Freedom, but in moderation.

Stop the clock. I'm not ready. I can't even keep up with an advent calendar. 

So rubbish am I at eating one chocolate per day, that L takes the chocolate out of the little pocket on the little twee snowman thing and puts it in a little bowl. This has come to represent my advent backlog.

My 3/4 cup spilleth over. 23, 24 and 25 are still in the snowman, this is just the backlog.

Not sure how the bourbon biscuit got there. It's gone now any way. A bit soft but still edible.

I finished work today

Two weeks from today I will have just had my first 2016 working day. Ahead of me are 13 days of glorious freedom (I think it's 13, I haven't properly counted) in which many lovely things are planned to happen, and I shall endeavour to make the most of them and not be too much of a grumpy over-socialised pain in the behind. But I'm free. The Out of Office message is turned on, my work mug has come home to go in the dishwasher, I have changed out of office clothes in to jeans and a hoody (both of which should probably be declared "inside clothes" and not allowed out any more), and I have turned off the notifications on my phone from my work email. I am symbolically free.

There shall be much Church-going, many miles, plenty of visiting of relatives and soon-to-be relatives, and much general merrymaking all round. One hopes, that is. Gallons and gallons of tea, that much is for sure.

This time round, I am looking forward to this Christmas in a big way. For it is a First.  

This will be the first year I am taking L home for Christmas. 

My home that is. Where for a number of years I have gone on my own and been a bit sad and woeful and missed her, because I'm a softy really. And for some of those years, I'd been too worried about what reception I would receive to even mention her, for I am a bit of a wimp.

It comes as quite a surprise, to me as much as anyone else, that I am doing my first Christmas with a Fiancee in tow. It's a very nice sort of different. Feels a bit like I'm catching up on missed time. The only downside is that I'll spend Christmas sleeping on my own bedroom floor. I'll cope. This is the year in which I bought 9 air-beds!

Seriously though, people have been pretty well-behaved over the whole engagement announcement thing. I mean, I felt the need to write that post, and I sometimes get a bit frustrated by having to always be nice and patient and wait and hope that people will come round. But then if we'd been born 30 years ago things would have been a whole heap different, so I really shouldn't complain. It's not yet been a whole year that we could have been married (here in Scotland). I have never been a trailblazer before. It's quite exciting.

Next week might be a run-down of the things I have done and not done (getting engaged and tidying my room, respectively) in 2015 so I won't get too deep and thoughtful just yet.

Instead I think I'll just tell you about my weekend 

Because this is my blog and I get to choose, and it was a pretty full on weekend.

This is a blurry picture of me holding a bottle of prosecco and wearing a coat which has a pocket that I can fit that whole bottle of prosecco in to. This picture was not taken this weekend, but I feel is somewhat representative of it, as I will try and explain.

Friday, L's birthday. I go to work at 9, have a meeting at half 9 that lasts until our half past ten visit from a somewhat secretive Santa, which lasts until about 12. At quarter to 1 we all go for a free Christmas lunch, and then I had the afternoon off. Go me! I met L at Ki:lau and drank happy tea while she caught up on lunch-eating. Then we drove out to Tyrebagger forest, where they sell real Christmas trees, with no intention of buying a Christmas tree. I just wanted to look at them all and smell them. They thought I was a bit odd. We went for a walk in the forest in the almost-dark just so we hadn't actually just been there, smelled some dead trees and left again. We went to Inverurie, and bought those last couple of presents that needed buying. We even bought one for someone we'd already bought a gift for, but had forgotten about, so useful we were.

Home, hot chocolate, nap. 

Then... yes, there's more. Then I took L out to the fanciest restaurant I might ever have eaten in. Now I don't do a hell of a lot of eating out, so there are fancier places out there, granted, but this place was fancypants. I even wore heels and got a bit nervous. So I got all the birthday girlfriend points and will keep feeling slightly smug for just a little while longer.

Saturday. We went to the gym, and then to Sainsbury's, which was quite a scary place to go, but we bought my little brother a really huge box of biscuits, so it was probably worth it. Then we went to an awesome little party where I might have had a bit too much to drink, which is really why I'm telling this story.

Totally not worth it.

Sunday was my pre-Christmas warning that my tolerance for alcohol is really not much, and I should remember to go easy on it. Like really easy on it. Sunday was not fun. I was just ill. And had no choice but to get on with it, for Sunday saw Rowan Tree Tents take a little role in the Aboyne Winter Festival festivities.

No-one likes pitching a tent in December with a splitting headache and legs that don't work. Especially when they have no cause to moan about it.

So, here's the thing, you guys. Go easy on your little livers if you can possibly help it. Tea is good. You might be allowed fizzy juice if you've been really good this year. Wine out of a really big glass with some home-made gin thrown in for good measure will get the better of you, if you're anything like me.

Y'know I might just leave it at that. I'm a dufus, but I think I've learned my lesson for a wee while.

