The Rules of Engagement

Hello everybody, I’M GETTING MARRIED!!!!

Ok, now that’s out the way let us proceed…..

Getting engaged came as a complete shock.  Ok so we’d talked about getting married one day, but let’s be honest, my other half still thinks he’s a teenager so the thought of marriage was a distant dream.  Consequently the last thing I was expecting when I stepped out of the shower after netball training one Tuesday night was to find him down on one knee holding an engagement ring! 

My initial thought was, ‘what are you doing?’ closely followed by ‘I’m not wearing any make up’ and ‘good thing I hoovered earlier’.  Surprised wasn’t the word, I was completely gob smacked!  Even more so that he’d managed to keep this under wraps for the past 3 weeks.  But we got there in the end, he asked the question and I said yes and thus the engagement began!

The first couple of days were amazing, 48 hours of complete giddiness and engagement high!  I went springing into work on Wednesday morning, completely loved up and happy and all was right with the world.  I felt full of energy, motivated and slightly invincible (!).  Luckily I had a busy week planned; we had a netball match on the Wednesday night which helped release some of my energy (and we won hurrah!) and evening plans helped stop me from bouncing off the walls at home.  I also had the overwhelming urge to pamper.  Belle and I attended a perfectly timed Dermalogica pamper evening at the Beauty Rooms (Newent) and I booked in for a manicure and facial.  I also lost 5lbs that week from sheer overexcitement! 

I do feel different, in a good way.  I think Dan is surprised how different he feels too.  We both thought we’d be happy, but we are happier than we thought possible!  People say you feel different and you really do.  It’s hard to explain, but it’s good. During the first week I avoided mentioning the ‘W’ word in front of my other half for fear of going into manic wedding mode and freaking him out completely but I’m totes over that now!  This is completely new to me and I forgot that he’d been planning this for weeks and actually the reason he proposed was because he wanted to marry me (*sqeal!*). 

Fast forward a couple of weeks..... You start to realise that everyone has an opinion on how your wedding should be and to be honest I found it all a bit overwhelming.  I’ve never really been one to give any real thought about my future wedding so I was starting from scratch.  Wedding magazines freaked me out slightly and the never ending questions and decisions blew my mind.  I’m not good at making decisions at the best of times so this started to look tricky.  Where should we get married?  Where would the reception venue be?  How many bridesmaids and who should I ask?  Who should we invite?  Then the big one – how much money will all this cost?! 

Ah budgets.   Budgets, budgets, budgets.  Usually you are music to my ears and the thought of making a wedding spreadsheet is like waking up on Christmas morning.  But actually putting in prospective costs was plain depressing.  I know that ‘you don’t have to have an expensive wedding’ but it was still a shock.  Following a lot of excited talk about dream weddings my estimations very quickly went from a castle venue, to a country manor, a barn, a social club etc etc.  Suddenly it looked like my guest list would need to be halved.  I went from happy, cloud nice Elle to slightly stressed, frazzled and grumpy Elle.  (Plus put on those 5lbs again).

This is where I decided to take a step back and remember what this is really about.  I want to enjoy being engaged and although decisions will need to be made and I’m sure there are stressful times ahead, I know I’ve got the best people around me for the job and that ultimately decisions will be made my myself and Dan.  I would like to enjoy this special time together, enjoy spending time with friends and family, putting ideas together and seeing them take form.  I would like to ultimately find our happy place and settle into premarital bliss.  As my sister so eloquently put it, I need to ‘own that stress’ (*girlfriend*).  And that is what I intend to do.

Chocolate Blackout

My name is Elle and I suffer from chocolate blackouts.  It’s been 24 hours since my last blackout.

I don’t know what happens.  One minute I’m relaxing in front of the telly or have just walked in the front door from work and next thing I know I’m surrounded by empty wrappers and covered in chocolate shavings.  Oh no, not again….  A feeling of dread overcomes me; I’m ashamed and quickly seek to hide the evidence.  Chocolate blackout has struck again.

I’ve tried everything from going cold turkey to allowing myself to eat as much chocolate as I want in a hope that I’ll become sick of it and its allure will demise.  During my summer bikini diet I tried trickle feeding chocolate by allowing myself four squares of dark chocolate a day.  As I don’t particularly like dark chocolate this stopped bingeing but was enough of a fix to get me through.  But alas, post-holiday, my will power diminished and this method quickly fell to the wayside.

My other half has taken to hiding his chocolate supply around our flat.  Unfortunately I have a sixth sense for these things and can sniff chocolate out a mile away.   If there’s chocolate in the flat, I’ll find it.  I daringly balance on a high stool combing the top of the kitchen cabinets with no care for my own safely, or crawl around on my hands and knees to search under the sofa or chest of drawers. 

