Land of my mothers ( apologies to 'mae hen wlad fy nhadau'*)

Have 'mercilessly hammered'** my car down the M4 and brought it back to its natural urban habitat.

Christmas was as Christmas always is in my parents' house: chaotic, cluttered, drunken and fabulous.

Somehow have managed to keep hold of my sanity despite being one of nine family members living in a terraced house for five or so days. This involves a great deal of shouting (our main method of communication); vast quantities of drink (earliest alcoholic beverage: 9am before chapel on Christmas morning); a few food fights (earlier on I found a lump of stilton and a cold*** chip in my handbag - a joint sibling effort I am told) and an average consumption of 50,000 calories a day which I suspect I didn't get to burn off: my exercise consisting of running - I went every morning, of which I am very proud of myself (probably the only time I wasn't actually eating), and playing PS2 (usually while consuming more calories).

I always pine for Wales when I leave it. And not just because of my family, but the whole vague notion of 'belonging'.

My grandmother comes from a village called Waunarlwydd - two miles away from where she, my parents and uncle/aunt etc now live. Though she lived for most her life/her married life outside Penclawdd in a pub called the Berthlwyd Inn that overlooks the Lougher Estuary - about four miles the other direction - (that's it in the picture) where we moved when I was about eleven. I loved living in a pub and to this day you can tell that my parents used to run a pub. Big clue: their attitude towards drink, welcomed with open arms/mouths.

We moved to the pub from Ystrad Mynach near Caerphilly which was real coal-mining country up in the Rhymney Valley. The Penallta colliery was the closest and the last deep mine in the Valley - although it didn't technically close until the early 90s, I remember friends' dads losing their jobs much earlier than this as production was scaled down. I went back to Ystrad a few years ago and the area desperately needs new jobs to keep the community together, it was really upsetting to see how it had declined.

My parents now live in Gowerton, the village between Penclawdd and Waunarlywdd (you would hardly describe my family as 'nomadic', most of them have remained within a five mile diameter), and although I have moved around a bit I love the fact that they haven't and I still get to go 'back home'.

Saying that, I don't know if I'll ever return there to live, though I'd love to have a house near Llangennith (which I still visit in the summer to occassionally surf). If I couldn't live on the coast I'd go back to a valley town such as Pontardawe (where I spent some of this holiday as non-hired help, making bouquets and greening up funeral weaths in the local florist - a long and not at all interesting story - I think I'm pushing the boredom threshold with this as it is). Tight-knit Dylan-esque communities with fabulous pubs. Pontardawe has two that are great: The Pink Geranium, and no, it's a not a gay bar, and 'The Other Place'.

Next challenge is what to do on New Year's Eve. I have the option of going back to Wales for a night of gambling and drinking with my family; down to Devon or staying put here in London. The latter is winning at the moment though plans (as pointed out by Patroclus) are somewhat, er, fuzzy and could be based around a boxset of the OC.

For those who are going to lavish costume parties (Frangelita and her technicolour 60s outfit) - yes, we'd like to see a photo please...

Oh, and talking of pictures, what happened to the photo of Homer? (makes chicken noise).


* Which is the Welsh national anthem (land of my fathers). Seeing as my grandfather came from Derbyshire and my dad comes from Crewe, the Welsh element is on the maternal side

** This is a lie. I drove it very carefully and with enormous amounts of respect. At 20 mph. LC - you've never even seen me drive. Besides, you can't even drive a bike in a huge circle without falling off.

*** Obviously, on the basis that it must have been there for a few days...

Best laid plans....

... all go to cock when this happens on the M4.

Left my parents' house at 11am, spent two and a half hours on the M4 and then another two hours stranded on an industrial estate with a broken car. Ended up back at parents' house at 5pm.

Car still broken, the poor/bloody thing.

Nadolig Llawen...

Or Merry Christmas as they say the other side of the Severn Bridge.

It's fabulous to be back in Wales and I'm really looking forward to tomorrow (usual start: 6am...). Just a quick note to wish everyone in cyberland a fabulous and happy time.

It's ten past midnight, we've all had too much brandy, the kids are asleep, the veg isn't done for tomorrow and presents aren't wrapped yet - and now my mother and my brother are wrestling with a blow up mattress. Have to go...

Have fun,
Tabby xx

Craptacular Christmas!! How Crap Are You?

Inspired by a mix of festive cheer (i.e. booze and fairylights), a discussion underway at Kellycat's and Ira Hirsh's 'Most God Awful Christmas Displays Ever' (well worth a peek), I am on a mission to research what side of craptastic the average householder lies on when it comes to showing festive cheer.

