It's insanely warm outside, sort of Mediterranean holidays hot. I live in a seaside resort. The crowds and traffic are a little challenging, shall we say.

After a week of sitting in work (where we have no air con! For the first time! In years! Argh!) I was looking forward to today, getting to sit outside in the sun and read a book. Unfortunately, doing this involves getting dressed and schlepping out to the park. Luckily there are lots of them around me within easy walking distance, but everyone else in the local area all had the same great idea. KIDS STOP RUNNING OVER MY BLANKET, THANK YOU. Richie is in work all weekend, so I can't lasso him for beer garden purposes, and I'm not sitting in a beer garden in Southport by myself. I might as well paint a target on myself.

It's day like this I really miss having outdoor space to myself. The great thing about living in Town Green is that there was a big garden and lots of space and some garden furniture. I don't need all that, mostly because I can't be arsed gardening, but I would like a balcony of some description in the next flat, if such a thing was possible. Maybe. We'll see. It would be nice to grow some herbs in teeny tiny plant pots, and eat breakfast outside on hot days like this.

Ah well. Tonight is Eurovision, so I will probably be blind drunk on the internet later and ranting wildly if the Russian grannies don't win it. With any luck Richie is bringing home fixings for sangria. Look at us being all continental.

Oh god my mother is reading that 50 Shades of Grey book. DID NOT NEED TO KNOW, MOTHER.

I have spent today off work, during which I would like to pretend I've been reasonably practical. Two job applications in (I am following a rule of Apply For Work I Wouldn't Hate Or At Least Pays Better), recycling out and weekly food shop done, blog post written and others circulating around my head, and flat is as clean as a whistle. Well, that last part is a product of Saturday. I had work on Saturday morning (hence today off - work three Saturdays, get one day off! Which still means four hours unpaid overtime! ANYWAY) and then came home and CLEANED ALL OF THE THINGS. I cleaned out the oven, using some scary chemicals and with plastic bags to protect the floor and an old hoodie and marigolds to protect me. This might not sound like an achievement to you, but it is to me. I can see what's cooking inside the oven now. This is WIN. The rest of the flat is also reasonably sparkling, with the exception of a small pile for the chairty shop now I'm fully finished doing my massive clear-out. It'll get done soon, honest.

I have also had all my hair cut off! Well, I haven't, that's blatently a lie. I was, however, sick of having Wedding Hair, and wanted to go back to my cute River Song length hair and I have. The hairdresser was horrified at how long I'd gone without a cut until I explained the wedding thing, which is apparently the only excuse a hairdresser will take for such apparent neglect. It feels lighter on my head, it takes half the time to wash, and there is no plaiting in my future. These are all Very Good Things, and also, you know, it's cute.

... and yes, this is about as rock and roll as my life is right now. Now I'm going to go and bake cookies. Yeah, I'm cool.

(I would worry that I'm turning into my mum, but I'm more worried we're turning into each other. I'm cleaning, she's reading glorified Twilight fanfiction. MY LIFE WHAT.)

This weekend, I went to dougs and Julia's wedding, and lo, for it was AMAZING.

Sadly, I had to miss the first part of it due to work being difficult and not deciding to Saturday schedules until the boss knew if he had tickets to the F.A. Cup final (argh), but Richie and I flung ourselves onto a train to deepest darket Sheffield on the Saturday. Sheffield is a place neither of us had been to before, but excepting a few hairy moments (really odd taxi driver) it was actually a lovely place.

The hotel they'd picked to get married in was lovely, very modern but in a wonderful location right next to the canal. After we'd arrived and unpacked, we headed out into Sheffield armed with a random Google recommendation. "This one is half a mile away and says goods for vegetarians," said Richie. "Let's go," replied I, and was shortly in Colleen Food Heaven, because what it actually was a big student-y cafe that did nothing but vegetarian food that all came served with a massive pile of salad. I had asparagus and mushroom flan and it was possibly some of the best food ever - I could feel my stomach doing the happy dance that comes with healthy and delicious. Richie, not being even slightly inclined towards vegetarianism (and as a note, I'm also not a veggie but like the food more than I do my occasional forays into meat) looked less impressed, but there was also a very good beer and cider collection. Yum!

However, we couldn't enjoy the atmosphere for too long, instead rushing back to the hotel to prepare for the wedding reception which was pirate themed. Yes, this is the best idea for a wedding reception ever and I say that as a woman who had Daleks at hers. There was a mild moment of concern as we headed down to the reception ("You don't think it's all a very elaborate joke, do you?") but there were many other pirate themed hearties in attendance. Phew!