These searches usually come up trumps but when they fail chocolate blackouts can go as far as to subconsciously make me pick up my purse (or sometimes raid the penny jar) and take me to our local shop for a fix.  If this happens too frequently and starts to get embarrassing (see my earlier blog ‘no no no eating here today….’) I’ll gladly venture along the canal to Sainsbury’s come rain or shine blinded by the promise of a chocolate fix.

I’ve become somewhat of an expert at hiding my evidence.  Not so long ago I located a galaxy bar in my other half’s bedside table with a row of chocolaty goodness already eaten.  Blinded by chocolate blackout I scoffed the rest, went to the shop to buy a replacement, ate a row and stowed the rest back in the draw as if nothing had happened.  But things have started to slip.  My current weakness seems to be Maltesers.  I thought I’d hidden the evidence well enough but, stupidly, left out the receipt for the purchase.  Busted.  A cry for help some may say?

At these times I say to my other half “don’t let me buy it or eat it.  I may not like it at the time but I’ll ultimately thank you for it”.  This of course is followed by a toddler style tantrum next time I’m drawn to the confectionery aisle at the supermarket and he tries to be stern with me.  

I have now started to admit my ‘problem’.  When blackout strikes I go to my other half or Belle in the office, head held low, and say ashamedly “I had chocolate blackout”.   Maybe I should start a CBA (Chocolate Blackouts Anonymous) group and seek out other secret chocolate blackout suffers?  Together we may be able to stop this vicious cycle.  Or at the very least get some kind of group discount at Thorntons…..

The Haunting of Apple Tree Cottage

Hi, I’m Belle. I’m 32 years old and terrified of the dark. I am also the mother of a funny, little three year old Peanut. The hardest part about being a grown up is…being a grown up. I know that if I want Peanut to grow up to be a happy, well-adjusted Brasil Nut (or other large, grown up nut), I absolutely have to keep my own fears, neuroses and phobias in check. So far, so good. Rather than squealing, scampering and cowering in fear when she happens upon a spider, Peanut loves spiders and names all the spiders she meets in her daily life, she says they’re her friends. Result! When digging in the garden, she doesn’t jump back in horror or cry out in alarm when a worm crosses her path. Oh no. She takes great care in digging up the garden for the express purpose of finding worms she can hold and stroke. So, the master plan has worked. I have, it would seem, managed to master most of my phobias when Peanut is around. I stay calm and I am outwardly as cool as a cucumber, whilst inside I'm dying a thousand deaths to watch the six inch long millipede wriggling around in her hands. I’ve smiled and showered praise on her, as she proudly shows me the giant hissing cockroach she’s cuddling (and which appears to be trying to crawl up her sleeve *fainting*).

The one thing that still turns my blood cold, the thing that still strikes fear into my heart, is my fear of the dark. So, tonight, ladies and gentlemen, let me set the scene: I'm sat in the dark in Peanut's room, I hear Matthieu close the outside door behind him as he heads up to the farmhouse to talk the landlord about our water bill. I'm serenely singing lullabies to Peanut, when suddenly...THAT scene from The Others pops unbidden into my head. Now my heart is racing, I'm instantaneously paralysed with fear and I have to shut my eyes to try to block out the image of the old blind woman under the veil, when the Nicole Kidman character is expecting to find her daughter. Only, that’s not helping. Shutting my eyes is only making the image more vivid.

I open my eyes, but suddenly Peanut’s entire bedroom is transformed into some nightmare landscape straight from the dark recesses of HP Lovecraft’s mind. A pile of blankets is hiding a creature just waiting to jump out at me. The white shirt hung out for Peanut to wear tomorrow is now a phantom of unimaginable horror with dark designs on my soul. Every shadow is alive with unknown demons. I’m stuck fast, utterly crippled with fear, yet somehow I've got to travel the hundreds of miles from Peanut's bed to her door, in the pitch dark. Meanwhile, a slideshow of every horror film I’ve ever watched, every scary book I have ever read, every chilling radio programme I have ever listened to is playing on a loop in my head, leaving me completely immobilised. Anyway, what’s the point of escape? Once I make it to her door, I still have to negotiate the creepy hallway with the reflective window at one end and the deepest, darkest abyss of shadows at the other end. In my current state of abject cowardice, it seems to me that the best plan of action is to stay in Peanut’s room where there is, at least, a safe, snuggly Peanut to protect me from the distressing goblins creeping in the shadows. Yes, I, a grown woman in my 30s, was seeking protection from a toddler. What kind of nonsense is this? I gathered up my courage (which was now in quivering jelly form), gave Peanut goodnight kisses and cuddles, then somehow managed to dash into the hallway, switching on every light from there to the relative safety of my sewing room.