Armed with my science O levels/A levels and a few science degrees, I want to make this as statistically and scientifically relevant as possible and produce stand-alone, quantitative scientific data.

So here's a Cosmo-style quiz.

1. Is your tree:

What tree? (-5 points)

Real and showing that 'non-drop' is one of the biggest marketing lies in the universe (3 points)

Fake - though it looks real (-2 points)

Fake with 'added fake features' such as silver, snow, in-built cones, in-built lights (1 point plus 1 point per fake feature)

2. What do you have on your Christmas tree?

I already told you, I don't have a tree [- what sort of idiot writes these quizzes?] (-1 point)

A set of white lights and ornaments in two different colours (0 points)

Multicoloured flashing lights and/or a huge variety of clashing and garish ornaments (3 points)

So many lights you can't actually see the tree and our neighbours' lights dim when we plug them in (6 points)

3. Do you have a nativity scene in your garden?

No, of course not - only poor people with no taste do tacky things like that (-10 points, -50 points if you *really* think that)

Yes - just a small tasteful wooden depiction of the three wise men visiting the manger (1 point)

Yes - a huge inflatable set which has our shed as a centrepiece. You can just about make out the magi brandishing their gifts alongside a snow-covered Batman, the Wombles, five smurfs, Pluto, Donald Duck, Barbie and Shrek (5 points)

Yes - as above - plus we have a real donkey to add an air of authenticity (100 points)

Yes - as above - plus we 'borrowed' a camel from our local zoo. It was a bugger to get home and we'll return it as soon as Christmas is over (1,000 points)


4. Do you have any inflatable ornaments inside or outside your house?

No, I'm offended you even asked me that (0 points)

Yes, of traditional festive characters: Santa, reindeer, snowmen (1 point each)

Yes, of traditional festive characters: Santa Shrek; Spongebob Santapants; Nutcracker Barbie; Mickey Mouse with a santa hat on (10 points each)

5. Do you have any Christmas decorations that are mechanical and/or musical?

What? You think I'd hand over hard-earned cash for that sort of tat? (0 points)

Only a set of twelve mechanical mice that play 'Jingle Bells' (you know who you are) (3 points)

Yes though someone gave it to me and I only dig it up for when they visit (-2 points)

Yes, of course. Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without a plastic George Bush in a santa hat singing 'Happy Xmas (I Wish the War Was Over)' / a dancing Jesus singing 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus' / a set of reindeer dancing to 'Stop The Cavalry' (10 points each)

6. Do you expect to sing along to any Cliff Richard songs over the festive period?

No, don't be silly (0 points)

Yes, I've spent the last six weeks learning all the words and harmonies in Millennium Prayer (1,000 points)

7. Do you have a Christmas sign outside your house?

No, why would I need a sign? (0 points)

Yes, it says: 'Santa stop here please' (6 points)

Yes, it says: 'To Santa and all carol singers: please piss off' (-50 points)

Cosmo-style: 'How did you score'?

-100 to -1 points. You're a cat owner and as far as you are concerned there aren't such things as cat-proof decorations**

0 -5 points. What can we say? You're either a Habitat (*Crate & Barrel) loyalty card holder or Ebenezer Scrooge. Get into the 'real' spirit of Christmas by popping down to Woolworths / Wal Mart and spend at least £300/$500 on glittery things that make your stomach sick / whole being shudder / eyes bleed and your neighbours hate you.

6- 10 points. Not a bad attempt. Try to think how to expand what you have to outside your house. And don't be scared of being adventurous with electrical accessories and /or large inflatables (*now* this is starting to sound like a real Cosmo quiz - ed)

11-2,000 points. Congratulations! When it comes to eye- and pocket-bleeding ornaments, you know no limits. You should be working as a window dressing consultant for Selfridges / Saks so you can teach the true meaning of Christmas crap to those souless people who think they have taste just because they have money and a wariness of bright sparkly things. And remember to buy everyone you know an inflatable six-foot Santa Shrek for their garden, they'll love you for it. Honest.


* Am guessing this as a stateside equivalent of Habitat. Sort of place that sells clean white decorations for the home etc

** This special addition for GSE and Frangelita

All work and no blogging...

.....makes Tabby a rather dull rabbit.