Both Doug and Julia looked radiantly happy - I can't get over how beautiful the dress was, red and gold and sparkly and just WOW - and both of them were smiling each time I saw them. The entertainment for the evening was a ceilidh. We joined in a few dances and I splendidly enjoyed watching others. The band was really good, and the caller was the best combination of gentle and persuasive in getting people to join in.

OH AND THE CAKE LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE CAKE. It was a cake in the shape of a pirate ship with CANNONS and LITTLE TINY PIRATES and SHARKS. Actually AMAZING and also delicious.

It was, in all conclusion, a great night and even though Richie and I didn't know anyone we got chatting to some people which is always comforting as I sometimes think I've forgotten to how to talk to strangers.

So in conclusion, good times at Sheffield and enormous congratulations to Doug and Julia - I was really touched to have been invited and it was a pleasure to attend.

( MASSIVE STONKING STAR TREK SPOILERS )

Today I went to work in a pencil skirt and heels, something I shall hopefully never have to do again, or at least not do again until I've worked out how to get in an out of cars. I looked magnificant, mind you, but I have no idea how women wear them on a daily basis. (I normally trudge to work in more practical workwear. Meeting with a buyer. Not meant to be my job but lost rock-paper-scissors. Long story.) I'm quite relieved to be back into some comfy jeans and ranting about Star Trek on the internet, massively back into the comfort zone.

OKAY GUYS LET'S TALK ABOUT THE AVENGERS HERE! Non-spoilery things first.

1. I am not calling in Avengers Assemble because - well, maybe this is a spoiler, I don't know - but at no point is any Ikea furniture involved. I am British and we have an Avengers boxset in our house but I AM CAPABLE OF TELLING THETWO APART. Thank'ee kindly.

2. 3-D! It looks really pretty! But it turns out I can't really see it properly in my left eye! Which was, you know, a bit rubbish. Once the film ended I suddenly realised that little pain in my head was getting worse very quickly and I woke up this morning wishing for death and threw up in the toilets at work. (I went to work on the basis that as there are NOISY toddlers above me and builders below me it might actually be a little more restful.) I am one of those people who get adverse effects from 3-D. Jolly good. That said, it did look magnificent out of my right eye so if you are one of those people who doesn't vomit via the 3-D migraine then hey, splurge on this one.

3. I HAD FORGOTTEN HOW MUCH FUN IT IS TO GO TO AN OPENING NIGHT OF A GEEKY FILM. I spent all the time before the film people watching and also nosying in on conversations around me. Glorious.

( Now for the spoilers. )

I need to go and see it again. In 2-D, mind you.

Today I had some grand plans. I would get up around ten-ish, put the slow cooker on so we could have Scouse for tea, put the bread maker on for similar reasons, do lots of blogging and job applications, and then hopefully if there was time bumble around this afternoon in the unexpectedly nice weather. (By 'nice' I mean 'not raining' which is all one can hope for at the British seaside.) Plus I could then have something with home made bread for lunch.

Instead, woke up thirty minutes ago and am still in my pajamas, feeling a little shell-shocked.

I clearly needed the sleep (I have some vague recollections of Richie going to work around the same time I put some earplugs in to disguise the racket from upstairs) but oh my goodness, bang goes my entire day right there. I'm typing this entry mostly to try and register my surprises at being awake so late, and also to try and get typing quicker so I can get some Official Blogging done which will in turn launch me into job application land.

However, at some point I also have to have a shower and put some clothes on. I also have to fight the lingering urge to go back to bed; I've been asleep for 11 hours and frankly clearly needed it, as the headache that's been lurking behind my left eye for three days, on and off, has disappeared, but I also really fancy some more sleep. Woe is me. Back to work tomorrow. Never mind.

On the bright side I cleaned the house yesterday and finished watching the first series of the League of Gentlemen as Horrible Histories proved Richie had never seen it. It's been an instructive week.

Work continues dreadful, but slightly less so than last week due to hosepipe bans and colder weather, I suppose that's something.

Richie and I went on An Adventure With Capitalism yesterday, to The Trafford Centre. It was a slightly odd experience, although good for the soul to get out of Southport for an evening. It was remarkably busy for a Wednesday night, and as I am now allowed to buy clothes again (I have money again! and I did a massive wardrobe throwout! and in my defence I have very little to wear to work in the summer!) I discovered that fashion has turned against me and there is very little I actually want to wear. Alas. I did get a fab new pair of jeans though, which was very well-needed. We ended up buying bedsheets. I am non-ironically excited.

