Friday, 23 September 2011

Ebay. Filling my house with tat since 2002

Yesterday, on my way to work, I almost crashed my bike.

Normally, this would be because someone decided to entirely ignore my turning signal and overtake me anyway, or due to an encounter with one of the bafflingly huge number of people who can afford 4x4's the size of Bolivia but apparently don't want to wear their indicator bulbs out in case they have to buy new ones.

Today though, it was all Captain Picard's fault. A charity shop I passed by had this proudly displayed in the window:

Look at it. Just look at it.
I couldn't ignore it. Look at the glorious, awful, hideous brilliance of it. But £25? Hmm.

Then this email conversation happened:

Me: It was £25. And apparently it's not 'done' to haggle in charity shops.
SO: Make it so.
Me: Even I am not going to pay £25 for a commemorative plate of Captain Picard.
SO: You could eat off it at the wedding.
Me: .............
SO: Are you still there?

I was not. I was on eBay.

So. Long story short. Now we own these:

£30 the lot. In your FACE, charity shop.
I honestly think I need help.

Of course, my shopping-for-tat addiction can sometimes cause a strain on our relationship. This purchase, for example, caused some heated words last night:

Me: Of course, I'm having Khan.
SO: Why do you get Khan?
Me: Because I bought them. So I am going to eat cake off Khan's face. That's something every girl dreams of on their wedding day. You can have Riker. Or the stupid spaceship one.
SO: That's a Klingon Bird of Prey. It's from that one where they had to rescue the whales and flew under the Golden Gate bridge.
Me: Oh yeah. [brief silence]. Well, nobody's going to want to eat off that one.

Eventually we decided to share The Plate Of Khan and use it to eat our first slice of wedding cake, together.

Romance. We has it.

Wednesday, 14 September 2011

Why we are awesome at this wedding stuff.

So last night the Significant Otter and I decided to tackle the one task most dreaded by soon-to-be-weds everywhere. The task that has driven better people than us to jacking the whole wedding thing in, changing their names and faking their own deaths rather than attempt.

The Seating Plan.

Unless you are forced into working out who sits where for the hour that it takes to listen to a few speeches, gulp down a couple of glasses of fizz and toy with some sandwiches, you will never truly realise how complicated the most seemingly-benign group of family and friends can be.

Working out who can and can't sit next to each other is like playing a massive game of Sudoku, but with people instead of numbers.

So, in the spirit of helping engaged couples everywhere, I have used my experience to compile the definitive How-To Guide To Doing A Seating Plan:

  1. Put it off for as long as possible. There is always something less hideous but still important that you can do instead. Like buying bunting on ebay. Or playing with hair clips. Or looking at your wedding shoes and making sure they are still happy in their box. Only when this stage has been thoroughly completed can you move on to stage 2.
  2. Open wine. (If you can justify this further with "We need to test this one. We might buy it for the reception", you get extra points. Even if that statement is not true). Pour wine.
  3. Get massive piece of paper.
  4. Remove cat from massive piece of paper.
  5. Write the names of all the guests on another piece of paper, then cut them all out individually, as if you were going to put them all in a hat and pull them out one by one. (Come to think of it, that would actually be a really good tactic. Do that).
  6. (Assuming you didn't do the hat thing). Have small argument with fiance where he insists that the whole thing can be done better on an Excel spreadsheet whilst you brandish scissors and wine and exclaim that you have to do it this way because "otherwise it won't work IN MY HEAD".
  7. Divide the names into family and friends piles. 
  8. Take out all the family and friends who should be on the 'top table'.
  9. Realise this is nearly everyone. And that you don't really want to sit next to your parents anyway.
  10. Get momentarily distracted by 'The Great British Bake Off'.
  11. Pour more wine.
  12. Decide that the whole top table idea is far too complicated and that in fact the answer is to have one table that just has the two of you on it and a huge bottle of wine.
  13. Argue about whether you can therefore be called "The King And Queen Of Weddingland" when sitting at the special table.
  14. Plump for "The Table Of Excellence and Power" instead, even though this name will not actually be used. (It blatantly will.)
  15. Attempt to divide up the rest of the family tables.
  16. Realise family are far too complicated and move on to friends.
  17. Create tables based on groups that might like to sit together. Feel quite proud to have achieved something until you realise that this gives you three tables of 7, one of 14 and another of 3. 
  18. Accuse fiance of drinking your wine as it has all disappeared very quickly.
  19. Pick up Doug the cat and ask his opinion. He is non-committal. Announce bright idea of dropping Doug on the table, letting him roll around in the names "and where they end up, there shall they be seated".
  20. Receive sigh and disappointed look from fiance.
  21. Throw all bits of paper back into one big pile.
  22. Deal them all out into sets of 8 (agreed table size). 
  23. Move on to allocation of table names according to theme of "Big Damn Heroes".
  24. Have minor argument about which table deserves to be the Fox Mulder table. 
  25. Sit in stony silence for a while.
  26. Allocate Fox Mulder to a random family table because "they will have heard of him". Secretly vow to self that a large proportion of the actual reception will be spent visiting all the tables and explaining exactly who their 'hero' is and delivering potted history of the character whether the guests like it or not.
  27. Loudly declare "I just don't WANT Al Swearengen*. I want The Awesome Table Of Excellence And Power to be the Gene Hunt table."
  28. Allocate Al Swearengen to another table.
  29. Remove Al Swearengen from that table as there is a 4 year old seated at it and somehow this seems inappropriate. Give them Benton Fraser instead.
  30. Allocate all other tables at random as it is now time for bed.
  31. Let fiance type the resulting lists into Excel.
And there you have it. 31 easy steps towards a harmonious wedding reception.

