One of the numerous bad points of Boxing Day was that the washing machine decided to flood the kitchen. Not a trickle, oh no. An inch of water pooling on our very obviously badly laid floor.

So I've been putting off the next load for as long as possible. Tonight's the night, however, that we can't avoid it for another day. I think the problem was a temporary blockage in the waste pipe, which seems to have cleared, seeing as the machine's already drained once.

I can hear it on its' spin cycle now, so I'm going to check it again after I click "Send".

Ain't suburbia grand?

OK, if there's anything more annoying than a stinking cold that sneaks up on you and lays you low in the course of half an hour, I want to fucking know about it.

Eight o'clock last night, I was just fine - cooking dinner, getting the kids to bed...getting ready to settle down for the night.

By nine I was a snuffling, snivelling heap of snot and tissues. How the hell does that happen??

It's just about clearing now - in as much as I can actually walk away from the tissue box safe in the knowledge that I'm not going to have to run back to it to catch another sneeze.

I fucking hate colds!

So...

Boxing day was indeed spent at my parents' house - where my sister spent the day getting tipsier and louder and snappier because she wanted to take my mother and her credit card to the sales, my father took to his bed because he'd done far too much over the last couple of days, my mother got a foot massage and made a lovely pork dinner which was left completely untouched by the kids who'd ritually stuffed themselves with chocolate when they got up.

I was made to sit through the hell that was the Coronation Street Christmas Panto and Spy Kids, a film I always swore I'd never watch but which my vindictive kids now love!

Today they slept late. I got a lovely lie in till the mad hour of 9am! Bliss!

The TV was on, but I'm buggered if I know what was on. I do know we watched "Ever After" tonight. If I never do again, it'll be too soon. After that we had a tipple, caught up with Eastenders and the Casualty @ Holby City special via Telewest's Teleport, the poor man's TiVO, restocked Charlie's MP3 player and repaired a few broken programs on the PC. The kids ran riot and played with loads of their new toys, breaking some and doing wonderfully creative things with others.

This is the week where I traditionally take stock and wonder where life is leading. I don't make resolutions, but I like to start the year with at least an idea of what I'll do.

I know now, for example, that I will not be receiving any financial support with which to set up my business. To face the prospect of raising £4000 with a credit rating so red it could be used to tan most of Essex is not the most daunting one I've ever faced, but it's up there. It means a rethink and some quick action in order to keep my long term plans on track...

You see, I was about to go off on one, going into huge detail about just what I want to do, but it's also stultifyingly dull.

Let's just say that by the end of January, I want to have at least one more driving lesson under my belt and I want to have signed up for a couple of night school classes. By the end of February, I want to have shed at least a stone and we should have reinstated our twice-weekly swimming trips. I should also have a job in a school - either as a classroom assistant or IT assistant or something.

And on it goes.

Come June, I have to come to terms with turning thirty-three. Ick. I'm not old, I'm not, I'm not.

Big goals next year:

- Passing my Driving Test
- Taking the family on holiday
- Losing huge swathes of excess weight
- Paying off all my debts
- Keeping a job for at least...well...ever, really.
- Persuading the Local Education Authority to fund my foray back to University - this time to study Psychology
- Ensuring that Christmas does not descend to the usual battle of wills between the Present obsessed Charlie and the practical but perpetually broke Me
- Transferring Allison's huge stack of VHS tapes to DVD, whether by video capture or retail purchase

There'll probably be more added to the list through the week, but for now, that'll do.

* * *

We have an agreement that when Charlie gets to a certain dress size, we'll fix a date for our wedding. Given that the two couples we know who haven't divorced are sinfuly miserable, I may have to work on changing her mind about that.

* * *

It's come to my attention that certain people who read this blog have been blessed with quite a bit of snow.

Gits.

I love snow, and the pathetic dusting we got this afternoon didn't even have the staying power to get the pavement wet.

* * *

Thank god. No really, thank GOD they've stopped playing christmas songs 24 hours a day on the radio!

And I need to have a better selection on my MP3 player than the Gorillaz and Madeline Peyroux I lumbered myself with today.

* * *

Still alive reading? Ask me a question. I'll come up with a seemingly glib but actually rather subtle and insightfully deep answer. Or something.

So that's it then, another one under the belt.

What did I get? A bottle of whiskey, a bottle of special edition Jim Beam, a drinking game (what are they trying to say?), a pocket Zen Garden, the requisite smellies, a nice gothy-type t-shirt, one of those credit card survival kits and a few other lovely things.

