The cold has seeped back into the west country and with it, the coughs and sniffles (which means ladies and gents, that once more Girlpants has got man flu and he and mini-hd have been playing ping pong giving it to each other) so it is a time to wrap up warm.

I know - a ridiculous outfit but I couldn't resist!

With the cold snap has come the realisation that there is just over a month to Christmas. And I am not prepared. My cards are not done, not presents have been bought however the goose is in the freezer. If I get a moment to use my laptop, then my first thought is to blog and the next is to maybe peruse Amazon in the vain hope that they haven't sold out of the pressies that I need to buy. I had hoped to write this entry at 4am this morning after getting mini-hd winded and waiting for her to settle, but that never happened. Her settling that is. Poor little mite finds it hard to breathe though her snotty nose which also affects feeding. And meanwhile, Girlpants has been languishing upstairs in bed, hoping for some of the meagre sympathy that I used to bestow on him. Which I did as I held his nose whilst pouring a lemsip down his throat.

Well - it works with giving medicine to the cats.

There's one good thing that's come out of the recent furore of Brand and Ross leaving messages on Andrew Sach's mobile. It took the prime storyline away from the world recession to the moral outrage of thousands after they logged on and listened to the radio broadcast a week after the event to then email in complaints. The joys of multimedia and youtube...

Whilst the phonecalls were both infantile and stupid, and more importantly should not have been broadcast as the entire thing was pre-recorded, only two people complained on the day. One week on plus tabloid coverage later, there were over 30,000 compplaints, two investigations and mention in the Commons. Ahh - the age of mass hysteria.

Whilst this all was uncalled for and was IMHO blown out of proportion, the two have apoligised, one has resigned from the BEEB whilst the other is suspended for 12 weeks without pay, setting Jonathon Ross back over 1million, it did break the gloom and doom of the recent news broadcasts. And on a personal note, the doom and gloom of nappies and sleepless nights have been broken by my daughters first smile. And once she popped a smile, she now really can't stop.

The minor disruption in our life is currently taking over with sleepless nights and projectile vomit, whilst I've lost my ability to get ready and be out of the house before 11 in the morning. How crud is that? But thank God Sky is currently rerunning Bones and Stargate in the morning.

Like others, I've fallen by the wayside when is comes to blogging, which admittedly has happened too often for my own personal liking. What with finances, clingy whinging child, house guests and trying to keep ahead of householdy stuff, time has flown away. And I'm left thinking what on earth did I do with my time before and morepertainent, what on earth is happening to my time now?

I'm still not allowed to drive and although I have popped to the shops, walked around the park and have been into town a couple of times, so it's not like I'm going out much. Occassionally, I'll sleep in the afternoon when mini-hd is sleeping just to catch up, but I just can not see where the days go. I actually managed to sweep the floors today as I couldn't tell the difference between the tumbleweeds of fur or the cats themselves. I even had time to wash my hair this morning and am now considering cutting my long tresses off to save time on brushing it.

Although then, Joe Bloggs on the street may confuse both my daughter and myself for boys. Were it not for my impressive rack that is, which my daughter tends to cuddle and conceal for both my dignity and her own gluttony...

It would come as no surprise that I've decided to postpone my Masters in Forensics until entry September 2009. Not because of mini-hd, but more due to the sheer fear of the world economy.

It's all doom and gloom on the news at the moment. There doesn't seem to be much joy in the world, as mortgages and homes are under threat, banks are folding and the gamblers that work in the City and Stock Exchange, despite their big payouts each year are now scrabbling to save whats left of their jobs and finances. And it's not just on the news any more - the pinch is being felt at home as well.

A year ago, I could shop for the household very well on less than £50 a week. That was a deluxe budget and we did very well out of it, with oodles of wine, gin and copious amounts of meat. This week, despite the vouchers for discounted nappies and without the luxuries above, it sky rocketed over £75.

What with banks failing, Governments propping institutions up, the University having it's own cull from the ranks and file, paranoid andriod has kicked in - after all, why spend the money you've saved on your education which you can postpone for a year to allow for a provisional nestegg just in case of that rainy day. Plus that way, I can concentrate on mini-hd and know that I'm giving her my full attention as opposed to having my mind elsewhere. And vice-versa on the masters.

I'll just have to keep up my research by yelling out mistakes on the new episodes of CSI...

My god. I'm sore. That was one long cookie receipe that took 9 months to ferment. And after everything kicking in on the Wednesday afternoon, mini-hd was finally born on Saturday morning after many drugs, much pain and almost ripping the head of the last consultant who suggested that I give another four hours a try on top of 50+ odd hours I had already partook in. In fact, had it not been for the fact that I was immobolised and had an epidural in my back, I would have found the nearest hard sharp object and heaved it at his head. Thank god the senior midwife recignised me from her shift two days previous and called in the boss...

I suppose that I should now refer to mini-hd by her real name, Erika. It seems bizarre referring to baby bump as a real person with name as for a long time, she was in effect a mass of wriggles in the belly that generally kicked off around 10 at night.

A habit she has continued...

Erika finally made an appearance out of the sun roof, however without the tummy tuck or the zip that had been requested. And despite the worries and trepdiation of surgery, it has to be said that should you ever be worried about something monumental that you just can't get out of, it surely helps to have Dr McKnockOut as your anthesistist.

Believe me ladies, the eye candy helps.

Having drooled through of the surgery whilst attempting to hide it from Girlpants, it all just seems all unreal, especially as I was discharged after two days with my world hospital goods in sainsburys carrier bags at the effects of the the Christmas parties 2007 was felt in the September baby rush and clamour for beds.

