“As Exciting as an East German Portrayal of Russian Culture in the 1970s” – MHAM Quiz of 2019

Wow, so that was 2019! That was a decade! What have we learned in that time?

a) Politicians still lie

b) The dating world is still a mess

c) I’m still incapable of getting through a coffee without spilling its contents everywhere

d) Through consumption of c. 50 gallons of coffee and tea at the start of the decade, I not only like, but have developed a mild addiction to hot caffeinated drinks.

Coffee Meme

Progress!

While my blog has only been going for five years (sor-ry for living in the dark all that time), I thought it would be a great time for a little 2019 quiz on the MHAM stats! Yayyyy! (Look, I’m working to a £0 budget here.)

My Housemate’s a Mermaid – the 2019 Quiz

Questions

  1. How many blog views (i.e. clicks on the homepage, pages and individual posts) did MHAM have in the year 2019? (To the nearest 500.)
  2. How many comments did the blog receive?
  3. Which five individual blog posts obtained the most views? (Nb this excludes views on the homepage and page tabs.)
  4. How many countries, globally, did viewers come from?
  5. Of the top ten countries for views, name three from the latter half (i.e. poled between 6th – 10th)?
  6. Name five African countries that accessed the blog in 2019.

Those are you questions. Ready? (Stop giving me that look.)

Your time starts…now!

Ooh I feel as excited as an East German portraying Russian culture in the 1970s!

(Just me then?)

Answers!

Rightyo, let’s do this.

Question 1) How many views did the blog get in 2019?

Answer – 11, 332 (put into context, that’s 31.04 views a day!)

**

Question 2) How many comments did the blog receive?

Answer – 6

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**

Question 3) – Which five individual blog posts obtained the most views? (Nb this excludes views on the homepage and page tabs)

Answer – In order…

The Morning I Re-evaluated my Relationships with Men 373 views

A Very British Complaint Letter to Cadburys Chocolate – 350 views

The Cat’s Guide to Christmas 248 views

The Time I Discovered I was a Dominatrix…At Speed Dating 170 views

While You’re Here 166 views (I’ll discount this as it’s a self promotion piece)

Five Minute Review: What the F*** is Normal?! By Francesca Martinez140 views

**

Question 4) How many countries, globally, did blog viewers come from?

Answer – 84 (including six views from an area referred to only as ‘European Union’)

**

Question 5) Name the five countries who ranked 5th – 10th in the view list

Answer – In order… Finland, Ireland, Netherlands, Canada, Spain

2019 Top Countries
Top fifteen countries with viewing numbers

**

Question 6) Name five African countries who viewed the blog in 2019

Answer – Any of the below:

  • South Africa
  • Nigeria
  • Kenya
  • Egypt
  • Morocco
  • Algeria
  • Uganda
  • Ethiopia
  • Ghana
  • Libya
  • Zimbabwe
  • Papua New Guinea
  • Sierra Leone
2019 Countries.jpg
Global heat map of views – 2019

Now wasn’t that fun? Here’s to the year and decade ahead! While I’ve written this blog post I’ve successfully managed to uncork my first wine bottle. Depending on who you are, this is either the greatest human triumph of the decade (so far) or something that makes you worried for the future state of what ‘success’ looks like in the years to come. Either way, I have wine, so…

Here’s to the roaring twenties, version 2.0

AB in Dress

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The Cat’s Guide to Christmas

Alright? I’m Bubble. Bubble the cat.

Bubble the Cat

You may wonder why my owners would give a name like Bubble to a male cat. Well, my sister is called Squeak (Bubble and Squeak, get it?) And all the stupid humans thought I was a girl until the vets confirmed differently. It’s not a name I’m particularly fond of and, as a result, I have spent my entire life in a constant sulk, excluding the times I shout at the humans to feed me.

Like a lot of men I like to work out, only I can’t get to the gym on account of being a cat so spend most of my free time doing the next best thing; sleeping in a gym bag.

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And trust me ladies, it shows.

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I’m sexy and I know it.

Anyway, this human thing called Christmas is coming up and while I’ve tried to hide from it…

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…it has finally caught up with me. I wasn’t even going to do presents this year (thinking about the environment, y’know?) But then I walked in one day and found my sister had already started wrapping up gifts.

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So really I didn’t have a choice. Luckily I don’t have many others to buy for (my advice if you’re looking to become a self-reliant, anti-social git? Become a cat). I just needed to get something for my annoying sister, even if she does always steal the best sleeping spots in the house.

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I took inspiration from my humans and first went for a dig around the cupboards, see if there was anything from past year’s of Christmas shopping I could give her.

