Fuelling the obsession

Is it any wonder I love them?

Marriage and mayhem

I'm obsessed with many things at the moment (booking this blasted holiday, work, finding the recipe for Annabel Caramel's carrot cake without forking out £12 for the book, to name but a few), but I find my thoughts are increasingly drawn to Katie Price/Jordan and Peter Andre.

What has happened to me that I think their reality TV series is the best thing I've ever seen? I'm properly enthralled by it. Her boobs! His taste in clothes! Their non-tacky wedding! Her emergency emergency caesarian! Her lack of cellulite! His cheesy songs! His obsession with espresso! Her boobs!

I absolutely love them. I'm even considering buying Katie's autobiography (including the chapter "my love for Peter"). I hope they have armies of children together and that they take over the world, forcing everyone to have ridiculous boob jobs and wear baseball caps backwards and hoodies a la 1995 - and all to the tune of Mysterious Girl.

And I'm not even joking.

It's fun when I don't post much...

...because when I do, I actually have some vaguely interesting things to talk about.

Work-wise I'm on a roll. Had my fourth pitch in a row commissioned by a new magazine I've been working for and must say I am loving writing for them. I think I've hit my absolute niche with investigative pieces for 20/30-something ladies. I finished the celeb-related feature and even my stepdad (hi D!) who couldn't give a flying fling-flang about celebrities said he enjoyed it.

Right, I've blown my own horn enough. Now I'll blow Matt's (fnar).

The band put their demo online and it's causing something of a stir. As Craig David would say "check it out": http://lolajones.3wdl.co.uk

This has caused various conversations about "what we'll do if Matt gets offered a UK tour". Call us premature. Go on, I dare you.

Just in case Matt is destined to become a rock God (but let's face it, he'll probably forget to turn up to the stadium or get lost on the way) we've been attempting to spend more time together. We've been to a pink pub with a mad opera singer who jumps on your table and an impromptu family party that provided Eliott with his latest night ever thanks to the car breaking down and the wonders of "baby-foot" (or is it babby-foot?).

We've also decided to go on holiday. This is causing all manner of headaches because, if I was anal before I had a toddler to figure into the holiday-equation, I'm now uber-anal. Everytime I find a decent looking break I am compelled to research it to within an inch of its life and the reviews I find put me right off. Said reviews, however, are providing me with a top laugh. You can hear the voice of Caroline Aherne ("what did I say, Roy?") in every one.

Some highlights for your delectation:

"As for the food it was always cold - all the meat cooked you could have glued to your shoes as rubber soles"

"The entertainment was lame and only mostly for the Germans."

"Complaints that there are too many Germans is unfounded."

"The nightshift receptionist wielded a golf club as he made his rounds at night. "

"There did not seem to be enough cutlery or crockery, many, including ourselves had to drink tea out of cereal bowls!!!"

"The only thing I could eat was the ice cream, my friend on one occasion was nearly sick at the dinner table after trying what they call chicken curry."

"We took a limited amount of spending money with us and it was only by pure luck of winning the bingo (156 Euros) that we could afford to eat!!!"

And that's just for one hotel.

It's enough to put you off ever leaving Tooting.

Music and Cuddles

Work is taking over my life. It's official. Matt has started making this new sort of groany noise every time I start a sentence with "I've had another idea for a feature..." or asking him "how many investigative pieces do you think I'd need to write before I get nominated for an award?" (I know).

It's not my fault that magazine features about death and post natal depression aren't as rock and roll as, well, rock and roll. Wearing my supportive wife hat (which is less glamourous than my old supportive girlfriend headband, but equally appreciated), I went along to the studio (man) today where Matt's band were recording. I took Eliott who loved every moment of it. It was quite something to see a toddler confronted with all those knobs and buttons! The first thing he did when we arrived was lay flat on the floor in the middle of the recording room - you might say it was overwhelming for him.