The difference is the sleep or lack of. The smells. The baby vom. But my goodness, she is cute. And despite bits of me still aching and not managing to catch up on the lack of sleep from labour, how can you begrudge it all when you see my little monkey child...?

Butter wouldn't melt...

I've been up for the past two hours with the acute inability to sleep. It's not mini-hd squirming, or being uncomfortable - it's just the fact that I couldn't quite settle down again after being violently prodded in the bladder by the mini one and then blinded by the light shining through from next door when I then had to pop to the little ladies.

Not that I have long to go and admittedly, maybe this is training for me. The joys! But there isn't all that long to go. And whilst occassionally I do get fed up with being large and rather rotund, I realise that whilst it would be nice to get my body back, this would in effect mean that I would get less sleep and be shackled down more to a routine which will take time and space to build. A complete change of lifestyle.

And lets not forget poor grumpy Girlpants. That man can not survive on lack of either food nor sleep, so I might have to even resort to some of above the baby sleep techniques on him. Right after stocking up on frozen portions of home made leftovers so that he can survive the early weeks. I'm sure that he managed to cook and look after himself before we met, but apparently now the pixies do alot of the jobs around the house, which must make me Dobby. Oh to be appreciated.

Parenthood. It's a big unknown, and to be honest, I also worry how how mini-me may affect our relationship. Before, we had the choice to go out and about, do as we please, spend money where we wanted and quoff gin until the junipers were in bloom. And whilst we never actually did any of these things, it's the fact that the choice has been taken away from us that makes us wonder. Like marriage, it's a big adventure which we want to face on together in our own way. And whilst this is what we want, we are however painfully aware that as much as we want to try and do as much as we can on our own, that there are some people who appear more excited over the new addition than even us. And just because we didn't jump up and down for the last several months.

I sense the setting of boundaries ahead...

I did vow to myself earlier this year never to accept another meme, however before I could update my about me, Mister Bart’s dart hit the mark. So here I go.... Once more, the rules are as follows:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Mention 'Da Rules'.
3. Tell six unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag six bloggers by linking.
5. Leave a comment for each blogger.

Regale the readers with six things all about little old moi – however apparently I shouldn’t make them too interesting... But as this will be my last meme, I won't tag other bloggers as I've been burnt by that action before. So if you fancy, please join in.

As for me...

1. I ate so much tomato soup as a child that my natural tan developed a slight orange tinge to it. Given my mini-me stature, I was in effect an oompa lumpa.
2. I hate getting water on my face to the point that I will scrub, cleanse and dry it before getting into the shower.
3. I don’t like baths. After all – who wants to bathe in soup de la Sim?
4. I am effectively a crap liar. You can spot any of my ltiny little white lies or especially any of my huge snorkers from 50 paces.
5. I once served a triple expresso to Daniel Day Lewis, clad all in biker leathers en route to Spain, still with his Last of the Mohicans’s long hair. He gave me a £2 tip which I squirreled away only to find that my mother had raided my piggy bank whilst in Japan.
6. I didn’t own a pair of jeans until well into my teens as my father said they were un-ladylike. I finally got my first pair for my 16th birthday after my friends clubbed together in teen solidarity. 

Voilà. And that folks was my last meme.

And not just any classic. Jimmy Page was fabulous as the Led Zep riffs echoed around the birds nest stadium of a Whole Lottsa Love. But then Missy Lewis opened her mouth. And warbled.
Was I the only one cringing? Don’t get me wrong – Leona Lewis has been a top class winner of X Factor and has a great voice. But rock she is not. She’s ballard-y. Now IMHO if one is in a birds nest, you could be forgiven to believe that either you’ve been shrunk, are about to eat a tasty meal or presume that you are in effect a bird and therefore trill like one for your supper. But Leona Lewis was just wrong here. She essentially has the wrong voice for LZ.

What was wrong with a bit of Shirley Bassey? Arctic Monkeys? Muse? Or even actually getting Led Zep back together once more to blast one out from the past? Or could they not persuade the hipper stars to get onto a horticultural bus whose top was made out of privet hedges that looked nothing like the vintage London buses to perform? It can’t be that all the peeps on the bus had to come from London as Beckham was there with the second biggest cheer (the biggest going to the Korean team member who dive bombed through the crowds to get Beckham’s football).

Whilst wincing in pain at the final 8 minutes for British handover, Girlpants and I threw ideas out over what the opening ceremony for 2012 may be like, given the fact that we opened with people queuing at a bus stop, cyclists and bowler hats.  Mary Poppins was fully expected to float down and shake up some of the slovenly dress and jumping of the aforementioned queue. We even expected a pre-empt of the London marathon, with added incentive to go faster as participants were chased by gangs of knife welding youngsters after the athletes top of the range new trainers.

I’m quite taken with the idea that we should go the whole hog and go back to our historical roots. Let Her Majesty come out and sit in the Royal Box whilst looking on at a Royal Jousting Ceremony where handpicked athletes ride in the arena encased in full armour, throwing her garter at her preferred champion. Meanwhile, HRH Duke of Edinburgh bounds to the rescue of the British public as he hurtles over the Royal Box and rugby tackles the Earl of Wessex who has suddenly appeared in the arena in full cringeworthy It’s A Knockout regalia that he's dusted out of storage. High up, Harry Potter lookalikeys whizz out on broomsticks to play fictional Quiddich above our heads as the torch is lit and they desperately try to not set their robes on fire, whilst Dizzee Rascal raps out his own version of Bowie’s classic “Heroes”.

The 2012 Olympics is our oyster is it not...?