I wish you all of the good things. I hope the people you have prepared gifts for think they're awesome and that you are the best present-giver that ever there was. I hope the turkey is not too pink and not too dry. I hope you are warm and happy and healthy. I hope that you are neither lonely nor forced to spend too much time with people. I hope you get a lie-in, and really enjoy it. I hope those of you who I have written cards for but not yet posted forgive me if they arrive somewhat late.

Happy Christmas - Look after your silly selves and look after each other!

And I shall endeavour to look after silly old me.

Have Yourself a Grown-Up Little Christmas

Or, y'know, don't. You choose.

Today I opened a bottle of coke, felt very chuffed that it didn't spill over, had a sip, knocked it off the desk, caught it before too much fell out, mopped the worst off my jumper, face and desk, and got back on with my work. Without anyone in the office noticing. I think.

This week there's a picture.

So I started making two lists. One about being a grown-up, which I seem somewhat obsessed with, which I think means I'm very much still at the "hopelessly-trying-to-pass-as-an-adult" stage of my life, which may continue indefinitely. The other was about Christmassy things. But I only had like 3 ideas for each, so here is the combined version.

I've missed out things like:

• You own a car and can drive it home for Christmas, +1 point
• ... but you're very good at ignoring that weird noise it makes, -1 point
• You bought cute stuffed toys for all the children, +1 point
• ... but you also bought more stuffed toys for yourself, -1 point
• ... and took the Tiny Squirrel to a Christmas market and a Christingle service, -3 points

So I drew you all a happy Christmassy picture. 

*In my quest to encourage you all to not be grown-ups, because I tried once and it's totally overrated, I feel obliged to share this (possibly again - have I ever shared this? I can't remember).

I've never tried this, and my parents' cat would very much not be up for it. Anyone got a cat I can practice on? Please, you could film it and we could become this year's internet sensation. Then me and your cat could split our new-found riches and they could eat that fancy food that doesn't smell so bad for the rest of their days, and everyone would be happy. I'm a genius, right?

Tent News!

In tent-based news, as well as a fine trickle of 2016 queries (eek!), we have a booking this weekend coming. In December! This Sunday we will be at the Aboyne Winter Festival, chillin' with Santa.

You should come and sit in our cosy tent and listen to stories being told. Not by me, don't panic, but a proper storyteller person. There'll be reindeer. Probably not in the tent, although I would totally let that happen just for the photo opportunity.

Today, for the first time in months, I woke up before the alarm went off. It used to always be the way. I'd wake up a few seconds before the beeps. For so long I've been so sleepy the alarm has been pulling me out of proper deep sleep.

So that's my wish for you. May you be sufficiently un-tired that you wake up before your alarm. clocks.

Cheese, dancing and modelling clay

Lunchtime. Go. Sorry-looking sandwich purchased. Laptop on. Ok, you've got 45 minutes to get a head-start on tonight's post. I wonder what's happening on facebook? Ok, make that 25 minutes. Now what am I going to write about? Daydreaming, that's a thing. Make that 10 minutes. And don't forget to actually eat the sandwich. Bugger.

So last night I lit the advent candle, and erm, well, might have forgotten about it.

I think this means it must be Christmas already. So feel free to crack open the mulled wine and take a week off work. 

Yes, I'm a dufus.

Last night I went out for my tea on a school night. Work's Christmas night out Thingimy. Well done to all of you for showing up and being sociable and only teasing me about a little bit about how I have a small stuffed squirrel who gets to come places and do things. And a stuffed cat who has a facebook page. We didn't even mention the other tiny squishy children. Like the wonky dinosaur L made me started making me for one birthday and actually gave me a year and a half later. Well done for also not teasing me too much for being the only one who thinks it's appropriate to finish a meal with a huge plate of cheese.

I even ate the Stilton, for which you should all be very proud of me. Stilton being a major milestone in one's cheese-conquering life. Ok then, at least I am proud of myself.

Sometimes I have to look at this blog to remind myself what I did with my life two weeks ago. Do you think that, in years to come, like many many years to come, when I'm all dead and forgotten about, that a future relative of mine will find this and be amazed at how strange people were back in the 2010s? 26 years old and still getting excited about cheese and stuffed toys.

This week, well the week was just another week, but the weekend featured the actual happening of actual stuff. First weekend in December is SUSCDF. Is whowhat, you ask? SUSCDF. The Scottish Universities Scottish Country Dance Festival. Fits in quite nicely with a presentation L gave on Thursday morning (and wrote on Wednesday night) about acronyms in academia, and how people pay more attention to your study if it has a clever name. It's a dance. With some extra showing off and some extra dressing up. It was very nice to see you all, and well done to all of the brave people (frankly most of the people there) who got up and put on a wee demonstration for us all. Each society true to their own character, Aberdeen as ever trading on minimal experience, even more minimal rehearsal, and just about getting away with it. Can't see why I fit in around here.

For many of the Aberdeen contingent this was their first public dancing performance, so Yay Woop Go You!

Tonight we are messing around with modelling clay. 

This, to be honest with you is a bit more exciting than writing stuff, so I'm off to make stuff! I'll maybe even have some thing to show for it by the time I see you next week.