We are on a slightly longer adventure at the weekend, up to St Andrews for the Geekbop and then the DocSoc AGM. This is exciting as it is non-wedding related HURRAH and a good opportunity to catch up with friends now I am no longer Bridezilla. It does mean that I have to face a busy weekend and then six days at work in a row, but keeping busy is good.

No, wait, that's a lie. I have blogging to get back into the rhythm of, TV to catch up on, all of the thank you cards in the world to write, in between launching myself into the world of job-seeking again. I have updated my CV but have yet to send it, well, anywhere. Oops. I am slowly crystallising in my head What I Want To Do With My Life, but in the short term I have no reason to stay where I am anymore, and even if I do stay in admin it would be nice to do it in a better industry, ideally with less members of the idiot public.

I have a cold, the type that makes you feel like there's cotton wool in every sinus. Naturally, it's the Easter weekend so I have four days off work.

I went out last night, though, with work. It was nice to see K again, and the night was actually okay, but by 10pm I pleaded off due to aforementioned headcold. That, and I was at the point where I was shouting 'DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY' at the DJ and where I remembered that I hate Ormskirk. I would still rather live there than Southport, but that's only due to proximity of friends there - Richie and I only go to rather quiet and specialist pubs around here so the only idiots we face tend to be our neighbours. I spent the night at my parent's house, feeling weirdly guilty at spending a night away within three weeks of marriage. I did manage to get a half decent night's sleep, though, without the Bloody Kids upstairs banging away and waking me up, so that's something.

My four days off were already a little full, so a headcold is most inconvenient. I've still managed to have a brutal life assessment of the living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom, armed with binbags and a grim sense of determination. Unfortunately, I've not had the heart to go at the spare room, which is a shame as frankly that's where the problems are at the moment. Tomorrow involves letting rip at the spare room, then, after getting to the bank to change my name, and cracking out the new breadmaker for some experimentation. I also need to make a cheesecake, as Easter Sunday involves being at my parent's house for dinner. Must attempt not to sneeze in it, that's the key.

For now I am officially out of energy for anything more dramatic than tea and snuggling on the sofa under a blanket, though.

( Minimoon! 18/03/12 - 24/03/12 )

And that was in our minimoon, such as it was. We spent Saturday having a posh picnic in Hesketh Park, sneaking a bottle of red wine in and having antipasto and nice bread, before lying on a blanket under a beautifully warm sun. We even found a spot where we could mostly ignore the general public and kids going past, but still watch the birds on the pond. It was a lovely day, particularly as we don't get a lot of outdoor space at the best of times. By Sunday, Richie was back at work, and I was back on Monday.

We're going to have the Big Honeymoon in the first two weeks of September. My bonus at work has come through, so we've already paid the small amount of the wedding debt off, and have a little to start saving towards the honeymoon. We're going to get a train around France, Germany and Austria, before looping back to Berlin and then flying home. It's very us, and I'm very excited, not least because I'll start having something to plan again! But for now, it's back to work and real life, albeit one with a lot of nice new stuff, some shiny rings, and an awful lot of inlaws.

I'm desperately trying to write up the minimoon, but life is eating all of my writing time so that will go up At Some Point in the future. Becuase, obviously, you all want to hear of our adventures in wildest genteel-ist Yorkshire. Seriously. Soon. I promise!

However, for now we are back in sunny Southport and back in work. Boo. However, I wasn't in work yesterday afternoon as we recieved all of our wedding gifts. Seriously, if you want the most middle-class, consumerist experience of RAPTURE AND JOY, I can strenuously recommend getting your wedding gift list from John Lewis, opening it all like kids on Christmas through the polystyrene balls and then sitting on the square metre of carpet you have left, drinking champagne and gleefully plotting the demise of all the non-matching kitchen stuff you can now throw out. (Is anyone moving house soon? Most of the stuff that's going is off to the recycling centre in the hope some of it can be salvaged, but some is okay if people want first dibs on it before we take it to the charity shop.)

Although we knew what we were getting, we didn't know who from, but we do now, and I am overwhelmed at the generousity of our friends and families. (Particularly Richie's! We put down a v. expensive breadmaker and coffee machine on the offchance people might club together and buy them, and we were surprised when they disappeared off the list. We were VERY surprised to discover they're both from Richie's family friends who I have never met and didn't even come to the wedding! I AM GOING TO MAKE SO MUCH BREAD THOUGH.) A lot of our friends, some of whom weren't able to come to the wedding, bought us gifts, which we are so desperately grateful for I can't even describe. We're sending out individual thank yous very shortly, but this is just a massive big lovecrush at how wonderful people have been over this whole wedding thing. I LOVE YOU GUYS.

