Well, both Girlpants and I are on our way out now for those £5 turkey bargains, bubbly and beer in the shop and to deliver some pressies en route. Needless to say, I don't think as my first day back on the plonk after over a week will leave me in much of a state later, so unless you find me online in a somewhat inebriated state attempting to type in a straight line, may both Girlpants and I, the stinky fat cat, the mouse allergic cat, Talkative Sis and family all wish you a fantastic Christmas. And remember - if you eat enough roughage today of all days, then you may get a present after midnight from a little visitor...

I've been fighting for the last two weeks, but now I've been at home in bed for the last two days to try and get myself better for Monday. And also not to infect others at work as I figured that it may have proved to be a slightly unpopular move in the festive season. This however has meant missing work, money and even worse, our little Christmas party which we organised ourselves. It also meant that none of the others were able to open their Christmas presents as I wasn't there and I had one of them. Lesson one of how to pee on other peoples Crimbos, as I received updates via text yesterday saying that the party was flat, party poppers were lame and that they were going home early.

Damned those winter superbugs wannabes. Not only have I Catholic guilt over the others having a pretty pants last day (as there is only three of us in the office), but I was nauseous and feverous last week, which then developed into a full blown cold with racking cough and continious sneezing for over a week, which is only dying off now. So despite that fact that the office Christmas party was a bit of a flop by text accounts, I am slightly solaced by the fact that the cold's dying off just in time. It has however, left me a Christmas present of it's own as I am now the proud owner of bright red nose. Bright red on my gorgeously golden brown skin. Just in time for Christmas.

That's the sound of silence as The Aussie has moved out after seven weeks. Whilst it would be nice to enjoy this new unique sound and sleep a whole night through each night, the silence is currently being murdered by the wails of a dying fan, lurking somewhere in the back of my laptop.

I guess that's the price from having two rather long haired cats who are follwed around by tumbleweeds of their own fur, who like to sit on top of desks and laptops as they basically generate warmth in the chill of winter whilst waving their tails around the vent and shedding hairs which then clog up the cooling system. It basically means that I'm slightly scared to actually boot up the laptop as the grinding aounds like something being ripped out of the innards of this machine that holds my life. CV, email, favourites... Losing this laptop would be almost as bad as losing your mobile, wallet and keys in one night.

Memo to self - must never forget to back up....

Twelve days before Christmas? Where did that one come from?? This date traditionally means that my deccies should be up tomorrow, that most of the presents should be wrapped under the tree, cards sent off and Girlpants should be presenting me with a dead bird on a twig of a pear tree with no leaves or fruit due to the time of year.

So much with being prepared. Admittedly, there is a duck defrosting on the side for festivties as an alternative to the partirdge, but that's to treat The Aussie tomorrow and besides, partridge tends to smell like a cats bum. But in addition to the busy working lifestyle I now lead, I'm now in a wild panic about how the puddings haven't been made, shopping has fallen by the wayside and cards are in a heap on the table. I sense a couple of late nights of baking, writing and online shopping ahead, which in all honesty, may just fall further and further behind as I delve into a cabernet to dull the panic and pain.

1. Wake up at 5:15 to the sound of someone making a frantic attempt to clean their room, which 10minutes before, historically would have looked like a bomb hit it.
2. Dose back to sleep and the tap tap of someone quickly making their way down the stairs
3. Wake up the sound of murmuring voices - long distance phonecall maybe?
4. Listen to the sound of the downstairs curtains being pulled back and the patio door being open and shut every 5 minutes. Cue flashbacks to student smoking days.
5. Suddenly realise that the voices are getting louder
6. Suddenly realise that there are two voices
7. Suddenly realise that The Aussie has brought a friend home
8. And is drinking your wine (which the dear boy has now replaced)
9. Listening carefully, you logically reason that one of them is consciencious smoker hence the patio door is being open and shut
10. Listening carefully makes you realise that Girlpants has been grinding his teeth for some time
11. Which then makes you wake up. 2 hours before you need to be at work and after less than 6hours sleep
12. Wind yourself up into a hissy fit, while Girlpants sits on you to calm yourself down for the next 45 minutes
13. Come downstairs and use the f-word several times whilst making your point that noise et ergo mens voices travel
14. Then realise your hair looks like crap
15. And that you have a spot on your chin
16. Quietly wonder to yourself as to why spots continue after your teens into your thirties??
17. Turn around nicely to the young lady sitting petrified on the sofa and wish her a good morning, whilst she tries to unpeel herself from fear induced coma into the cushions
18. Be accused by cuz that you are a "racialist" blaming his voice as he's Aussie, as therefore his voice is deep and it isn't his fault
19. Remind cuz that it is his fault as he's a man whose balls have dropped. Which makes the nice young lady laugh.
20. Pay £4.75 into the swear box for potty mouth behaviour but walk away with the knowledge that despite the fact you looked like shite and dragged through the hedge backwards, you still made her laugh.

Which would have made far far more of an impression... ;o)

Girlpants has a new trick. He started to sneak up behind me, grabbing the boobs and then tries to honk them.

So I've now got my own new trick. It involves a wooden spoon kept at the ready, aiming for the knuckles and swiping hard.