Sunday, 15 July 2007

Non Wedding Plans.

Yesterday I overdid the exercise a bit, and felt pretty rough when I got home. I think it was lack of food and not hydrating properly - although the ear infection I've picked up is surely down to the skanky water in Cupar pool. It's not the greatest sign of hygiene when you swim past a plaster, hanging gruesomely in suspension. Anyway, I did 800m and then 5 miles on the gym bike, and a couple of weights. Then I had to go and walk a dog.

This dog, Megan, was quite a handful. When I opened the door she barked and snarled ferociously. I did all the things you're supposed to do - didn't look her in the eye, crouched down, yawned, shook myself - but all to no avail. So eventually I lost patience and told her to sit - at which she ran away and hid under the kitchen table.


Anyway, she refused to come to me for a walk, despite me plying her with cheese which she was more than happy to accept. Bloody collies and their nervous dispositions. I had to leave her to pick Fisher up from the gym (she was undertaking a long run of an hour and a half), and then returned with Fisher in tow. It seemed that having two people there was actually a bit more calming for her, and after a while she came to my hand and let me clip her lead on. Fantastic. She came with us on her walk happily enough - but either she has a cast-iron bladder or being on a short lead restricted her ability to pee, because she did nothing at all. Back home she went, still chock-full of excretia, and off Fisher and I went, home. We returned at 8pm, eventually enticed her onto the extendable lead I'd brought from home, and tried again. Baffie came along for company - her first walk after her arthritis diagnosis - and it all went smoothly enough. Megan peed, the sun shone, Baffie struggled at the furthest reaches of her short lead (she's only allowed to be walked on the lead for a month or so) and all was well. Unfortunately, although it couldn't have been more than a mile's walk, Baffie was limping slightly at the end of it - so we'll have to be even more careful from now on.

The exciting news is that Fisher and I have set a date for a wee celebration after we sign our civil contract. Frankly, I had no intention of going down the 'wedding' route - and this very firmly IS NOT a wedding - but all our friends were most adamant that they wanted to celebrate, even if we didn't, so we had our minds changed for us. There will be no more than 30 guests, all our nearest and dearest (with partners), and NO random family members who have to be invited because otherwise they'll spontaneously combust despite having met me twice in my life and Fisher never at all and probably being deeply homophobic and almost certain to get up and walk out, only returning in time for booze and food and a threatened punch in the face from me and an actual punch in the face from Fisher who, despite appearances, is far scarier than me. It will take place next July, in a secret location, and will last all weekend - Friday night to Sunday. It will not be traditional in any way - but may incorporate some traditional elements, like causing your absolute nearest and dearest acute agony by insisting they perform in some way.

There will be special plans for The Cheese Board. Maybe also for Cheese Boys.

We don't know whether to be absurdly indulgent and have a hen night and stag night (hell - we don't have to be ridiculously stereotyped regarding sex. We'd both take part in both!) but considering the number of bloody parties Blarney and Spartan have thrown in honour of them deciding to live together forever which, frankly, is entirely their own business, I think we'd be forgiven for having just the two. Three, if we do both hen and stag. Or just two, with the hen and stag taking place at the same time, but involving different elements. A Hag Weekend. (Shag Weekend?)

Oo. Actually, I'm having great ideas as I type! Heh heh heh ...

The boys are going to loooooove this!

Enough! I'm far too thrilled, and it's all over a year away. I must pace myself or I'll be fed to the back teeth with it by the time it comes to enjoying myself. The last thing I want is to be so exhausted and infuriated by planning the thing, and worrying about whether people have a good time or not, and coping with the ineptitude of others when it comes to making their own plans, that I don't enjoy it at all. I shall leave the subject.

In fact, that's all for tonight. I want to see whether this ridiculous fantasy cycling game Wheeler has reeled me in to has yielded any rewards. So far I've been embarrassingly bad.

Maybe it should just be a