Work is terrible, but at least I faced it today in the knowledge I have a four-day week and that at least my hangover was champagne fuelled. There are worse hangovers.

So! I'm married! I was going to write one long massive post, but the minimoon will have to go elsewhere as SO MANY WORDS. Hell, I spent long enough writing this.

( OLD SCHOOL CUT )

So that was my wedding day. I will have other Amazing Days, and in fact I had a lot of them in the week that came after, that I will write up when I have the time because ARGH SO MUCH STUFF AND WORDS. I wanted to get this up, though, because I want to keep the memories. It was just such a pleasure to see so many people dressed in their finery – and everyone looked AMAZING – and to see everyone I loved, and most importantly to marry Richie. We are now double-barrelled; Iona witnessed Richie's deed poll, although I am a little slower in making it official but I'm working on it. It's still the same relationship it was before, but it's nice to know it's official in the eyes of, well, Fife Council (wedding certificate rocked up earlier this week) and also, well, I do love him and all that too. I keep smiling every time I spot our wedding rings.

So: thank you to everyone that came (and for reading all of this!) and there will be individual thank yous going out fairly soon. We get our gift list stuff on Tuesday, which I am shallow but dead excited about. I will write about the minimoon next, but at over 3,000 words I felt that I had clogged up quite enough of my flist...

(There are pictures on the book of faces, but soon there are plans for us to bung some pictures up on a Flickr account. Despite no longer having a wedding to plan, being back at work full time and having to catch up on about a month of life we've basically put off means that we are still surprisingly busy. What's up with that?)

I am driving up to St Andrews actually tomorrow in order to actually get married on actual Saturday.

omfg.

I will see you all on the other size! Raise a glass for me at 2.30pm on Saturday. :-)

HI YOU GUYS.

I have had a proper lovely weekend. After a wee lie in on Friday, I bumbled up to St Andrews, where I had a Lovely Time. After arriving, exhausted from the drive, I discovered that No One I Knew That Well was in, but moralrelativist's flatmate Alice made me tea and before too long Lucy was home as well. I wasn't actually staying at Lucy's, but instead nearby in the flat her parents were in the process of doing up and letting out. As such, I ended up spending the weekend living with Lucy's mum, who was wonderful to me, fed me wine and tea and made sure there were flowers in the room I was staying in. SO MUCH LOVE.

That said, Friday night heralded pretending to be a student and drinking far too much cider during a zombie pub crawl. It was a great night, lurching around St Andrews and/or running from zombies. Although I am a little sore now from all the running. Alas, so out of shape.

Only slightly hungover, I approached the next day slightly tentatively. Hair and make-up trials? Eep. I was mildly worried that everything would look wrong, a feeling exacerbated when I said I wanted curly hair for the day and she started to straighen it. I needn't have worried, I look fab. No more can be said because, well, spoilers, but apparently Mum cried when I sent over a picture.

Spent the evening being fed again by Lucy (OM NOM NOM) before briefly heading out to check the durability of the hair and make-up. It's all good, fortunately.

Now I am back home for a few days, at least. Richie is making my tea, and we're pretty much all done with the wedding stuff now until the actual wedding itself. Alas that I have to go to work tomorrow as well as today, but I'm still determined to have a good week, despite the best efforts of the general public.

I am getting married next weekend. I am, to the surprise of myself and those around me, not a wreck. Hurrah!

However, there are some things I have noticed, and this is mostly a list to myself but also to other people.

PLEASE TRY not to suggest things to me about my looks. I have been surprised at the sheer level of vanity/paranoia that the whole Bride thing has set off; comments are innocently made, but combined with the knowledge that these photos are going to be around FOREVER I am paranoid. An reasonably innocuous comment about my eyebrows by my mother has led to unexpected waxing. Okay, it ended well, but there we go. "How are you having your hair?" I get asked a lot, and when I mention I'm not straightening it/wearing it out people sometimes give me A Look. SERIOUSLY I HAVE THOUGHT THIS OUT BUT I AM CURRENTLY FRAGILE. I am periodically ending up in very strange thought spirals. So, er, unless I am actively asking your opinion then possible don't opine on my looks. You wouldn't do it to me normally.

On a related note, DO NOT ask me if I'll be wearing my glasses on the day. I wear my glasses during every waking hour. I cannot see without them, I can't abide wearing contact lenses, and I look like a mole without my glasses on. At what point is it sensible for me to take my glasses off?