Many things are better when they are tiny and made from Lego.

Happy Belated St Andrew's Day

Welcome. I hope you all had a happy St Andrew's Day and did something suitably Scottish. I went Scottish Country Dancing, which I do every Monday, but I'm going to count it anyway. I'm having my haggis, neeps and tatties tonight to catch up.

Happy Advent

I hope you have chocolate. If any of you have one of those advent calendars with the little perforated doors and the tiny Christmas-shaped chocolates in, I know someone who could use it for exciting things once you've eaten all of the chocolate. I have now reached the depressing stage of life where I bought my own advent chocolate, and now I feel like I have a chocolate-y daily obligation to keep up with.

This week I am going to essentially ignore those things, and show you some cool things I have found this week, mostly on the internet.

First up. Pick-Of-The-Internet Awards

Da-da-da-da-daaaa! The winner (strangely) is Durham Cathedral.

So this might just be the best thing on the internet. Durham Cathedral are building a scale model entirely out of lego. I gave them a pound and them let me put one of the bricks on (and now I feel guilty that I didn't give them more so I might just have to go back). They have a facebook page, they have a twitter hashtag #DurhamCathedralLEGOBuild, and you should go marvel at all the tiny lego-y goodness.

Pretty epic, yesno?

Outsides.  My brick is going to go somewhere near that little yellow sign.

Insides.

Tiny Lego Bishop.

So here we are left wondering if things aren't actually better when they're in miniature and made from Lego. People make some pretty funky things out of Lego. One particular internet rabbit-hole lead me to this, for which you can thank me later. I guess that the real deal might be better though.

And then I found this.

Some things might still be better not being made out of Lego, like food and cuddles.

This week I had a few days off work, and went for an adventure.

I went to see Bellowhead!

There was a conga. The support, Keston Cobblers Club, were pretty cool too, yet tons of people skipped them and showed up later. I don't get why you'd do that. Go see the support act, people!
We had tickets for a Bellowhead gig in Newcastle, so we did about ten hours of driving for about 2 hours of gig, and it was still worth it.

While we were down there we got to spend a bit of time with my parents. We took L to the only restaurant in Sunderland she's ever been to, again. We went in to Durham and did a little bit of shopping, after the Lego-based excitement, that is.

I am rather enjoying Christmas shopping this year. This year there are children on my people-to-buy-for list at most ages between 1 and 11, which is making this whole present-choosing thing so much more fun. This must be what Santa feels like. Sorry kids, you're getting toys that I really want to play with, so I really hope you (1) have similar tastes to me, and (2) don't mind sharing.
Children are great fun to shop for. The grown-ups might be more complicated.

And I will leave you with this little nugget. QI says that couples whose weddings cost less money were more likely to stay married. And couples who had lots of people at their wedding were more likely to stay married.

What I think this boils down to is this: Stephen Fry says we should have a big, cheap wedding. So there. 

Ok, so I'll actually leave you with this, because it's way cooler.

My Totally Arbitrary Run-Up To You-Know-What Rules

This post is sponsored by cookies, office tea and the amazing chocolate brownies this place makes.

I am currently finishing off the one I started yesterday. Not sure what that tells you about them.

So this weekend (yes, there was a week in there too, but I went to work and it was stressful and worky and really not the thing to tell you all about, so let's jump to the wochenende, svp) I did many, many things. I danced 4 days out of 5 in as many different pairs of ill-fitting dancing shoes, and have somewhat crippled myself.

I wore the dress.

And I didn't even fall over it once!

Even more adventurous, as far as I'm concerned, was the need to wear a stick-on bra underneath it. Living on the edge, me. But all was well, and I apologise for the over-share.

I had two lovely consecutive evenings of dancing and it was lovely. I did a lovely little girl's first ever dance with her. I just wish the country was closer together and I didn't have to go back to the day job on Mondays. I stayed up too late putting the world to rights. I went out for a huge lunch immediately followed by a wine-tasting. I went home and crashed out and slept for the rest of the day. It was a good weekend.

We went to a garden centre in search of doughnuts and found only minions instead.

They were doing a fairly hilarious photoshoot with a cheeseplant.

I've been keeping myself busy enough to not really have taken any of it in, but it appears that in some corners of the world, "Christmas" has begun. This is both silly and inevitable. Today we had a conversation in the office about how the boss is away and would it be nice to have decorations up for them coming back, but oh-no that would mean putting them up in November. The moral dilemma!

Which got me thinking about what the rules would be if I was the one writing them. Which I'm not, except this is my blog, so I am.

These are my Christmas Rules.

They're not in order. They're possibly even quite contradictory. That's me for you.

• If it's November, it's probably not Christmastime. 

November is many other other things. You could, for instance, join the many people who use the month to write a novel, or grow a moustache. I've tried both, with only moderate success at either. In an imaginary world where I make the rules, I'd say keep it under wraps till at least December.