Apologies for the absence, I'd love to say that I've been off travelling to far-flung exotic locations but in reality I've been busy at work and then trying to fit things in the evening such as er, drinking (usually work-related). Sorry blog (tries to blow dust off):

Lowlights of the week include:

* Getting my car towed away from outside my flat. At seven o'clock in the morning. And having to pay 190 quid to get it back from the pound at White City. The folks in charge there almost didn't give it back to me as one of my utility bills was more than two months old - although I had every form of ID known to the Western world on me. December is not a good month to be a few hundred quiz down on spare cash (starts collecting milk bottle tops and loo rolls to make Christmas presents);

* The worst date I have ever been on. With a needy bloke who thinks that as management he 'shouldn't mix with employees' (and so missed his company's Christmas party!!) and seemed to have no ambition beyond settling down. Not an evening of small talk, more microscopic. I got the feeling that I was being interviewed for a role as a future housewife and child-bearer. Meanwhile I was sussing out whether he would be up for a flat in New York, a large sailing boat and a bit of global domination. I don't think we'll be seeing each other again;

* Finding out the person I like is going out with someone already - probably a wet dream of a girl who is a corporate lawyer and a part-time extra for Baywatch complete with a flat in Chelsea and one in New York. Hey ho.

* Uncle going into hospital. I'm from a very close (read claustrophobic) family and although he should be fine and hopefully back in our village for Christmas, our 'grouping' instinct is kicking in. An ex once remarked that my family 'stuck together like glue' which is very true. I'm the only one who lives outside Wales (most of my family live in the same village) and happenings such as this make me feel like I am far away;

* Disastrous night out with customer that is too woeful to go into here. Tried to drink vodka and smoke 50,000 fags to blot it out but failed miserably - can still remember the whole evening and next morning I felt like I was going to have a stroke /looked like one of the Grateful Dead. Have bloodied my knees and fingers crossed it should all be okay now. One of the longest and most stressful evenings in living memory (before aforementioned date, that is);

* Long hours and missing the chance to accompany friends to the Chagford hog roast;

But it hasn't been that bad - I've not been sat around wearing black and weeping loudly for the week (in fact it's been quite a good week all in all). Some highlights to balance the week out are:

* A lot of festive cheer - some great nights out with customers; Christmas get-together with K,O, G, A and M on Sunday and going out with old W4 flatmates on Friday night;

* Receiving a hamper and a bottle of champagne from some customers - lovely gestures and very unexpected;

* Going to visit small children (god daughters) for Christmas carols etc - inciting my first festive feelings of 2005;

* My little brother posting me a copy of 'The Breakfast Club' (expect another review of an 80s classic in the near future);

* Sussing out how links etc work on this thing. Yeah, I know *everyone* else knows how they work and I'm hardly going to win a technical prize or anything.

Am hoping that normal blogging service will resume.... (don't quote me, I've got something on tonight and tomorrow night)

You're it!

Notice I have been tagged by Quinquireme and need to come up with a list of favourite foods.

Have added to my 'to do' list and will probably compile over Christmas as I am working my way through my 19,000 calories/day diet. ...

It's been ages since I was tagged anyhow, so part of me (the part that can't be bothered to think of ten things I actually like) assumes that the game is over.

Conga at LSE turns into £30,000 riot

Not sure whether to even believe this. The LSE? The conga? Is somebody somewhere taking the piss?

Then again, I can understand that if you try to force a few hundred people with half a brain (each, not between them) do the conga then a riot is very likely to ensue. Perhaps it was Black Lace's version and to be followed up with a round of 'Agadoo' then 'Superman'. In which case they got off lightly with only £30,000 of damage.

Was determined to have a very early night tonight. Gone horribly wrong: Gordon Gekko, it's *all* your fault. You yuppie types are all the same: your talk of devil-worshipping therapists; your inability to understand thigh spreads (not what it sounds like) and your repertoire of bad party tricks - while swigging pink champagne all night. *Honestly*.

Because we'd like to think we might be worth it.

Yesterday I took a day off work. And didn't go online All Day. This is not something that happens very often (last time I did it was due to a long flight, I can't recall the time before that). I'm not saying this from a point of martyrdom: I actually like being online and to feel that I *know* what is going on.

But yesterday was different* as I went to St David's spa (followed by a three-hour meal in their swanky restaurant) with my sister: an immensely talented and funny person who is one of the easiest people I can spend time with. Though we don't get to spend much time with each other as she lives in a coastal Welsh village and I live very far away (well, not that far but I did spend more than seven hours of the day on motorways in a very small car) and whenever we do see each other we are surrounded by other family members, which I'm not moaning about (but yet I am).