DO NOT tell me your horror stories. "On my wedding day, the priest got our names wrong and I fell over my own veil," Damn Fool Boss's wife cheerfully told me the other day. I nearly cried. They are funny stories, I will freely admit, just not at the moment.

DO tell me your horror stories about stuff that cannot possibly happen on my wedding day. A friend told me about a wedding she attended where the child of the pastor ran around unchecked for the whole thing. There is no child of the pastor at my wedding, so I can laugh and also faintly victorious that whatever may go wrong at my wedding, this will not be it.

DO NOT ask me open-ended questions that can be solved with common sense. I cannot arrange how you are getting to the wedding. I am sorry. I provided instructions with the invitations. I am also unable to find you shoes, tell you when you check in to your hotel (a real question from Richie's mum), or advise what time you should take off work.

DO ask me specific questions. Matt sent a text to enquire if a guest house he had found was a sensible distance from the town. I can answer these questions without having the sense that I'm having to organise you on top of organising myself.

DO NOT assume Richie is in some way invisible, or not helping with the wedding. We've split it remarkably equally.

DO ask me about the day. Look, I like to burble about it, and to be honest I can't help it. I enjoy talking about it!

DO tell me about stuff that is not to do with the wedding. Please, please, please. Tell me about the course you're doing. Tell me about your new job. Chat with me about Being Human and why Tom is ace. Discuss that new book with me. Tell me about why you're never drinking gin again after what you did last weekend. Bitch with me about your neighbours. Just, you know, I am still a person who isn't this mythical bride figure. I like being the centre of attention, and it's a fabulously easy (and fun!) topic to talk about, but I can be drawn along a line of just talking about it and that is a bit rubbish.

And DO tell me when I'm being ridiculous. I tend to hysteria at the best of times, and now I'm even worse. Laugh at me, I need it sometimes.

Today I was going to write a hilarious/advisory post regarding How To Deal With Me At The Moment re: the bridezilla thing, as I am currently insanely suggestible. On Friday night, I had tea at my parents as my grandparents were visiting, and my mum suddenly popped up with "And when are you getting your eyebrows done for the wedding?" My response was "Er... never?" and she gave me A Look and that is how I found myself wandering Eastbank Street on Saturday morning and ended up getting my eyebrows waxed and then trying not to cry on the way home from social anxiety and a fear that my eyebrows were now bald. Actually, I worried in vain, she did a lovely job at the bargain rate for £4 and I keep on peeking at me and my mature eyebrows and my worries re: massive forehead have proved untrue, but still, it was an odd morniong.

After a lazy afternoon, we discovered that the family from Downstairs Below are hitherto going to be referred to as Upstairs Above, for reasons I can't fully understand. This was... annoying. Still, we continued with our planned evening, and as I finished up making the orders of service for the wedding, Richie decided to make some pancakes because, well, that's how lucky I am.

It was at this point the neighbours from Across The Way starting making a lot of noise which spilt into the hallway, and I could hearpeople being hit, (male) screams of rage, and the woman shouting "I'LL PROTECT MINE!" and whatever was going on out there was making our door shake as they fell across it.

I phoned the police. I would like to think I'm good in a crisis, and I spoke reasonably well to the police, but I was shaking fairly violently and probably babbling a bit as I was very very concerned they didn't know it was us that had called. The police arrived very quickly with blue flashing lights (fancy!) but by this point it seemed to mostly be over, and for reasons I couldn't quite see the white Jaguar that belongs to Basement Opposite seemed to be involved. (I was peeking outside the window to the car park mostly to check they hadn't hit my car, either.)

Eventually the police left, with no one arrested, and Across The Way locked themselves back in. I crept downstairs to speak to Basement Opposite, who by this point I realised had had thweir entire back window smashed out.

"Er, hi, I'm from My Flat Number," I said tentatively. "Are you okay?"

The lady looked somewhat ashen faced. She explained to me that she is, in fact, the landlady of Across The Way and she's only been letting them stay this long because they owe money. Apparently Across The Way had invited around some "undesirables" (her words, not mine) who had started a fight which led to them using a 'For Let' sign to smash in the back window of her car. Across The Way are now, she hastened to point out, being evicted. I mentioned it was me that had phoned the police, and apologised in advance for having phoned her mum (who is my landlady - try and keep up) to tell her that the police had been called.