• Phase it in

Let it creep up on you bit by bit, or we'll never make it to January. The Advent candle and the Advent snowman with all the pockets are allowed out. The Tiny Wise Men start journeying around the house (we have to get a compass out every damn time to remind ourselves which way is east). The tree's not allowed up till SUSCDF* has happened, at the very earliest. 

• And even then, if you're going to try and get a head-start, please be subtle about it.

I can totally see the benefit of starting early, spreading everything out and not having to panic or go over-budget. Heck, I have even tried it some years. But this year I haven't, and it makes me feel a bit crap and behind when I find out that someone else has practically got the turkey in the oven already.

• It's probably okay to call it Christmas.

Even people who ain't so fussed about the Baby Jesus probably enjoy the holiday and the Strictly Come Dancing special.

• We each only have so much capacity for "Christmas-ing"

This is my logic on the matter. If you start trying to feel Christmassy too early, you'll be fed up of the whole sha-bang before the schools break up. I have this notion that if I try not to think about it for a good chunk of December, then by the time the real thing comes round I'll perhaps be in the mood.

• It's okay to admit it all gets a bit too much sometimes

Christmas is stupid. It makes people into absolute desperate idiots. 

• Embrace the Christmas Jumper

With one caveat. One each will probably suffice. I like to think it's ok to inflict my Christmas jumper on people only once or twice. So it gets to come to work once, it goes to Church once, it goes to each dance class once. I get to show it off and be proud of my handiwork, and no-one gets too fed up of the hype.

Glass of wine not compulsory, but...

• In all things, pace yourself

We're celebrating many many things here. This is one complicated holy-pagan-traditional-commercialised-family-winter festival thing we've created for ourselves. All we really understand any more is that we have to eat and drink a lot, see a lot of people and try and be nice to each other. Eat slowly, drink slowly. Talk slowly and you'll take longer to run out of conversation. I have found, in latter years, that a good way to retain that warm fuzzy feeling and remain reasonable personable for an extended period of time is keep myself mildly intoxicated. YMMV. However, this year there will be children and driving. I'm going to need a new plan.

• And remember, everyone likes socks, Tesco is open on Christmas Eve, Tesco sells socks. 

Ergo, everything is going to be all right.


See ya!


*The Scottish Universities Scottish Country Dance Festival, which often involves a last minute dress-making panic and a good deal of organisation.

Trestle tables and Sewing Machines

This might have been a post about dress-making, but I haven't finished making the dress yet, so that's probably not going to work. 

This is a shop-bought dress that is about 8 or 9 inches too long!

/

Crazy, right? Pretty soon I'm just going to chop an arbitrary amount off the bottom and hope for the best. There's a lot of hoping for the best involved when I get the sewing machine out. 

Going to wear it on Saturday though, so it'll be finished pretty damn soon. 

This has been a week where I have done and thought about many little, totally unconnected things, that I will struggle to sting together in to a continuous thread of a thought process. Hey ho, I'm off out committee-ing any minute now, so piecemeal stuff-I-did-this-week it is. 

I went dancing

Lots and lots of driving was involved, and it was all lovely and worth it. This year's newbies, who I met about half an hour before we started dancing, have learned the ropes in next to no time and were shiny and coped beautifully. Next weekend's adventures will be somewhat different - no recaps! Eek. 

I drew some of the pictures I promised you all for last Christmas. 

I even sent them off. These having now made it to their new and rightful homes, you guys can have a butcher's. 

I'm particularly proud of the cat.

There are two or three others that I actually drew last year that I've been a bit, well, shy about since. It being a bit juvenile to post a grown adult a picture of a stickman that you drew, and all that. I hereby resolve to get over that and send them to you anyway. I even bought stamps and I can nick envelopes off L. If you requested a stickman at about this time last year, heck, even if you didn't, please pm me your address. 

I did wedding maths. 

I actually quite enjoy logistics and planning and stuff. A bunch of us are all going away for a weekend's holiday in February and I'm already bouncing off the walls with excitement about all the things I might get to come up with. But weddings, well, they're a bit more... involved. I'll get a handle on it soon. I'll have to. Dear Lord, I need the sleep. 

Last night I went to bed, lay awake for half an hour, and gave up. I got up, made toast, and googled stupid things like the size of a standard trestle table (6'x2'6"), what is costs to hire tablecloths (and boy are there choices out there), and how big a badminton court is (20'x44'). I then worked out just how many people you could seat, at standard trestle tables, in many different combinations and configurations, within the footprint of a standard badminton court. To scale, almost. 

Version 1, all things will change. 

Next up, off to plan more things. 

Till next week, here's a picture of me in my top hat. 

Which I will wear next week when we go to see Bellowhead!

My Selfish Priorities

I got all deep last week, and you guys all came out with many lovely things. Thank you.

Some of you asked about what happened to the original, uncut version. Well, it's gone. It taught me a lot about what my go-to expletives are, and I'm not sure if I like them. Maybe I'll invent some new ones. Draft number one featured a number of invitations to stick it where the sun don't shine, which I removed when I thought again about how it's Autumn and I live in Aberdeen, and how that's not going to be very difficult at all.

