired.

And as I woke up in a cold sheen of sweat, reaching for a glass of water, I came to the realisation that I really really do hate the dentist.

Bugger buggery and botheration... How did I managed to miss that? PCSO Bloggs has tagged me - quite some time ago only I was too wrapped in big bellies and a sooo cute teddy bear snow suit that smells like a baby to notice...

Dear God - put me out of my misery and shoot me now...

So here are the rules if you decide to play along:

1) Link to your tagger (please visit PCSO Bloggs here and wave hello!) and post these rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3) Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs
4) Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
5) Duck as you face the vitriol of those you've tagged realise the crime against blogging you have just committed....

So here is goes....

1. I am a NCIS freak. And CSI, Bones and Morse. I even watch the repeats.

2. I currently weigh less pregnant, now than last November, drunk. A fact which is rather sad but hopefully my new healthy lifestyle is and will pay off

3. I am due to start a masters in forensics in September. Girlpants has even offered to buy me a suit to help...

4. I'm quite quite sure and have argued on several occassions that Bambi's mother tasted wonderful with blackberries and a mustard salad. In other words, I love steak, roasts and am a carnivoire of the highest order.

5. I am exactly 21 days younger than Girlpants. Apparently to the hour...

6. I miss gin. I really really miss my gin. This baby better love me without a doubt nor whim nor tantrum!

7. I hate marmite. And the fact that some advertising tycoon persuaded Paddington Bear to sell out. The gits.

Unfortunately it's late and I must decide whom to tag...via comments! :) Am going a visiting now!

Sorry guys :(

Out and about, entertaining Professor Lovely last night in an Italian restaurant, the conversation took a sudden turn as Girlpants and I were about to tuck into our meals.

Dr God's-Gift - We've made the calculation that you made your baby on the night when you came over to ours for supper...

Can you hear that clang of a bomb hitting the floor? The constant light chatter suddenly ceased as 7 sets of jaws dropped and turned, including mine. Which is a shame as the aroma from the cherry sauce was making my mouth water...

It's slightly disconcerts and then makes me deeply cringe to think that some of our friends have been sitting at home trying to calculate when Girlpants and I, well.... ahem! For want of a better phrase - indulged in hanky panky. Mulling on other people’s intimate lives is a bit like thinking of the Queen sitting on the proverbial throne. I've never done that in my life. There's a reason why if anyone asks, my siblings and myself were made in test-tubes. Some mental images are just not needed. The only time I think I ever tried the people sitting in front of you naked technique was before an interview board where the chair person grilling me had the biggest and hairiest mole on the end of their nose that you could imagine.

Lucky lucky me. Professor Lovely attempted to cover my blushes, regaling us with how his eldest was conceived on Christmas Eve. But nothing, no nothing could compare to Girlpants clumsy attempts at humour to spare my blushes. By adding to them. Whilst I could see each person suddenly trying to mentally calculate any marital shenanigans whilst eying us both up, he entered the fray with humongous size twelve’s:

"When everyday is a sh*gfest, how could we possibly we work it out ourselves??"

Cheque please!