I then went inside and had a shot of whiskey. Upstairs Above were still unpacking and had screaming children running about above our bedroom until about 11, and the earplugs are proving useless as the pitches and the shaking undermine them.

Today I'm just feeling low and shaken up. I love my flat, and I love the area, and it doesn't feel like my flat any more. I feel under seige, with constant noise from upstairs (it's still not stopped, THUMP THUMP THUMP is all I can hear) so I've not really slept. Upstairs Above have also helpfully draped cables across our front windows so they can still bootleg Sky, which I'm not amused about, and I'm worried about Across The Way getting any great ideas about me having phoned the police.

My parents are coming around tonight, as part of mine and Richie's Be Nice To Our Families campaign of the last month, so I need to clean. Normally I clean the flat reasonably happily, because I'm houseproud, but today I think, well, what's the point? Of course, I will clean the flat, and I'll take my recycling out, and I'll have a good night tonight. And next weekend I'm in St Andrews, and the weekend after that I am also in St Andrews, and then we have a few nights away, and things will have calmed down by then and I may have also had some bloody sleep. But for now I am slightly shaken up, and feeling a little blue.

You've probably already seen this, but read this: ILU-486, a short piece of speculative fiction over a theoretical future where the anti-choice brigade clamp down on all reproductive freedoms.

It's a fascinating, powerful, and grim read, but I want you all to read it too.

Today I was going to take out my piercings. Honest, I was. The words that were going to come out of my mouth at the piercing place were going to be "I am getting married in three weeks and I need to have more discreet and less piercings." What instead came out was "I am getting married in three weeks and I need more discreet and sparkly piercings."

Bloke was really good, actually. He sat me down and talked me through the options, including taking some of them out and the proceedure for re-opening cartilege piercings. ("If you've had them for years, it'll be really easy.") Instead, I have SHINY SHINY SHINY earrings where I once had titanium blocky ones. Don't get me wrong, I like titanium blocky ones, but hell, I'm getting married and if I can't have some bling for that then when can I? He ended up putting them in for me, as my tragus piercing was stuck and I'm rubbish at changing the one at the top. That, plus popping into Clare's Accessories to get some plain silver for the three lobe piercings and a new nose ring, means I am fully ready to TAKE ON THE WORLD and be bridal and heavily pierced.

My poor mother. She was so pleased that some of them were going. Ah well, I catch the sunlight beautifully now.

I am now attempting to create wedding programs. Seven down, eighty-odd to go. I think watching Monsters while doing it was a mistake. Let's Dance For Comic Relief will be much easier crafting background noise, and the nagging sensation I'll cut my hand off with a crafting knife is preventing me drinking so that's all good, obviously.

Last night I had a really odd, but satisfying dream. I was on a train with everyone I lived with in first year at uni, and we were all really happy, because this train was taking us to where we want to be. I have no idea if this is true for everyone, as I haven't heard from a few of them for a while (and I really regret losing contact with spockette), but I know that both Katie (yay!) and Sarah have recently made giant strides towards the future they wanted, and I suppose I am too. I woke up at 4am feeling really pleased with the world in general.

Now if you'll excuse me, I can only procrastinate so far. If people are not delighted and pleased with my handiwork then all I ask is that they fake it to my face.

This Lent, I have given up jam. I like jam as an occasional treat, and it's about the level of hardship I can cope with at the moment. I was debating cake, but since am getting married in the middle of Lent this was clearly a bad idea.

Richie is currently in Aberdeen, so I am on my lonesome until Sunday night. It's not a bad thing, really. I quite like having the flat to myself, and lying diagonal across the bed. It also gives me a chance to catch up on some TV - yay for Being Human, and why has no one told me about Homeland before? - and later tonight I'm going to go and get a takeaway and drink copious amounts of wine.

I think I will need copious amounts of wine, because I am having Problems With The Neighbours. The Friday before my hen party, I got a knock on the door, asking me to phone a taxi because it was an emergency. Well, okay, I though, and dialled the number. The Monday after this, I got a knock on the door. "I need to borrow your phone," Him Across The Way slurred at me. "I need to phone for a takeaway."

I firmly told him that we weren't a phonebox and shut the door on him. He tried the same trick at the other flats in the building, and came upstairs swearing when everyone refused. (We are MINUTES away from loads of food places by foot, and if you can afford takeaway you can afford to put credit on your phone.)

Last weekend, they had a stonking great row in the hallway regarding Him Across The Way going out and drinking all of Her Across The Way's money, doubled up with them dragging up a very drunken mate. It was fascinating to listen to, but a little alarming, particularly when she hauled her bike upstairs, screaming at him for having broken it.