Matt's band are currently rocking (they've seen the light at last), which is great. They might even try to "do something" with these latest recordings, which should be interesting. Although given the subject matter of my latest feature (Casualties of Fame), I shouldn't really be egging him on!

My Friday deadline is looming in every sense of the word. My interview last week was amazing (I'll share more details when the piece is published), but finding more case studies is really tough.

Did I mention work has taken over?

So, Eliott! Well, Eliott is tres gorgeous. Cuddles are the new schmoo, demanded at every touch and turn. We spent most of our bus journey from Wimbledon to Tooting this morning locked in a bear hug with him shouting "no, no, no" in my ear everytime I tried to let go (not that I wanted to, but people were staring). In an attempt to wean him off repeated viewings of Back to the Future (now known as "Bo"), we've finally got him bang into books; but as with all Eliott's "likes", we have to read the same books over and over and over again, morning, noon and night. Certain pages have to be skipped, actions have to be performed EXACTLY how he dictates and tantrums can only be avoided if a prescribed amount of zest and enthusiasm for Duck and his bloody missing Key are displayed (you don't even want to know).

Oh and his swimming instructor reckons he might be swimming without armbands before the end of the summer. Crikey. He really is the Boy from Atlantis. Without the Patrick Duffy leg.

Big interview, big headache

I've got a MASSIVE interview to do tomorrow. I'm quite nervous, but tired enough that it won't affect my sleep. I sent questions ahead so that's one less thing to worry about. Still, my pants may be brown by 2.30pm.

I'm also trying to find case studies for the hardest feature ever (well, kinda). My head hurts with the effort. Have you been deserted by a celebrity? Please Lord, tell me you have.

Eliott is in full-throttle toddler mode with tantrums appearing on an hourly basis. He wants to walk everywhere now, which can be a Godsend (tired legs make for tired little boys) and can also be hellish. For example, I got a bit cocky and we walked to Tesco sans pram last week . The minute we got there he refused to walk any further. No pram, no phone, one huge bag of shopping and one 2st3lb child. I managed to get him halfway back by conning him into a round of his favourite game (chasing me down the street with a stick). My back is still feeling the remaining 1/4 of a mile.

He's also had conjunctivitus (aka "pink eye", folks - feel free to impress your friends with that tidbit), is getting his final four molars and has been banned from watching TV...forever. Oh the joys of Parenthood. We (Eliott and I) can be seen in this month's Practical Parenting, by the way. I wrote a piece about language delay. Still worrying about lack of words, but Eliott's two year check is almost upon us, so I guess we'll think about it again then.

Finally, the Oscars. Because they affect my life, obviously. I'm glad Crash won. I seem to remember I wrote at the time I saw it that it was "so good it made me feel sick". I'm standing by that analysis. I still haven't seen any photos of Jake Gyllenhaal at the "do", which is a travesty, but I'll console myself with the many pics of Reese Witherspoon's wonderful dress (clothes or men? The eternal question).

But most of all, I loved seeing BBC Breakfast's Dermot squirming on the sofa over the aggressive interviewing tactics of their roving reporter on the red carpet. "Jamie Foxx - talk to me! Never mind CNN - I'm from the BBC! Come on - you've got an album out in Britain next month!" Classic.

The enemy that is time

I never seem to have time to blog anymore.

It's a shame. I miss it. I am being a zillion times more productive without it, however - which can't be a bad thing.

The trouble with toddlers

Eliott is officially a toddler. On the positive side, this means he's getting very clever and you can have a good laugh with him. He is at the height of cuteness and uses his big eyes and cheesy grin to wonderful comic effect. He's very loving and gives delicious kisses that warm me to the bone.

On the downside, he's gone from eating everything I put in front of him to eating only peas, cereal bars, raisins, bread, cheese, yoghurt, fruit (a major bonus), chips and fish fingers. All food must be served separately to avoid cross contamination. Certain foods can only be consumed in certain rooms, i.e. raspberries will disappear at 3pm in the living room, but are treated with the same disdain as rabbit droppings at all other times. Food that is unwanted is either a) thrown on the floor, b) hidden down the side of the highchair/in his hair/down his trousers or c) force fed to me/Matt/the nearest teddy bear.