You're welcome.

PS I am aware that I have missed off the acute accent on 'fiance'. Believe me, this is annoying me just as much as you. I can't work out how to make blogger do it. Presumably French people don't use blogger. Merde.

*Ian McShane's character in Deadwood. All kinds of sweary Western goodness. You'll never look at Lovejoy in the same way again. 

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Oh, hai Internets! Long time no blog.

In my mind, this is what the ice sculpture will look like.
So today I remembered I have a blog, and that it's been a metric eon since I updated it.

Well, lots of things have been happening in the world since we last spoke. Ice ages have come and gone. Huge gangs of disaffected yoof attempted to set fire to London in pursuit of new trainers. I finally finished watching every single episode of The X Files (can I get a 'hell yeah'), and Lemur Lady's Awesome Emporium has been going from strength to strength.

Turns out people seem to like my goodies, so I have been spending more and more time sitting, tongue-out-for-balance, at my sewing machine, batting away the cats and creating new items of awesomeness for all my lovely customers.

Oh yeah, and I'm getting married next month. That'll be where all my time's gone, then.

The wonderful thing about a wedding, to a crafty sort of a badger like me, is that the DIY possibilities are endless. The bad thing is that, well, the DIY possibilities are endless.

So far the handmade bunting has gone out of the window, figuratively speaking. 150feet of the stuff has been duly purchased from an ebay crafter with much more time on her hands than me. Paper chains, ditto. Handmade 'Woo Yay' flags (a la Offbeat Bride), origami bouquets, handsewn garter - all consigned to 'good idea at the time' pile.

On the other hand, I've been keepin' it crafty. My flowers and hair thingy (this is the official term), are from Etsy, my cake toppers and place cards were specially made by Folksy sellers, and my dress is being run up as we speak by my wonderfully talented mum (from whom I learnt all I know. Including the bad habits).

But I do still have my own to-do list. It's more modest than it originally was, but with just over 6 weeks to go it's still bringing me out in cold sweats. Once I've got the four bridesmaid's boleros cut and sewn (seriously, have you seen how much these things cost in the shops? How hard can it be?), I've just got 100 muslin teabag favours and boxes to create and label, a TARDIS shaped card box to make and a three tier cake to bake and ice the night before. All while keeping the Lemur Lady stuff ticking over. Simples.

Excuse me. I just have to go and run around in a panic for a minute.


Ah, that's better.

Since some of the details are still secret-squirrel, I will be posting pictures, links, and thanks to all the wonderful and creative crafters who have contributed to the Wedding Of The Century once the day is over and I have sobered up and picked the confetti out of my hair.

(Incidentally, the best thing about the whole wedding stuff so far has been having cause to say "Of course, the dinosaur ice sculpture will need to arrive through the side doors during the table changearound". Brilliant.)