There are dirty bike marks all up the hallway stairs, and now there are dirty bike marks on my door. I am going to clean them off tomorrow, but I've documented all of this for the landlady. One of the bright sides of all this is that the rest of our block of flats are getting quite friendly in terms of swapping horror stories about them.

Anyway, on my way home today there was a group of people deciding the sensible thing to do was cross at the roundabout, rather than the roads around it. They were carrying shedloads of lager. Luckily enough I didn't honk aggressively at them, as on closer inspection they were in fact my neighbours and presumably houseguests. They enjoy getting trollied on a Friday night, so I think I might as well. Tomorrow I have nothing more invigorating than going to getting some piercings swapped over and working on wedding programs, and none of these things need to be done all that early.

The rest of my family is at my aunt's wedding today. I have seen photos as Mum is surreptitiously sending them to me with sarcastic comments. It looks like a classy, classy affair. < / end sarcasm > (Yes, I am a horrible Bridezilla, but planning her wedding before mine was deliberate even if I have taken the moral high ground and sent a card down.)

Right. Hoovering, Chinese food, wine.

So my hen party happened! Yay!

On Friday, I woke up deliciously late and after some leisurely cleaning, spent the day curled up under a blanket reading North and South. One day, I will write about why North and South is the Greatest Romantic Novel Ever (northerners! industry! Mr Thornton is Richard Armitage in the adaptation! social consciousness!) but that is not today. loneraven came around later, bearing Hangover Breakfast Food and a dress up veil and tiara. "You did ask," she pointed out. We ate pasta and salad, all very sophisticated excluding the fact that pasta sauce came out of a jar, before Iona headed back home.

Not long later, we were joined by moralrelativist who polished off the rest of the pasta and we all chilled on the sofa for a bit. All things considered, it was a very pleasant Friday.

Saturday morning heralded MY HEN PARTY! Except for a few hours, obviously, so we ate lunch and were devatstaed that my TV no longer picks up ITV4 so we couldn't watch Stargate. But before too long, Lucy and I headed out to the train station to pick up Fiona, Ann and Louise, before heading back to the flat. By this point, my phone was bleeping away merrily and people started turning up in an order I can't remember - Gill and Christine, Mum and my sister, Claire and Philip (he was coming to keep an eye on Richie for the day when we evicted him), Tali, Louise (different Louise!), Enid, Iona and Jess. YEAH KIDS I'M THAT POPULAR. After everyone shared increasingly highly embarrassing memories of me, we all headed out for afternoon tea at the Vincent, which is a Posh Hotel but apparently not above playing the humiliate the bride game. That said, the tea itself was delicious, with a glass of champagne and general good times had. Plus, not to be vain, but I was wearing a dress with a pattern of SWANS. Win.

After another highly expensive drink and the world's most confusing bill ever (big thanks to Iona and Tali for working that one out, my head would have exploded) we came back to the flat, where I was hit with an Ann Summers bag. I'm not entirely sure how or who is responsible for the outpouring of generousity and teamwork, but dudes, I love you all. The Ann Summers bag contained a feather boa, a pin the tail on the donkey game except with a man and many cocks ("You have to stop saying that," my mum said eventually. "It's weird." So I had to call it Pin The Appendage On The Gentleman), L plates, another veil, and rounds of pass the parcel. Plus lots of bottles of fizzy wine and two bottles of ACTUAL CHAMPAGNE, the empties of which are now proudly living room ornaments.

We drank the champagne, and played rounds pass the parcel. Pass the parcel as a child involved passing it as slowly as possible to win the prize. As an adult, it involves dares on each opening and flinging it around as quickly as possible! Highlights involved Tali taking a shot out of a condom (if you'd like to try this at YOUR party, kids, Tali advises using an unlubricated condom), Mum getting a lapdance, embarrassing truths and general hilarity.

Everyone then got changed into their costumes, and I was touched at the efforts that people made - we had costumes from every possible genre, modified boots, light-up TARDIS hats, spray-in hair dye, reflective tape, and oh I'm missing out on so many things but everyone looked AMAZING. I can't upload photos as I've lost Scrapbook, but there are photos here.

However, I had a Plan, and it involved going to a nice cocktail bar in Liverpool, so we headed out into the night. After a warm train journey and a freezing Liverpool, we were ready for a drink, only to be barred entry. "No fancy dress, no hen parties," we were informed. We tried to get into Reflex, which was the second destination. Not open yet.