The kids got tons of stuff which all revolved around being creative or Pokemon or My Little Pony or dressing up as princesses. They also got a disco projector and one of those revolving balls that shines coloured lights all over the place, both of which are great fun. Oh, and they got a Dalek battle set, which included a posable Christopher Ecclestone, which is really weird as I still see him as Nicky from Our Friends in the North, or the Police Chief that was killed by Robert Carlyle in Cracker and not as the Doctor at all.

I got Charlie an MP3 player to stop her nicking mine and a set of clay sculpting tools because she used to be all arty but stopped when the kids were born. She also got this big scary back massager thing that plugs into the mains and has two horn-type things that rotate and dig into your backeither side of your spine. I tried it for 30 seconds and found it very uncomfortable, but she loves it, so that's OK then.

It was terribly poignant watching the Two Ronnies this evening, knowing Ronnie Barker had it recorded early in the year because he knew his days were up.

David Tennant as the new Doc? Well, I like his style from Casanova, and he's suitably menacing as Barty Crouch Jnr in the new Harry Potter. He does "sinister" really well, and I particularly liked the last ten minutes where he finished off the skullface leader with that wonderfully fierce "no second chances" line, and when he faces off against the Prime Minister after she blows the baddies up. Good bits all round - although I could have done without the schmaltzy ending, but it is a Christmas special after all. I think I could enjoy him as the Doc for a few years.

Dinner, by the way, was a complete work of art. Turkey done to perfection, mash wonderful and creamy, roast spuds, parsnips and carrots done to a tee, chestnut and cranberry stuffing a bit on the strong side but nice enough, pigs in blankets (cocktail sausages wrapped in streaky bacon, for the uninitiated) could have been crispier, but they only had 20 minutes in the oven. All in all, I was very chuffed with myself. And the cheapo table wine I picked up yesterday managed not to be completely horrible. Result!

Tomorrow will be the real trick. We're off to my parents' for lunch, which means the kids have to be on their best behaviour to avoid giving Pater another coronary and I have to try and remember who bought what and what I'm supposed to praise effusively and what I'm allowed to slag off. I think we might have a spate of "thank you" letter writing in the morning.

Right now it's time for a snifter of my lovely lovely new bourbon and off to beddibyes.

Same time next year then? Why not.

Hands up who's off to the sales next week to start buying up next years' prezzies?

Not a bad stash, all told.

Been listening to my nice new MP3 player for most of the day, with a soundtrack which includes Cream, the Pistols, Rage against the machine and Reef.

Dinner's nearly cooked, Shrek's on the box and all - after a severely manic morning - is peace and tranquility.

So...sigh...Time to relax.

Merry Merry.

Done.

Last minute shopping this year consisted of a few late cards for family and a couple of packs of mince pies. That's all. It's gone rather well. There's a load of washing up to do, and the radiators are going to get a good seeing to tonight as we try to dry a load of clothes. We've even changed the rabbit's bedding.

The kids are about to get a shower and get put to bed, but not before we find out where Santa is.

So...you can probably expect some posts and pics tomorrow, if not some video. Anyone that's sad enough to drop in, do feel free to post a comment and let us all know how you're spending your day.

Most importantly, no matter what you're going to be celebrating (or if you already have), have a great time and thanks so much for sticking with Lithaborn.co.uk this year.

Here's a quick headsup for Ricky Gervais fans:

He and Stephen Merchant are doing a couple of stints for Radio 2 - the first one starts in about half an hour, and the second is a week today, New Year's Eve.

He's no stranger to Radio 2, being an almost permanent fixture on Jonathan Ross's saturday show, so it should be an interesting bit of listening.

Me? I'll be listening on the kitchen radio while I divide my time between the loo, the washing, the piles of rubbish and the cooker.

Something else I'm doing is subscribing to as many podcasts as I can so I've got something interesting to do with my new MP3 player tomorrow. Any suggestions?

Ugh.

The shopping went well yesterday. Masses of prezzies bought - which wasn't the easiest thing as I had to plan my day around where the nearest public toilets were.

WhileI was doing the santa thing, Charlie was off geting the last of the groceries in, so now our poor fridge is groaning under the weight of several dozen apples, oranges, pears and bananas (OK, bananas don't do well in the fridge, they're sitting on the top). Even if we wanted to, there's no bloody room to buy any more food.