I'm not really a big fan of spas and alternative therapies: I don't know where my chakra is (and even if I did I would have no intention of having it tuned and aligned); I think reiki is a load of nonsense; I don't think God intended us to wrap ourselves in algae; and I have no intention of being hosed down with cold water in Guantanamo Bay-fashion. I am also very dubious of the new fad of being doused in alcohol and set on fire to lose weight (take up swimming or go to Weight Watchers like the rest of us).

But, I have to admit I am now a fan of massage. Especially if the therapist is a drop-dead muscular and very sexy bloke.

Next treat (post-Christmas, need to save up) is to get stoned. No, not in *that* way - a massage with hot stones.

* Okay, I admit I was told off by one therapist for not only having my mobile phone on me (it was on silent, honest) but also having my charger with me and plugging it into the socket in one of the treatment rooms. Little did they know of my attempts to pick up WiFi in their changing rooms.

STFU (better late than never)

I have not been in the best of moods today. I think part of this is the fact that I have not been able to give my full effort / vocal range to National Shut The Fuck Up Day, i.e have not been able to share the sentiments with anyone. Not yet anyhow, though am about to go out for the evening - a few drinks etc...

Before I do go onto the streets of W4 to shout at people, I'd like to say that it's good to see a posh-speaking PR-type promoting a day that is worthwhile. The Times's Victor Lewis Smith once threatened to hire a PR company to promote *1 March as National No Day Day, in order to stop it being claimed as National Diarrhoea Day or National Incontinence Day... I think he'd support this one. Perhaps we could get a corporate sponsor for next year??? Any ideas on a postcard to said PR-type.

* Though I do hate to point out that St David might mind

The Ewing Brothers: Ray vs. Gary vs. Bobby

Rightio, one final comment on this to sort out the gorgeous men from the rest of the Ewing brothers.

From left to right we have Ray who seems to be the most popular:GSE's fave - apparently 'a bit like Brad Pitt but less pongy'; Craziequeen stopped hankering after Ray and JR for him and the surliest of girls only had eyes from him.

In the middle there's Gary. With 'nil pwa'.

Then *swoon* Bobby, who to me (and surely millions of others*) was the Morten Harket of Dallas. Though in our survey (of four females** Ray seems to win hands-down).

* My theory is not being proved here.
** Almost as many as they survey for beauty products on TV.

Flatmates

A *top* weekend, although I had to dress up as a lapdancer* (not my usual weekend garb). Spent it with my old flatmates. We don't get to meet up as a group that often so it's a real treat when we do.

The five of us lived together for about four years in our mid-twenties and we never had any problems living together as a group: no awkward Shallow-Grave type interviews when we were assembling (and no-one died: if they did they certainly wouldn't have had a stash of cash); and once we all lived together no arguments over stolen milk / cleanliness / shopping for stuff for the house.

There's not even anything bitchy I can say: we all got on fabulously, had a great laugh; held fantastic parties which our house (detached house with cavernous dance-ready rooms downstairs) became well-known for (by party-goers, neighbours**, estate agent and eventually landlord - losing us our deposit but who *really* expects to get that back?) and all became good friends. Quite boring, I know.

Now time is tight and with us scattered between Birmingham, Harpenden, London and Devon, it's such a treat to meet up together. It's a relief that nothing has changed between us, though it's been years that we lived together.

Also had side benefit of spending a weekend away from the Arctic Hole that is my flat and to not have to sleep with dressing gown and balaclava, though my cough /cold still refuses to budge.

Finished off weekend (and myself) with a drink with the lovely Gordon Gekko, who gave me an overview on how he copes with his 'arena of hedonism'. Sorry I couldn't stay out late Gordon - I think my days in said arena are over...

* Lapdancer costume is due to flatmate S insisting on a 'murder mystery' type dinner thing. I don't think it really panned out as he planned as we just all got completely legless and took the piss out of each other's character. Surely the normal thing to do under those circumstances (am not a fan of these things). Although I have to admit I have seen people on a Saturday night on Swansea's notorious 'Kingsway' wearing not too dissimilar stuff on their way to some of the nightclubs on that road.

** Admit at this point that we had one neighbour that we didn't like too much who was nicknamed Mrs Give-A-Fuck. Worse run-in with her involved someone who will remain nameless pissed out of her/his head throwing ice cream at her conservatory one night. She asked for it, really.

Advent starts: Day 1

Okay, I'm *far* too old for this (but to be honest I don't care): every year my mother makes and sends an advent calendar to most of the family/our village. Each day has a different small gift in it.

Day 1: A hopeful million pounds* (okay a scratch card) and a consolation chocolate bar.

* £1 richer. Not a bad start.