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But had no joy. Then I took to the online shops but kept getting messed up suggestions like this:

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(I think one of those humans has been using my browser to search for dodgy products again.)

There was no other option, I’d have to hit the high street. I hopped on the roof of the next family cab into town and away I went.

The first thing that struck me was the weird customs humans have for celebrating what is meant to be a happy time of year. If they’re not advertising surreal…

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…Then they’re hanging and impaling little elf people in some kind of pagan ritual.

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It’s no wonder you’re all fat alcoholics. You actually decorate your homes with these!

Then again, after seeing this I have a new found respect for the miracle of the Virgin birth.

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And why is this woman’s face all over bags of crisps? Is this what you humans would call ‘the height of your career?’

Mariah

(And if you think I’m being mean just remember, I’m a cat. It’s what we do.)

When it came to shopping for Christmas presents, I didn’t know where to start. Luckily, many of the shops displayed their wares in a way that was perfect for the average bloke applying a scatter gun/panic buy approach to gifting.

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A little bit too generic female for my sister who happens to like her fur coat very much. Instead I went to the male default #2, a nice new perfume.

Perfume

Or maybe not.

I popped into a book shop because I know Squeak the cat likes to read a light weight novel or two. I was instantly drawn to a title that looked like it could have been written by the human in my family who writes for that blog, the one they call Alice. It just screamed her style of writing.

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And then I read the blurb and felt less convinced. I mean, the average writing quality was on par with Alice’s, but the plot development was anything but.

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I mean it’s completely unbelievable…it’s obvious that Daisy is sleeping with Greg (that’s why he keeps vanishing) and the Goose is mad because it’s Greg’s jilted lover. I’m a male cat and I can see that. Humans don’t half write some rubbish when they’re trying to pull sales or views.

In the same shop there was also this book:

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(One of the humans I was with said to Alice, “hey, Alice! They wrote a book about you trying to get a life!” And she said, “hey, India! They wrote a sequel where I hit you with that very book!”)

To be fair to the human called India, Alice does have a tendency to hang out in coffee shops by herself and woman-spread everywhere.

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She likes to think it makes her look smart, I think it’s just to cover up the fact that she’s constantly spilling good coffee.

Like a lot of humans, she’d buy just about anything that’s coffee-branded.

Candles

(If you had to look twice before spotting it, you’ve got a problem.)

On another note, I’m not sure what image you big humans are trying to suggest to little humans when you give them dolls with drugged up eyes.

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In the same way that I don’t fully get the need to take the Every Love Matters campaign to the extremes of inanimate objects.

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(I did try to tell her that her companion didn’t seem interested, but she told me to tinsel off – hah, and you thought Cats have no sense of poor humour…)

And as for this…

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…You humans are alright with making your spawn think they’re being spied upon but I just happen to walk in on you taking a shower and suddenly it’s completely unacceptable? Your species is seriously messed up.

But then I saw this and I restored my faith in the tat you humans gift each other:

I’ll have ten please…for myself.

And this made me laugh:

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It’s a physical chocolate replica of Bitcoin, but Bitcoin isn’t physical, it’s a virtual currency! Sadly however no one in the store seemed to get the joke. It’s as if people shopping in Poundland for Christmas presents don’t dwell on that level of humour.

God, you humans don’t have produce some weird looking babies? At least kittens are fluffy, but you guys decide to put the strangest looking ones on jigsaw puzzles! Why?

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And what the hell is this?!

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Have people literally turned to gifting c**p to each other? No wonder people have started donating money to the Slippers for Donkeys campaign or whatever far out animal charities exist nowadays.

When did the Grinch get sold into human-creature trafficking? Asking on behalf of a friend.

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It’s a niche market, granted, but humanity really has lost its heart if it can’t cough up £1 to help.

Jesus Christ! What is this?!

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Why would you even entertain the thought of inviting this into your house? It’s flipping scary!

It was around this time that I gave up with Christmas shopping. The final straw came when, after hours of searching, the one and only thing I thought I could gift my feline sister, a nice new outfit, well it turned out to be out of stock in her size. Typical!

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I give up. I knew I should have picked something from the National Trust’s Christmas store when I had the chance.

NT

All this shopping for Christmas presents just takes too much time!

Sod it, this year I’ll just wrap myself up and be my sister’s Christmas pressie, because lets be honest, family is the best damn thing you can have.

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Great, so that’s Christmas settled. Now I can crack on with watching some high-quality festive films, ones which in my view were robbed of Oscar nominations…

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…And deal with more pressing matters. How do I get this human to move out of my spot?