Meanwhile, Eliott's style of toddler tantrum is usually worthy of an Oscar. He throws himself to the ground, forehead to the floor, and quietly whines, every whimper breaking my heart with the subtlety of a hammer. This morning at the library's "storytime", however, he made the most of his audience (row upon row of robot children, some younger, some older, some the same age as El, but all sat still and silently, patiently listening to a story about a mucky duck while Eliott re-arranged the book shelves and yelled "choo choo" at the toy train that is banned from use during the story session). I could have died. After the fourth purple-faced, screaming session as a result of his removal from the toy train (the final time at the instigation of the story teller) we left in shame. We'll stick to the free-and-easy vibe of the toddler gym in future.

Finally, daytime naps are so last year. As I write he is ranting around in his bedroom, hitting the wall with the plastic rod he has, once again, removed from his window blind.

Can I have my baby back now, please?

Last night, this morning

Last night I went out and got well and truly hammered. I was invited to a leaving do with my friend CJ and after promising to be there at 9pm we finally arrived, drunk and disorderly at 11pm, after drinking cider in the local and sherry in the Polish club (of which we are now members, in spite of lack of Polish-ness).

I pulled in the party venue. It wasn't very exciting. A man from Chester with a missing bottom tooth told me he was 26 and I said he was 45 if he was a day. Apparently, that was a turn on and the next thing I know, he asks for my number. I replied: "I have a husband! And a child!", as though he should have seen the imaginary neon sign flashing above my head which said as much. He told me my husband was the luckiest man alive. I told him that he hadn't met my husband and that I was the luckiest woman alive. Matt enjoyed that part of the story even though I told him at 2am when I rolled in legless and woke him up by being naughty (this always happens when I am drunk).

So it was with a legendary hangover that I crawled to Pizza Express for a family lunch at 12.15pm. I think Eliott had a secondary hangover as he melted down when the rest of the family arrived. The mere sight of a Bob The Builder balloon caused an almighty tantrum that resulted in me crawling back home with him, pizza-less and on the verge of vomming in the street.

After a long nap and a viewing of Calamity Jane he cheered right up and ran around the house in his sweater and nappy shouting "Bob!" whilst joyfully wielding the previously heinous balloon. I hid on the sofa with a cushion on my head.

You can see why a well-known parenting magazine have been commissioning me to write features can't you?

I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die

I'm still reeling from seeing Walk the Line last night. I have to say I found it more enjoyable than Bummers Mountain - and although I felt sad at the end, in the knowledge that June and Johnny are no longer with us, I wasn't traumatised for hours (I still can't bear to think about lonely gay Heath in that mucky trailer - sob!).

I mentioned to Matt, that I found it a bit irritating when June/Reese held out on ol' Johnny/Joaquin for so long. Maybe I'm just a soft touch, but when he kept calling her and then walked miles in the rain just to see her...well, he would have had me at hello. Matt wondered if all he'd have to do, if I ever threw him out, was stink a bit of booze, pop some pills and hang around the house incessantly.

Probably.

So I started off with Word Press...

...but I didn't like it much. So here I am.

The good news is - we're all alive! The lack of blogging didn't sneak into the house in the dead of night and nip my neck.

Knowing that the people who used to read my old blog aren't going to read this unless I tell them about it is liberating, to say the least. Still, I'm too much of a big gob to keep it quiet for long.

So what's happened since I made my graceful exit from 20six? Well, I had my first byline in Celebs on Sunday, the Daily Mirror magazine, my mum came to stay, Eliott got another tooth and a few more words and our Valentine's night ended in disaster after I had an allergic reaction to the pink champagne and went to bed in a fit of sneezes.

And they say romance is dead.

Did I mention that I hate first blog posts?