It turns out I'm not the cold, heartless ice queen I might like to think I am, and that all this stuff does actually get to me in the end. Trying to plan this thing I keep coming back to this notion that it has to look like a wedding, in order to convince people that it is a real wedding, not a "wedding" or a pretend wedding. And then one of my dear kind friends is good enough to remind me that it doesn't matter what other people think. That catches me off guard, and in the end, it turns out that, dammit, it seems I do care what you all think.

Buzzfeed thinks I'm hopeless and loveable, which must be true on account of the flawless scientific methodology employed by internet quizes. So perhaps there's hope for me yet.

Today I printed out my work calendar from here to Christmas. I got a marker pen and scribbled down all the things we have planned between here and there. I am going to have to be Sociable Me. She can only come out for a few hours at a time and then I end up extra sleepy, but that's fine as long as I'm prepared for it. Six dances in five weekends. Part of me feels like that isn't even really trying and I could probably manage a few more. This is how I burn out and fall over. I shall endeavour to go to the things we have planned, but do so with minimal skiving.

Why am I telling you this? There is a point I am trying to come round to, honest. One reason is that you should totally come to these dances and dance with me. The other reason is so that you know the reason I will be crap at Christmas shopping this year. This is it.

 My Totally Selfish Priorities:

1. Going dancing
2. Dressmaking (because going dancing naked is frowned upon)
3. Sleeping so that I actually make it to Christmas
4. Hanging out with people
5. Christmas shopping

Apparently the world is full of people panic-shopping already. Screw that, I have a plan.

There are better plans out there but this is mine, and I've got one so nerr.

Everyone that gets presents still gets presents, I'm just narrowing down the choice. If you are a habitual present-receiver, you can have your choice from the following list of options. 

• Slippers. Proper fluffy Grandad ones.
• Novelty pyjamas. There is little place in this world for serious pyjamas.
• Succulents. Or cactuses. Your choice.

• Theatre vouchers, with free babysitting where relevant. Cat's don't count, they won't get taken off you if you go out and leave them for an evening. 
• Gingerbread dinosaurs. You can stage your own version of Jurrassic Park 3 in which the protagonists wear only buttons and end up hiding in a gingerbread house which is being attacked by a sugar-crazed diplodocus. 
• A framed picture of the tiny squirrel. 

Those are your choices. If you don't tell me which, I will probably default to the squirrel picture and you'll have nobody but yourself to blame.

Probably Not Going To Hell

This weekend I taught a two-year-old to blow out a battery-powered candle. Absolute comedy gold. Then I gave him my phone and he took 42 selfies of just one side of his face. Kid's going to be a genius. Cows say "moo", sheep say "baa", Baby Brother says "waaaaaa" and Daddy says "sausage". So there. Now you know.

So, erm, the rest of this week's rambling is a bit heavy and a bit wedding-based. I've broken it up as best I can with photographs of squirrels, but it's still about God and sexuality. Here's a link to a comic I quite like (only for the grown-ups) if you'd rather have something different to read instead. This oughta get it out of my system, and I'll endeavour not to mention it next week.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you a small rant about how sometimes girls marry girls and the world is still turning. 

This getting written tonight so that I can put it down in writing, then close the computer and stop going on about it. Some time next year I'm going to marry L, who will then be my Wife. And I will be her Wife. Simples. Thank you and thank you again to all of you who were congratulatory and excited for us. We had hoped that it wouldn't be the case (or at least if it was that they'd keep quiet about it) but there was always a good chance that we'd come up against some opposition. And there is. Some disquiet from a couple of people around us about how we'd quite like to get married, and they'd quite like us not to, on account of neither of us being a bloke.

My Grannie was a big fan of the old "If you can't say something nice, shut up" phrase. I gave her far too many opportunities to use it, no doubt. It's something I try and remember, often about ten minutes after I've said something I shouldn't have. Sometimes "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" just leads to a lot of awkward silences.

This is where I struggle with not being a nice enough person. It's not possible to say "get over it and stop being such a big old meanie" nicely. Or sensitively. So I have to try and work out what I would say if I was not such a cow. I wrote all of this nonsense on Sunday, and have been attempting to soften it ever since. All the penises have gone, for starters*. 

#1 We're not that important, but this is important to us. 

In the grand scheme of things we are two tiny people, doing a thing that affects absolutely no-one else. I'm the only one who has gone and promised to marry L, and vice versa. The result of us getting married is that we'll wind up married. Even if I wanted to, I'm not about to bring about the downfall of civilisation. The flip side of that coin is that it's my freakin' wedding and my freakin' marriage, so please understand if I get a bit sensitive about it. 

#2 You are important to us. 

I appreciate that your faith and your spiritual struggles are important. Just, maybe I/we might not be the best person/people to help you work them out right now. There are probably more impartial people out there. Go for a nice long walk and remember that thing Jesus said about loving everyone. Remember that bit where he didn't list all of the possible exceptions where you don't have to bother.