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Meowy pawmas everyone!

 

(Special thanks to the members of my immediate family for making this post possible by constantly spamming my WhatsApp feed with cat photos.)

 

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McDonald’s, You’re Missing A Trick!

It’s my birthday and I’ll have wine with my McDonald’s if I want to! A quiet in ahead of the Christmas craziness – new blog posts coming soon!

I’ll also bake for my team if I want to, even if ‘baking’ means staying up until crazy o’clock the night before to get it made to my demanding standards.

(The team valued it, I made two batches and they devoured both on a day. I was even told it posed a risk to productivity because it was so good.)

So yeah, go me. Go me and my baking and my wine-sipping awesomeness. Whoop.

A Whistle Stop Tour of Throwbacks

It’s my birthday this week (yay) so how better to celebrate me then a few personal favourites from the AEB playlist? Let’s waste no time, let’s get to it!

A Whistle Stop Tour of Throwbacks: A Playlist for Alice

Firstly, as with all things in life you have to make an entrance. I have always loved the bolshiness of Sledgehammer’s opening.

(Can we also take a moment to reflect on how ground-breaking the music video was at the time it was released?)

But where are my manners? I should probably introduce myself. I’m Alice, although Paul Simon keeps calling me different.

I’ve tried to stop him, but he really won’t give it up.

Most people, I hope, would think of me as a something a bit different to the norm, but still very much a product of the early 90s…

90s but not as you know it. You’ll find me catching up on Radio Four on the evenings and trying to make out I’m really listening to some hip new song by Ed Sheeran or Stormzy.

Sometimes I feel like my outlook on life is stuck decades older than my years so ‘1985’ seems apt on many levels (and only a year off one of my favourite novels, Nineteen Eighty-Four).

While I never prescribe myself to a ultimate favourite song (it changes so frequently) ‘My Girl’ by the Temptations will always sit in the premier league of faves. I’m also massive fan of international music which is why I’ve spent days of my life listening to both the English and Italian versions.

On the subject of off-beat and a little bit quirky…this striped back cover of a Britney Spears classic is just wonderful. Britney was my career icon for all of six months as a young child, nowadays if I want to unleash my inner sass I’ll mentally play this track in my head.

And in support of the many, many songs that were perfect just as they were…

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Bringing the pace back up while throwing the music right back, good luck trying to pin me down when The Kinks come on. I’ll have no embarrassment busting some abstract 60s moves to this:

When I get down to this it’s like Mr Tickle decided to release a fitness video, arms everywhere!

Similar with Mel Torme’s I’m Comin’ Home, a song which I first heard as part of the soundtrack for the movie An Education.

It’s a film set in the 60s involving slick men in suits dealing art. Hmm, I can’t think why I’m particularly drawn to the film…

And following on from that, I couldn’t possibly consider the soundtrack of An Education without giving a shout out to the 50s-set French film Popularie. ‘Golden Baby’ rightly deserves to sit as top bill on this film’s soundtrack.

And when I hear this next piece of piano music…for two minutes I transport myself somewhere completely other and fall in love with the idea of old fashioned romance.

 

Right, that’s enough soppiness, let’s up the tempo. Someone get the dance mat out!

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And if you really show off your moves maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you take me out.

(As long as you accept I will be singing along to the guitar solo.)

And why wouldn’t you want to spend a night hanging off my arm? I’m anything but common.

Nah, not me. I’m a one of a kind, I’m unique, I’m a classic.

And then… *cough*

(Or, alternatively, stick on ANY song by Marvin Gaye. They all get a massive thumbs up in my book.)

And then…

At the same time, I’ve got a life to lead and if you can’t handle that then sorry, you’re just not the bloke for me.

Sorry, not sorry for being awesome.

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When I was born (first week of December) the UK chart number one was Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You. Ironic, most of my nights out probably end with the same song.

Everyone has a song which is so truly horrific they love it and, following a seasonal line of thought, mine has to be this gem from Squeeze.

I mean, where do you even begin to start with what’s right in that video?

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In the Cotswolds it’s not Christmas in the family household until either a) Papa Bennett has attempted to play Fleetwood Mac’s Albatross and we’ve shouted him down, b) I’ve dropped the Michael Buble CD in oil/fat or c) Celtic Christmas gets played. It’s usually a close run battle between the three.

TUNNNNEEEE!

And how better to exit the day/week/year than with ‘Bat Out of Hell’ and ‘St. Elmo’s Fire back-to-back? (Rhetorical question, there is none.)

