Back to Normal - Sorta..

Went over the road last night to watch the football. I am very glad we let Lehmann go, and also grateful to Torres for netting me £60. In fact it wasn't my foresight that led me to put a bet on Spain, but an acquaintance asked me at the beginning of the tournament, to place a tenner on the only red team outside of the north west to feature so many Liverpool players. As he hadn't stumped up his ante by the end of the match, I figured the winnings, were mine - all mine.

Back in the harness today, enlivened by my decision to wear my tiara as an Alice band all day. My resolution to be more groomed is going well. I was delighted to hear from my hairdresser on Thursday that I shouldn't brush my hair. Bingo! Are you listening - mother? Many congratulations from all at work. I even signed my first reports in my new name. Since the decision to have a new name was made quite late on in the game, I hadn't had a chance to practice my serve, so to speak. I improvised, and came up with something that was more double fault than double-barrelled.

Home again, to be faced with thirty-six MRI scans to report, which took me almost as long as it took Andy Murray to beat Richard Gasquet. Xanthe cooked supper, using the Nintendo cooking guide. For a ten year old, she swears almost as much as Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen, but she came through with a passable beef and green pea tajine. At least I can trust her around sharp knives and hot fat.

Got an email this evening to say that I have passed my Master of Arts in Creative Writing. (Cue sarky comments from blog readers...) The external examiner's report was really flattering, and if anyone wants to read my thesis, I can give you the link. It's an anthology of food writing, called 'From Fable to Table.' I don't yet know what my grade is. But I get to change my full title twice in one day.

Oh, and the first installment of our wedding photos has arrived. So I have a new Facebook photo. Peter has taken some really flattering photos of everyone. So we may all have new FB photos now.

Lester apologised for speechgate. He went to the bar, and came back apologising - for speechgate again. And again, and yet again. Then he offered to cook us chips, in his deep fat fryer. How can anyone be so scouse, and so camp all at the same time? Apart from Derek Hatton, maybe... but that's another story. Put it this way, he's morphing into Dale Winton.

Lester has promised to buy us the most expensive gift on the list. To apologise. Hmmm, we'll see. Some of the guests have gone off piste with the gifts. Not sure what I can get with £20 at Debenham's. I'm thinking tea towels, you can never have too many tea towels.

Just been chucked out the pub, as Nick is desperate to get to Heaven. I haven't been there in twenty-six years. Apparently, the last time Troy was there, with his blonde mate Leigh, Michael Barrymore spent the evening buying them gin and tonics, and chatting them up. I guess they were lucky to get out of there alive. I said I didn't blame him, Leigh bears an uncanny resemblance to Owen Wilson. So Troy gets cast as Ben Stiller, but taller. He's not happy, not happy at all.