We will still want you to be there whether or not you totally "approve" or not. 

#3 We're human beings, and we really quite like you.  

Feel free to remember that you actually quite like us too, the lines in your 'love the sinner hate the sin' seem to have run in the wash. We will make one hell of an effort to stick around and still love you in spite of the aforementioned differences of opinion. Please take us not disappearing from your life as a big ol' sign that we're rather fond of you even so.
  #3.1 'Love the sinner, hate the sin' is bull.  It's not in any Bible anywhere and it's just plain mean. The Christian equivalent of, "I'm not racist but...". 

#4 There are 4 degree certificates between us in this house. 

We're not idiots. Not all the time anyway. We're Christians, who are about to wind up in a same-sex marriage. A marriage, you could call it. Believe us when we say that we have done the reading, and the theologising, and the praying, and all that jazz. In our Bible God is a good guy, love is a good thing, and everyone gets an equal shot at being happy. 

#5 We're going to be civil-married. By the state**. 

Even if we take the view that we can't be certain What Jesus Would Do, he ain't involved in the paperwork. 

#6 Then...

...Once we've been Legally Wifed, we'll head up to our Church, our own Church, where every Sunday we belt out ancient hymns at half the recommended tempo and I only really pay attention to the children's address, and our Minister will ask God to bless that legal thing we just did. Accompanied by as many of our friends and family as we can persuade to be there. Ask. There's your word. Ask. We will ask God if He'll be so kind to bless us, and our relationship, our little family, and our crazy decision to love each other for the rest of our darn lives. It's up to Him whether or not he does that actual blessing and bestowing of grace and happiness and fluffy happy wooshies. We ask nicely, He decides. We'd love it if you'd join us for the asking nicely bit. And if you're standing there praying, "Dear God, would you mind not blessing these people because I think they're probably terrible heathens" then (1) God help you, and (2) you'll be outnumbered, but (3) we respect your right to pray that, just don't tell us that you did.

#7 If you are married, you don't get to tell other people that they can't be. 

Or rather, you're being damn cruel if you do. It's like saying, "Hey, there's this awesome thing that I've got here. It's pretty damn good. Oh, you want one too? Well, no, you can't have one." Because some lovely people passed a lovely law last year, and now I'm not a second-class citizen any more. Please afford me the privilege that you've always had.

#8 Your children are impressionable, their sexuality is not. 

Being in the same room as a gay person will not make them turn out gay. Understanding that sometimes girls marry girls and boys marry boys will not make them turn out gay. Their sexuality will be whatever it will be regardless of everything you do to convince them to be straight. Either your kids are straight and cis-gendered and will turn out to be the next generation of closed-minded idiots, or they are not, and you are doing irreparable damage to them.

#9 I'm not broken. 

Okay, I might be a bit odd, but I am not to be fixed. We cannot "do better" so please stop being disappointed for us. We have each found the perfect person for all that forever&always mushy soppy stuff. The odds are crazy. There is nothing in this situation/relationship to be disappointed about.

#10 I've never asked you about your sex life. 

I never will, I'm British. I blush and hide when sex is even mentioned. Please never ask again.

#11 There'll be free food.

And free alcohol (and yes, free non-alcohol) and we won't make you dance if you really don't want to. No, scrub that, we'll probably make you dance. You never know, it might be fun.

*I've replaced every reference to "nuts" with a picture of a squirrel. You're welcome.
**The Church will catch up one day, I repeat over and over to myself.

I did it!

So I did it, and I have discovered some things, of which I will dutifully report back.

We didn't, it's ok. We are sorry and Squiggle has forgiven us.

In no particular order, here are some things I have discovered since this time last week:

• Horses are awesome, but also really stupid. 

How something so big can be scared of so many strange, tiny things escapes me. And sitting on top of one is really quite a long way from the ground, it turns out. But we spent a lovely morning, way up on the fells somewhere near Ullswater, just me, L, the pony-trekking Wifey and 3 horses. It was sunny and it was warm and I didn't fall off. Hold on tight and trust that this animal's herd instincts will make it follow the others. We did all right. Bit of a sore butt, which is not to be recommended the day before a trip to a big theme park, but we did good.

• Pod camping is a thing.

We stayed our first night in a "pod" at a camp site, which has a bar that was built in 1751! All of the chairs are made of whisky barrels and the tables have some seriously ancient pennies inlaid. And there are dead things hanging from the walls which I hope were shot a very long time ago. Everybody might not have a water buffalo*, but these guys do.

Some of these heads are not Queenie.

We stayed 2 nights, either side of Alton Towers, in a "timber tent" at a camp site in Staffordshire. This was definitely a shed. It smelled like a shed and it was chilly! I think in the height of summer it would be a lovely little spot, but in October, with absolutely no-one else around it was all a bit cabin-in-the-woods for my liking. The Dick Francis book I was reading at the time probably didn't help matters either, tbh.

Thank God for blankets.