Right, I’ve gotta dash now, real life adult stuff to do. I hope you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into my mind and music taste (and understand why asking me for my favourite genre and/or song is a pointless question, I don’t have one).

If you’re ever in a position where you’re feeling a bit low and missing my blog/real life lovin’ don’t you worry, I’m always here*.

*Swimsuit not included.

Happy birthday me!

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The Time I Discovered I was a Dominatrix…At Speed Dating

“There you go, one large glass of wine. That’ll be £6.50.”

“Sorry but can I get some more? I can see the level is just off the 250ml mark on the glass.”

I turned to my two friends stood either side of me.

“What? Look if I’m going to go speed dating then I’m damn well getting a full glass of wine.”

I took the glass off the bar in a swift motion that resulted in the extra liquid splashing across my suede heels.

“Good job you demanded more wine Alice.”

“Sush.”

**

“You’re so funny!”

“Thanks, it’s just me being me I suppose.”

“No really, you’re naturally great. How you can make someone laugh just on the topics of pens, that takes skill.”

“Calm it down, if all the guys knew I’d leant you my pen after three minutes I’d be the talk of the town. Now I don’t know how you men play it in Calne but in Swindon this is big stuff. What are you on anyway, Diet Coke?”

“It’s actually full sugar.”

“Jesus Christ! Full sugar? Now it all makes sense, now I know what your game is. You’ve been eyeing up my pen all night!”

And then there was a minute of laughter.

“You know, you really should write this down.”

“Funny you say that, I actually write a blog.” (Said for the eighth time that night.)

“What’s it called?”

My Housemate’s a Mermaid.”

He started scribbling it down on the paper when showcase Alice leapt out of my throat.

“I have a business card if it helps?”

“Oh yes please!”

As I handed over the tiny card I caught my friend’s eye from the table opposite me.

“What?” I mouthed. She responded with a look that said “you know what”. I’d joked all week about giving out business cards at this speed dating event, in fact only a few days before at a house party a friend had yelled “for God’s sake Alice!” when she pulled out one I’d smuggled into a card deck. In many ways giving out just the one business card all night was a poor showing on my part.

When you go speed dating it’s hard to get any understanding of what half the room are doing. In fact it’s probably the only time in your life when you have a better understanding of the opposite sex versus your own. As a woman you never get to (or want to) get a firm grip on the ‘competition’. At best you get hear-say reflections from what rotating men tell you about the other women they’ve chatted to on the night.

My grasp on how I was polling? I was the funny one, the leading one, the in-control one or, as one man put it, “the dominatrix of the room with the submissive friends”.

I was strangely flattered by this comment and in the same way that when I was six I let my policewoman ambition go to my head, at the next interval I told my two friends to get on the floor and worship me. If they didn’t I’d hit them around the head with a copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

“Why have you even got that out on the table?”

“In case I get bored. Also a conversation starter.”

“And has it worked?”

“Why aren’t you on the floor already?”

My Dominatrix man was Jade’s ‘White Guy’ on account of his white shirt (although not before I’d yelled out “they’re all white Jade!” For all to hear). And White Guy was my other friend’s ‘Awkward’.

The latter description was fair, this man wasn’t a first class in fast flowing dialogue. In fact he’d come to my table with the opener, “I’ll probably say something that’ll weird you out and you won’t want to talk to me.”

“I wrote a blog post comparing men to snack bars. Try me.”

“Oh.”

“I mean you could try to weird me out but in three and a half minutes you would be doing a very good job, so much so that actually I’d be more impressed than weirded out.

“As for me, I’ve long since learnt to not care. See if you chat to me now and think ‘she’s alright’ and we match then good times all round, if we don’t then that’s life. Why should I care what you think of me after four minutes if we never meet again? I don’t care. So go on, convince me why I shouldn’t tick yes for you.”

If Dominatrix was a computer I turned him into the blue screen of death. He froze for a second, that fraction of a moment when you could sense something was rebooting and then went from being uptight to putty in my hands. And, once again, I was branded “hilarious” for being me.

Another highlight mistake of the night was agreeing to do a collaboration video with a YouTuber who dresses as a Bear (I did an impression on my bar stool of how I’d be dancing in a mermaid costume. As glamourous as you’re imagining.) There was also a man who announced he’d seen me before, which given work, blog, Swindon 18-30 and being a normal human did not help either party. Someone else set up Cloud software for IT illiterate companies but had never seen this clip…

…which I instructed him to watch the second he got home.

“Ha-ha, sure.”

“I’m not flipping kidding Jim*.”