That's the last time I'll mention food for a while, promise.

I tell you what though, I could really do with changing the channel on the TV and not hearing the words "Christmas Special". Really. Well, until seven o'clock tomorrow night, anyway.

I am awestruck at just how fucking domestic I sound.

I need a night on the lash. Really. Heavy metal and a bottle or four of Newky would be just the ticket right about now.

This is not a good time to get a tummy bug!

I'm sitting here with a belly that's doing a damn fine impression of a speedboat's wake, wanting to be getting on with all kinds of interesting middle-of-the-night-before-the-night-before-christmas type things like putting the last three years worth of kids toys in bags to go in the loft (or to the charity shops) and clearing loads of washing up away and processing the mound of bed linen that desperately needs a trip round the washing machine and all I can do is waft between the sofa and the bathroom hoping that this will be that grand occasion that signals the end of the problem.

Allison woke up with it and promptly passed it on to Charlie, who's kindly lumbered me with it just at my most productive time of the day. They've both happily spent all day lounging around with long faces complaining that they don't want to eat and I've been hard at it - I've even made a mercy dash over to my folks' house to sort out their own present storage crisis. Now it's looking like the only thing I'm going to get done is preparing the rubbish bags for the last collection before the big day, just as I finally get all of the ill layabouts out of my hair.

Arse, arse and buggery.

I even cleaned the fridge.

I should explain that the reason most of my posts lately have been kitchen based is that it's my territory. In a shocking case of role reversal,I'm the one who does the cooking - and I've got bloody good at it. This will be my...fifth? fourth? christmas dinner and wobetide anyone who tries to "help". I know how long the turkey takes to cook, I know when to put the roasting taters on to parboil so I can give them an hour in the oven, I know to give the veg just 20 minutes at the end so they're not all mushy, I know that the stuffing ain't going up the damn bird's arse, but is going in a damn microwavable bowl and getting zapped with five minutes to go because the oven just ain't that big and I hate pissing around inside that icky cavity. Getting the giblets out is going to traumatise me and they're helpfully sealed in a plastic bag!

I also know how to store the remaining three quarters of the turkey we won't eat on Sunday so that we can still be ploughing through it next wednesday. By which time I will never want another turkey, stuffing and cranberry sandwich for as long as I live - for the fifth year running.

Somehow, even though there's only four of us - two of which won't eat anything that doesn't include sugar and E221 - we've managed to fill three huge tins full of biscuits, a giant tub full of sweets and procure enough tins to singlehandedly populate the school stage for next years' harvest festival. As usual we've stocked up for a month-long seige despite the fact that the shops are all open at 10am on Boxing Day...

And I'll bet good money that come Tuesday they'll be complaining that there's nothing in to eat.

Do I sound like a housewife? Is that a sexist statement? I don't care. Anyone want to pop round and cater for us over the next couple of days? You're quite welcome, so long as you can cook without touching my kitchen...

The sprouts are standing by, the bird's defrosting, the kitchen's (almost) tidy, Charlie's reading the story of the Nativity to Allison before bed. Tomorrow I'm off to buy £200 worth of presents in the two or three hours before the crowds get too bad.

Hmm...

Must be Christmas.

Blatantly nicked from a certain ex-Londoner

Greed:	Medium
Gluttony:	Low
Wrath:	Medium
Sloth:	Medium
Envy:	Very Low
Lust:	Medium
Pride:	Medium

The Seven Deadly Sins Quiz on 4degreez.com

Can't be arsed waiting days for your monster turkey to defrost? Sick of getting up at stupid o'clock to put the thing on to cook?

Deep fry the fucker.

I've been making cakes and biscuits almost constantly for a week now. Considering that, it's possibly surprising that this is my first attempt at iced fairy cakes. I looked up a recipe - equal amounts of sugar, butter and flour, two eggs, vanilla essence, whisk it all up - it looks pretty good. Then I check again and they're supposed to be madewith self-raising flour instead of the plain I've been using.

Ah crap!

Cue grand scale dig to the back of the "ingredients" cupboard for some baking soda.

Well, as it turns out, they're light and sweet and tasty and just as spongy as yer average fairy cakes are supposed to be.

We had a little construction line going last night - I did the icing, Bethan did the silver balls and Allison put them in the box. And Nanny ate them. And a very nice night was had by all.