For us, the main attraction to the whole camping-minus-tent thing was to just stretch the season a bit further in to Autumn, and that it did. The guys with the ace bar and the heater in the (carpeted, ventilated) pod win hands down though. If you're ever passing the Lakes, look these guys up.

• I am a wimp, and L is far too chilled about being dropped from a great height in to a whacking great hole. 

But I damn well did it anyway. My theme park buddies are seasoned veterans of numerous Alton Towers trips, and nothing phases them. They did a darn good job of looking after me, calmly walking me on to rides that turned out to scare the you-know-what out of me, letting me sit in the middle and only laughing at me a little bit. There was only really once when we had to let me have a little sit-down, but they followed that up by going and sticking me on a ride called Oblivion, which does this.

Went and put me in the front row and everything.

And I'm still here to tell the tale.

• Massive adrenaline rushes at 15-20 minute intervals all day make you incredibly tired, and very spaced out. 

I'm also not used to being really really scared, packed full of adrenaline but sat still and unable to do anything about it. In my real life, any time I'm genuinely nervous it's because I'm about to go on stage, or teach a dance class, or go to a job interview or something. Those times there's actually some use to put all the adrenaline to, but being strapped in to a seat where all I can do is scream and try not to puke is different.

• Roller-coasters make me sweary.

Sorry 'bout that everyone. It was somehow still good fun though. I have a new favourite ride. It's called Air and you get to pretend to be Superman. It's nice and smooth and doesn't drop you or go dark or go backwards when you don't expect it, and if I close my eyes at just the right time, I don't even need to swear at all. I went on it 5 times!

Not me in this picture, we were all to busy worrying about whether or not we'd done our shoelaces up tight enough.

• York is a really cool place. 

Thinking we'd treat ourselves to a bed, we wound up at a strange little hotel, which promised a swimming pool. Should have read the small print. What it didn't promise was a heated swimming pool.  There was even more swearing.

York has York Minster, which is breath-taking. If you do go, seriously do the "Undercroft", because it's nice to know just exactly what is holding our big historic buildings up.
York has a takeaway where you can get a roast dinner, and York has Trains. Lots of 'em.

Turntable! (L is in here too)

Lunch, on a station platform!

• York is a long way from Aberdeen. 

• Holidays are nice.

But being back home again ain't that bad. There were banjo-duelling hamsters in Church. Worth coming home for. This week I'm off to eat Hungarian food with enough friends that we're going to get the whole restaurant to ourselves. I might even write them a dance or two.




* Here, enjoy.

Doing scary things before I grow up.

So here we are. Right now I'm sitting in a bar that was built in 1753 (we think, but it's cold and I'm not going back outside to check). There's wi-fi, but only just, so this might wind us as a text-only post! It's the cutest place ever. Big log fire, all the chairs are made from barrels and there are ancient dead things mounted all over the walls.  We're staying at a campsite somewhere near Ullswater, and it's pretty special. The other campers are all clustered round the fire comparing their favourite corners of the lakes.

We've even got a "camping pod" in place of lugging a tent around. Having spent all summer putting up and taking down tents for other people it was quite nice to get away just to have a bit of a holiday.

Thinking this week about how I'm absolutely petrified of a bunch of the things around me. And is that a bad thing because I haven't found a way to get comfortable doing fairly normal things? Or is it a good thing because I am still choosing to go and do things I am shit-scared of? Here's three scary things by way of example.

Scary thing number 1. 

Yesterday I had my second shot at teaching the Advanced class for our local branch of the Royal Scottish Country Dance Society. These are the people who do Scottish Country Dancing Properly, because they get to decide what Properly is. They have serious fun. They have written the rule book for something that maybe, dare I say it, is a form of Folk dance and likely doesn't need to have quite so many rules. It's a good class, and I'm stoked to be teaching it, but it is a million miles away from what I'm used to. What I'm used to is yelling at bunch of easy-going students, and generally pushing and pulling them around till they go in about the right direction and then calling it a success. They learn how to survive, and they learn it quick and they have fun. It has to be fun, else next week there'd be no-one there to teach.

Scary thing number 2.

Tomorrow I am going horse-riding. With L, who went riding every weekend of her childhood.

Scary thing number 3.

We're going to Alton Towers. The day after tomorrow. Now I am scared of crowds and prone to motion sickness, so we'll see how this works out. I have very carefully planned that we have somewhere comfy and close by to stay (ok, it's another timber-tent set-up, but there'll be beds and heating) the night before and the night after. All I have to worry about is doing a day at Alton Towers and not losing my friends. And if it all goes wonky I'll go on the carousel and enjoy myself all the same.

None of these scary things are as easy as talking to your parents about a wedding, and I managed that.

I promise there will be photographs of scary things numbers 2 and 3, you can have them next week. Wish me luck.

Venice Lagoon and 25 Year-Old Malt Whisky: Will Nobody Marry Me?

This week's post is sponsored by Lemsip and those funny hankies that are meant to be softer than normal. 

I don't believe in brand names, tbh, but these were purchased in a Co-Op in Aberfeldy, which doesn't have the luxury of enough space to stock more than one of each thing.