And do you know how this whole accursed situation came about? Today I told Elle about how the church hall in Paris, where Matthieu and I had our wedding reception, was decorated with creepy photographs that put me in mind of the book of the dead from The Others. This then reminded me of that scene in the film where Nicole Kidman uncovers the creepy blind medium when she is expecting to find her daughter. I then felt compelled to share with Elle how I am sometimes freaked out by sitting in Peanut’s room in the dark, when I put her to bed and sing her lullabies. I told her that sometimes I imagine that the blankets at the end of Peanut’s bed are the spooky blind medium from The Others. So, all I have to say is, curse you creepy old medium from The Others! And curse you too Nicole Kidman, for delivering such a masterful performance in a well-made psychological thriller/ghost story!

Elle, let us never speak of this again. The end.

Love,
Belle

“No no no eating here today!”

“….No no no eating here today, I’m on a diiiiiet!”

As per the coaster on my desk I definitely ‘Love cake, hate diets’. 

Generally our office is not renowned for its healthy choice of snacks.  From early morning lattes, biscuits and cakes at meetings, trips into town at lunch and more biscuits and cakes mid afternoon, it’s no wonder we’re starting to feel our waist lines expanding. 

Chocolate is generally the treat of choice when we’re celebrating or having a good day but also when we’re feeling fed up and in need of a pick me up.  If we have chosen not to accept biscuits at a morning meeting we then treat ourselves to a chocolate bar at lunch.  When we're 'being good', colleagues leave chocolates on our desk as a reward for doing so well with our healthy eating.  We them become stuck in a vicious chocolate cycle!

Similarly to how I avoid buying my entire (and substantial) chocolate supply from our local shop, it gets slightly embarrassing when you’re constantly seen stuffing your face behind your desk.  Therefore Belle and I introduced stealth biscuit runs.  We wait until the office is quiet….. know the exact location of where the ‘good biscuits’ are kept….. time our tippy toe up the stairs perfectly and strike the biscuits before legging it back to our office in a fit of giggles (normal for us) and no-one is the wiser.  Mwahahaha!

These moments of hilarity gave rise to ‘biscuit tossing’, whereby Belle would ‘toss’ a biscuit for me to catch in my mouth.  A talent we quickly discovered I was surprisingly good at!  A natural gift some may say!  Happily launching myself across the office (thank you wheelie chairs) to never let a biscuit escape the grasps of my jaw. 

Working in the city centre holds its temptations.  It is far too easy to pop out for cake, coffee, chocolate or all of the above.  Just down the road is my favourite bakery, Jane’s Pantry.  We lovingly exclaim ‘”Just popping down Jane’s pants” when the mid morning munchies arise for a Winnie the Pooh biscuit (my personal favourite) or snail bun (mouth watering right now…). 

Now and again Belle and I decide to give healthy eating a go.  Belle prefers the no-sugar method, whereas I prefer the ‘everything in moderation’ approach, aka half a cake rather than a whole.  This results in a week (if we’re lucky) of “oh no thank you, I’m being good” followed by a few weeks of “eff it! I don’t care anymore!”

Obviously we need to work on our motivation and determination.  But until then, let the biscuit tossing commence!

The Secret Diary of a Sleep Talker…

My other half has a vivid imagination to say the least and unfortunately this doesn’t have an off switch when he goes to the land of nod. 

Being suddenly woken up in the middle of the night is never fun and episodes range from random shouting and talking in Welsh to full on night terrors, to which all you can do is try to sooth and let run their course.  All tend to end with him waking himself up, giving me a quizzical look, turning over pulling the duvet with him and mumbling grumpily “shut up Ellie I’m going to sleep”.  To which I just lay still and stunned!

The first night terror I can recall was in our little one bedroom flat on the coast of Aberystwyth (West Wales) one January night.  A storm was brewing and we’d watched ‘Indiana Jones’ the night before.  Suddenly Danniel jumped out of bed screaming “scorpions!” and whacking the sheets.   He proceeded to pull me out of bed and strip all the covers off, fanning them out and hitting the mattress as I stood bewildered, shivering and slightly in shock!  Next thing I knew he had made the bed, got back between the covers, rolled over and gone back to sleep. 

There have been similar situations with rats and lobsters under his pillow and bumble bees chasing him.  Usually he runs around shouting for a bit whilst I try to sleepily sooth him and gently coax him back to bed.

One night I woke up to him nudging me in the back, “what’s wrong?” I questioned, suddenly awake with fear something had happened.  “I’m making canapés” he answered innocently.  Obviously!

He often tucks himself up in bed with a smile on his face thinking aloud “what shall I dream of tonight?” – all I can think is “please don’t let it be butchering an animal carcass”! 

The thing is the next morning he denies all knowledge, looks at me like I’m crazy and is convinced I’m making it all up…… maybe I’m the one who’s been dreaming……