Well, that was a ridiculously long blogging break. I do hope that 'anonymous' doesn't think they've put me off blogging after my last post.
In fact I've been gallivanting about the country going to weddings - four in the last two weeks, including a terrific jaunt from Devon last Friday to Ipswich on Saturday - and when I've been back at the Hacksaw Chateau I haven't had the energy to write and have instead sat on my arse watching too much reality TV.
So, what's been going on? Um, nothing. Seriously. Apart from scampering from country house to converted barn toasting happy couples and staying in far too many Travelodges for anyone who isn't Alan Partridge, I have been going to work and then coming back home. Apart from the odd bit of baking, life consists of TV, bed and Gaviscon. How desperately unfortunate.
Still, I've managed to cobble together a few observations and queries over the past week or two - some of which I may develop into proper posts once my energy levels rise again.
1. Am I a bad person for being pleased when Jacqui and "Little Drummer Boy" Sam got booted unceremoniously off The Restaurant? They were so nice, and enthusiastic, and perky. However, I found myself unable to get past their reasons for choosing their restaurant's name - Ostrich: "I was cast as the ostrich in Peter Pan and I really became one with the ostrich." Be gone, dear. The Luvvies column in Private Eye calls.
2. Devon teenagers' grasp on what makes a relationship is a lesson for us all. Overheard last weekend:
Teenage girl, petulantly: "You never says you love me any more!"
Teenage boy, exasperatedly and in strongest Devon accent ever: "Look. I fucks yer, I buys yer chips. What more do you want?"
3. I really wish that contestants on the American versions of The Apprentice, Hell's Kitchen, America's Next Top Model et al would get a grasp on percentages and how they work. I am in no way a'math' expert (as proven by having to ask a work colleague last week how to work out on a calculator how much my pay rise will be once the unions stop dicking around with the offers) but even I know that 100% makes a whole, or however you care to phrase it. The contestants can't quite get the hang of this:
"I had a close shave with Mr Trump in last week's boardroom, so this week I gotta give a hundred and ten percent!"
"Tyra says I'm losing my enthusiasm, so I gotta start giving two hundred percent!"
"I've gotta start giving a hundred and fifty percent, or Chef Ramsay's gonna kick my arse."
Speaking of Hell's Kitchen, how much of a pussycat has MPW turned out to be? Bless him.
4. Over on EastEnders, I see that Peggy has started rivalling Pat for House Most Like a Tardis. Where on earth is everyone sleeping? I presume Ronnie and Roxy are bunking up on the banquettes down in the Vic, wonky boobs crushed up against each other and breathing vodka up each other's noses. It's a poor man's idea of porn. On the other hand, Phil Mitchell staggering about falling face down into cakes and stamping Airfix models to bits is rich televisual porn, especially now that someone's read this and sorted out his tipple of choice.
5. Now that we've hit 12 weeks (at long last), the Hubbo and I have broached the subject of names for Junior Hacksaw. And where else to find inspiration apart from lists of celebrity baby names? You will be pleased to know that so far we have cast aside the more wacky Poppy and Brooklyn in favour of the completely normal Satchel and Jermajesty.
As I said, not much has been going on over here. However, I'll be around a bit more often, specifically on Wednesdays as I'm taking a long overdue jump into Quink's EDW caper, having been inspired by this post. In the meantime, I'm off to start drinking water in preparation for tomorrow's scan, which I'm sure will result in a post all of its own regarding the madness of Homerton Hospital.