At risk of incurring the scorn of some of my regulars, I'm actually getting into the christmas spirit now - even going so far as to catch myself humming "wonderful christmastime" this morning on the bus.

Now I'm off for a spot of infanticide as they've both come home from school tired and miserable.

Don't let appearances fool you. It might look like a suburban Junior school playground, but really it's an ice rink.

Who knew, eh?

The sheer depth of the spectacle is breathtaking.

The thought that this man is taken seriously by anyone in his country is laughable.

How this can't be seen as the last slide into deep insanity is unfathomable.

Bush's address to his people yesterday is one of the most blatant propagandist confidence tricks I've eevr witnessed.

So it's within the remit of the constitution to spy on your own people? OK, so we're to return to the grand inquisition days of McCarthyism are we? And do you think if enough people say the word "legally" that people will believe you? Unfortunately, it's pretty obvious they will believe him, but JEEZ!

"You should all just shut up about it because it's very embarrassing *ahem* I mean it's helping our enemies."

Yeah, so is keeping your troops there because if you brought them home the Iraqis would have nothing to shoot at, right?

Oh, and there'd be less chance of them electing a fundamentalist government that cuts off your oil supply. What? Sorry? Nothing to do with oil you say? Must have missed that, I was too busy laughing my head off.

And what about Condy Rice saying there's no evidence the FBI flies suspects around the world and tortures them. Fuck me, you don't say! Of COURSE there's no evidence, you idiot! You expect them to leave traces?

There's so much more to say about this last week in the White House but I've got more biscuits to bake and I'm a little distracted.

Just a quick note to say that I've moved this blog to my own webspace. Now, you can't tell the difference outwardly unless you've been using the blogger address - http://lithaborn.blogspot.com, in which case it'll just look like I've not posted anything for a couple of days.

If you're using lithaborn.co.uk (like you should be) then everything will be fine and dandy.

Also, if you're using the RSS feed and haven't updated it, you need to change the feed source to http://www.lithaborn.co.uk/feed/atom.xml.

Apologies to anyone who got lost in the meantime, but you have had plenty of warning.

The mad as a brush but not very welcomein Liverpool train wreck of a politician Boris Johnson is the new Shadow higher education minister.

This man defines the word "buffoon".

It is now impossible (as if it wasn't already) that the Tories will win an election. My prediction will be Gordon Brown's New-old-new Labour, then a spot of Lib-Dem, then...who knows?

A quick quote from my favourite tory:

"All politicians in the end are like crazed wasps in a jam jar, each individually convinced that they are going to make it,"

Gotta love him.

Update on the ol' progenitor's ticker...

He's home and safe and on the road to recovery, with any luck.

I'm not going to get to see him until the weekend now as I'm up to my eyeballs.

Grocery shopping eight miles away, quick jaunt to the jobcentre, cooking for Charlie's college mini-party and making a donkey costume for Allison tomorrow. Nursery, more cooking and a Girls' Brigade party on Wednesday. Thursday I've got a very annoying visit to the Magistrate's court for a fine I forgot I hadn't paid, then a load of christmas shopping on Friday.

Next week should be quite calm in comparison, right up until I get paid on the 23rd.

I then have 36 hours to finalise everything for Christmas - the majority of the present buying, paying the bills, wrapping the damn presents and getting the veg for christmas lunch - all in the midst of the biggest crush and panic of the year.

Ah well, beats working for a living, eh?

Oh shit, I think the washing machine's broken.

Um...

Boom!

For now, I've put a link to a live stream of BBC's News24 Channel in my sidebar. If it doesn't work, or if it's too fast for you lot on dialup, do let me know in the comments and I'll dump it.

My dad had a heart attack this morning.

At least, all the signs seem to point that way.

On the way to work this morning he started suffering from what he called "almost unbearably excruciating" chest pains, popped into the nearest Boots store and was treated by their onsite paramedic, who then called an ambulance. He was taken to the only hospital in the district which has the capacity to immediately operate on suspected heart attack victims and within two hours was in good spirits and trying to cope with being pampered by the hospital staff.

He's a Deacon at the church I grew up in and their support and prayer has definitely had a positive effect as last reports say that he is in high spirits and no immediate danger.

My mum was so panicked that there was a danger she'd end up in the next bed along, but I think the night will help put a less worrying perspective on the whole event and we're now waiting for the results of the 48 hours of close monitoring and the Doctors' investigation into what actually happened to him.