Today I have been in bed, sniffling, sneezing and generally feeling snotty and sorry for myself. This is because I do too much and don't eat enough vegetables. I should really know better.
The sum total of achievements I have managed today is (1) putting the dishwasher on, (2) putting the washing machine on, and (3) making the journey from bed to sofa.

What doesn't kill you...

Disclaimer: The remainder of this post is a small rant about weddings, and how I'd quite like to have one. Just one. Normal non-wedding-related service will be resumed next week. For sanity's sake this will be interspersed with photos from the weekend.

On Saturday we spent a while in a coffee shop in Aberfeldy, flicking through whatever magazines they had  in their magazine rack, looking for possible colour combinations we might like. Because that's a lot easier than actually planning anything.

So, option 1, blue and orange?

So here's the thing. 

You go and get engaged, and I think in most cases that's a big flaming surprise for one of you, less so for the other. In my case, I was the one that was pounced upon, far too early in the morning, after not enough sleep, with a life-changing question and a breakfast of sugar and alcohol. Holy cow, I think she means it. Everybody say yes and drinks a lot of fizz in a short time. Yay Woop.

It all takes a bit of getting used to. And then there's the telling people, and the resulting excitement and disappointment that this particular news was met with. The balance tipped way, way in favour of the bouncing excited Squee-ing and genuine congratulations, it should be said. 

And then that takes a bit of getting used to. 

But sooner or later it dawns on you: there will eventually have to be a wedding, and we will have to organise it. L and I have only been allowed to marry each other in proper legal terms for less than a year. It's pretty awesome that we can, but it means that for a while I've never really thought about what my wedding would look like. Now we get to play catch-up on all of the imagining. 

So what do we want?

• To wind up married in the boring official sense. 
• To wind up married in the Yay Jesus sense. Y'know, someone in a dog-collar and some stonkin' old school hymns. 
• All of our friends to be there
• And for them to have a good time and for it not to be stressful or expensive for them.
• Good food and plenty of it. Also wine and cake. 
• Music and dancing and general conviviality. 

Simples. Err, well no actually.

Unrelated pheasant is unrelated. Probably dead by now actually, if its tendency to hang out in the road is anything to go by.

If we were a straight couple we'd phone the Minister, pick a date, and send the council a form and a small sum of money. Then you both show up, say yes and it's all sorted. One stop shop. 

Except our Minister can't do that. We can show every Sunday (well ok, most Sundays, it's been a busy summer), and be welcomed as an ordinary part of the congregation. We can listen and sing and do the readings and be on committees we don't understand and take communion and put money in the strange CofS velvet-bag-on-a-stick thing, and generally just get on with being part of the congregation. We stick out more for lowering the average age than we do for both being girls. The week we got engaged we couldn't leave our seats for post-service congratulations and came away home with a whacking great big bunch of flowers. This Church, its congregation and Minister are a million miles better than some other places that I could, but won't, mention. But the Church of Scotland can't get it's act together and let him be a proper Minister to us.

Isn't she lovely?

So what else is there? The University Chapel, well we could get married there; Aberdeen is one of only two Scottish University Chapels that are available for same-sex weddings*; but we'd still need to find a Minister, neither of the University Chaplains would touch us, and it would still cost a bomb.

Other denominations, limited success there too. Yeah, make that no success. The Episcopal Church look to be doing their best, and are at least thinking about it, but the very quickest they could marry us will be in a few year's time, and frankly, we ain't that patient. 

We're not Quakers or Unitarians, which is unfortunate, because they might actually have been able to treat us like normal people and marry us.

All of the people who could marry us in a Church, well, they either can't or won't. 

And a Registrar, well they can marry you anywhere you like, except a in Church. 

Beautiful.

So here we are, in 2015 stuck in a place where marriage is not yet equal. Churches actively withholding the blessing of God from a whole swathe of Christian couples who really want to get married, in the sight of God, just like anyone else. 

This is getting a bit heavy-going. Here's a nice picture of a tent in a field beneath some blue sky. 

Humph. We'll work something out. If wouldn't be the end of the world if we had to have a small ceremony at the Town House or somewhere similar before wandering off somewhere else. What it would be is more faff and more expense, which would be being forced upon us where other couples would have more choices and better options. 

I know I should be grateful that we can now actually get married, and perhaps one could argue that hey, it's legal now, shut up and stop making a fuss. Doesn't quite sit right though, and I think it comes down to this:

I should be able to take Equal Marriage for granted. It should be normal. 

Just because it's new and shiny doesn't mean it shouldn't have happened a long time ago. I shouldn't have to be thankful and grateful that the State has taken pity on me and finally let me have what many people have had all along. I shouldn't have to settle for vastly limited options from the Church. It shouldn't have to be an awkward question. A Minister should be allowed to marry me if they want to!

As for me, I'm off to have one last Lemsip and put myself to bed. Till next week!

*Well done Aberdeen, well done St Andrews. Everyone else, c'mon, please.