ARGH. This represents my only regret of the evening (well, second, after Katie wasn't able to make it due to flu). We could have stayed in the flat! But no, it was not to be.

After a brief stop in an underground dancehall bar (no, really) where I berated myself and then drank a lot of vodka, Jo was very kind and ran to and from Reflex to find out when it was open. As soon as we knew it was, we headed in and the night was rescued!

For those that don't know Reflex, it's a cheesy 80's club, with a light-up floor, terrible drinks and a Delorean in the ceiling. We ended up staying there all night, enjoying the terrible music. I've lost track of how many songs we danced too, but it was brilliant, particularly as we got there early enough to colonise a sofa and chairs and make it our spot for the night. We drank terrible drinks out of ridiculously large glasses, and basically I had the BEST NIGHT EVER. Any plans to go anywhere else were thoroughly abandoned, despite men trying to come on to my mum (I threw ice cubes at their heads) and occasional twenty minute Meatloaf songs.

Also, my streak of celebrity death is continuing; Michael Jackson when I graduated, and Whitney Houston on my hen party. The DJ actually announced it, and the whole club found itself on smart phones looking up the news. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the WORLD OF TOMORROW. There is also currently a book open on who will die on my wedding day. Smart money on Status Quo or Cliff Richard.

People drifted away throughout the night, and eventually those of us left called it a night, heading back to the flat.

The next day, I woke up without a hangover (HURRAH) and we played the last two rounds of pass the parcel in between copious amounts of breakfast and leftover pizza. As I said, should have played them the night before but there we go!

It was a BRILLIANT, BRILLIANT night and I can only profusely thank everyone who made it, and helped out making things, and were generally awesome human beings. I am very sad it's over, but now photos are going up on facebook which brings me a large amount of joy.

In other news I am getting married in less than five weeks. Eeep.

So, basically I have appalling period cramps so to distract from that,here, have some more of my life with bonus MOAR WEDDING PLANNING.

On Saturday, Mum and I went to pick up my wedding dress. Bless her. When I was telling her about my first dress fitting being a bit lonely, she freaked out about not being there. "You were on a nightshift that night, Mum. And the one before," I reminded her.

"YOUR FATHER COULD HAVE BEEN THERE!"

"Long day at work, so no he couldn't."

"... your father can go to the next one." She had pretty much signed Dad up for this before checking her own rota, realising she was on the days off stretch, and instead signed herself up for a full day of lunch, wine and dress fittings. She also signed Dad for up lift duties to and from the station. The dress shop is two minutes from Moorfields station, logically meaning that no one would have to do the terrifying drive into Liverpool. Plus, a solution about Where To Store The Dress had been found. My old bedroom at my parents has never had anyone smoking in it, and still doesn't, and is away from the 'smoking areas'. Sorted. Dad even put a hook up.

So this Saturday, Mum and I were in Liverpool, where we discovered that my dress now fits. Hurrah! We then spent a day finding her an epic hat, and then going for an enormous lunch with a bottle of wine. However, Saturday also heralded a day of freezing rain in Liverpool, and I do mean literally freezing.

This is how I found myself, slightly tipsy, running full tilt in the freezing rain down Duke Street, clutching a dress bag as my Mum galloped behind me, John Lewis hat box swinging wildly in the wind. It was a surreal afternoon.

The point is that the dress fits, is stored safely at my parents, and as they paid for the dress I am can reasonably confident of the reign of hell that will be laid down upon my sister or any of her friends who might entertain ideas about dressing up.

I am having a hen party on Saturday. I still find this very bizarre. Actually, what's really strange is the mix of people who are going to be there; there literally isn't an embarrassing moment of my life outside of the bedroom that at least one of these ladies haven't seen. (Seriously; Mum will be there, as will Megan due to some emotional blackmail, friends from primary and high school, uni friends, fandom friends, Guide friends and even an old work buddy.) I had a slight argument with the hotel we're having afternoon tea at today, which didn't help my mild stress levels. They phoned to confirm my booking for seven people.

"Er, I've booked for seventeen."

"I... really?" There was a rustling of paper. "Okay, that's fine though! Did you not pay a deposit? There's no record..."

"IT CAME OUT OF MY ACCOUNT," I said rather firmly.

"Okay, that's fine! Which tables would you like?"

So after that it was okay, and apparently I am going for the 'party' tables. Right-o. Despite that, I am hella excited. I have a nice dress to wear for the afternoon tea, I will have loads of friends around, there will be pizza, there will be fancy dress and then there will be Liverpool but only good bars and clubs that I don't find scary. Yay!