How did I react? In the usual way - calm, methodical and giving hope and strength to anyone who needed it. The way I see it, someone has to stay in charge during emergencies like this and invariably that someone ends up being me as everyone else seems to go to pieces!

It wasn't really a shock to me, as he's always had very high blood pressure and a volatile nature which meant that realistically he was always going to suffer a heart attack at some point. Frankly, I always assumed that his first would be his last, and hopefully it will be - thankfully not in the terminal sense I expected.

What happens next will presumably a fundamental life change for him. No longer will he be allowed to walk everywhere just as fast as his legs will take him, I'd prefer that he didn't try to be in charge of every situation and stopped worrying about the minutiae of his life, such as how many extra phone batteries are on charge, or how many bottles of milk are in the fridge, or whether or not the dog needs walking RIGHT NOW AT THIS MOMENT IN TIME or in half an hour.

It boils down to the fact that he feels he must be a leading part of every decision that's made - and when he doesn't agree with a decision, or can't see the sense of it, he immediately gets angry. This will be the hardest thing he will have to adjust to - the fact that he's not necessarily in charge anymore.

The most difficult part of his rehabilitation will quite possibly be coming to terms with the warning his body has given him. He's always been of the opinion that his way of doing things is the right way and now it should be clear to him that this isn't necessarily so. One example of this was his insistence that we leave his credit cards with him in hospital in case he needed anything. It shows that he is having problems understanding that for the next couple fo days at least he will be bedridden and in need of nothing that the nurses will not be able to bring him.

We didn't leave his cards, by the way, just a handful of short change and a number of admonitions that he let himself be looked after.

I could easily carry on spouting off in this manner for hours, but I'm going to leave it here. I'm looking forward to talking to the aftercare nurses and visiting him tomorrow afternoon, and I'm looking forward to seeing how he adjusts to his more sedate lifestyle. I want to play a more active part in my parents life now as I am convinced that they need a calming influence and a voice of reason - neither of which are character traits associated with my hypertense mother, my overly assertive father or my deeply troubled sister.

Life just got much more complex, a bit more difficult and quite possibly far more interesting.

A snippet of conversation from my darling offspring a few minutes ago:

McDonald's toilet cubicle #1:
"My beard is black,
There's soot in my sack,
My nose is tickly tooo!"

Cubicle #2:
"Grrrrr!!!"

Me, hovering self-consciously at ladies' toilet door:
"What?? What's wrong?"

Cubicle #2:
"I hate that song!"

This poem is printed in Pakistani children's English school textbooks.

I cannot describe the depth of disgust I am feeling towards that man right now. And because I'm not as good with words as a certain Fox, I'm just reprinting the thing here.

Patient and steady with all he must bear,
Ready to meet every challenge with care,
Easy in manner, yet solid as steel,
Strong in his faith, refreshingly real.
Isn't afraid to propose what is bold,
Doesn't conform to the usual mould,
Eyes that have foresight, for hindsight won't do,
Never backs down when he sees what is true,
Tells it all straight, and means it all too.
Going forward and knowing he's right,
Even when doubted for why he would fight,
Over and over he makes his case clear,
Reaching to touch the ones who won't hear.
Growing in strength he won't be unnerved,
Ever assuring he'll stand by his word.
Wanting the world to join his firm stand,
Bracing for war, but praying for peace,
Using his power so evil will cease,
So much a leader and worthy of trust,
Here stands a man who will do what he must.

How long has he got left? Not a day too soon.

Oh god.

As if six months of Elvis at the top of the charts wasn't enough, Michael Bloody Jackson is doing the same thing next year.

That should pay off a few debts, eh?

Maybe not.

Everything's gone a bit quiet around here because I'm concentrating on getting some traffic on a messageboard I run.

Normal service resumes shortly...

So, what's been going on?

Yesterday I got soaked to the skin picking Bethan up from nursery, we've run out of washing powder and I haven't had chance to get some more yet, the tree got knocked over and now leans artistically to the left, we now have Teleport which means we didn't actually miss the excellent new adaptation of a Midsummer Night's Dream, there's parties coming up, we've worked out exactly how much we have to spend on presents and soforth, I've watched Harry Potter, downloaded every Eric Clapton album, got used to using iTunes, finally listened to a whole "Lost" podcast, found out some startling information about someone and I've re-decorated my desktop.

Any questions? Ask away, any subject. Lithaborn's magic 8-ball will answer...