There were other guys who either rocked up to my table as being loud and outgoing or deeply introverted to the point of barely getting a word out. At the time I just played me, I’d comment on their shirt and get them talking from that, or I’d make it obvious that I knew nothing about motor bikes.

“Like the Wallace and Gromit one?”

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I.e. I got them all laughing and smiling. And although it seems a bit narcissistic, me thinking I’m God’s bringer of four minute joy…

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…but I genuinely wanted to put people at ease and avoid the alternative option of four minutes of torture. I’d have thought I was being normal if not for the fact that the men were leaving my table with a look or comment that suggested they would linger longer if they could.

At a post event debrief I learned of some of the more ‘challenging’ conversations my friends had experienced, conversations that were non-existent on table nine. My little perch where I’d been doing me, chatting, laughing, smiling warmly through ink-laden eyelids. And while I sat there in the well-worn and stained surroundings of a neighbouring Wetherspoons a thought flashed before my eyes and exited through my mouth.

“I’m going to have to be the bad guy aren’t I?”

And then I realised the UHT milk pods I’d taken from the pub’s condiments table had leaked in my pocket.

 

To be continued…

Single Girl Seeks +0 for Family Wedding

This post features images of taxidermy. To understand why visit the Powell-Cotton Museum website. “The past is a foreign country” – L.P. Hartley.

**

Sometimes on those rare moments of peace and tranquillity I take a step back and think to myself, “where does my creativity come from? My ability to construct a half decent sentence together that delves deep into an experience, item or concept while also being able to pull out some humour that keeps people coming back time after time to this humble website of mine?” It’s on such occasions I naturally turn to my family to find the source of my flowing words…

…and realise I really must have been adopted.

Despite the fact my normal dress sense makes me a walking advert for the French rom com Popularie (and something I’m completely fine with, even if it is set in 1958)

…the Cotswold Bennett clan were in fact dressed up to the nines in the Powell-Cotton Museum at Quex Park for a family wedding. The union of my lovely cousin Stella with her Welsh husband-to-be Alun. Because if there was one thing our family needed, its more Welsh (given I’m only 25% of the rugby-mad stuff this marriage couldn’t come soon enough, our family is becoming far too English).

The day started in the same way most my weekday mornings do, wondering why the hell I was awake and why wasn’t I drinking coffee. Not that it got in the way of me catching up on the zzz’s, I woke up some 2.5 hours down the M25 to find a blob of saliva on my dress and a chicken roll having appeared on my lap. I think India might have thrown it at my face. If my bodily fluids didn’t ruin my make up before then the massive size-of-your-face chicken roll did. Again, I took a bite of the roll to be very concerned over the amount of red behind (thankfully my lipstick, not thankfully an expensive brand of the stuff).

Once we’d arrived at Birchington (where Mumma Bennett had booked the apartment for the extended weekend) there was a delightful scene where the postcode wrongly took us to the wrong spot, causing us to drive up and down the street multiple times. When people in mobility scooters and shorts start giving you looks you know you’re looking like class A muppets. A particular highlight was when Papa Bennett proposed us three women get changed at the wedding venue seeing as it was apparently so close to where we’d be staying. The response?

As if we’d even be dared seen by other guests before we’d got into our wedding gear. I only had one of my normal 50s outfits on! Men.

Flash forward a few hours once we’d finally found the apartment, got bags, got changed, went to the loo, changed shoes, updated make up, went to the loo again and hopped in the car for all of the two minute journey and were at the venue. One of the first people we saw when arriving at the venue was Aunt Shiona, mother of the Bride.

“What are you doing all here so early?! We had bets on you!” She said as she gave us all hugs and chatted briefly before dashing of to more important matters.

“What a funny thing to say about having bets on us.”

“I can believe it.” Mumma B said.

“I think she was joking.”

“We’re a whole forty minutes early Dad,” I interjected, “that’s not like us at all.”

And then we were chatting and chilling with relatives and I was complaining that I couldn’t be the little toddler who got to wear a pretty dress and roll around in the dirt on a wedding day.

“I mean you could,” Uncle Martin said.

“Don’t worry, on Alice’s wedding it’ll be all mud pies and S Club 7 songs” Mumma B said. While everyone laughed I muttered to India “do you think we can get Aqua live?”

And then the wedding happened. Sorry Stella and Alun, I know you guys love my blog but I honestly can’t think of much to say – I wish I could write something wonderfully romantic but unlike your friends I stuffed up my poetry module at A Level. Urm…

The ceremony was wonderful // Stella’s dress was anything but colourful.

(I think I’ll stick to the writing.)

Here is a very small sample of some of the photos taken of Stella and Alun on the day.

And here is one of the child I want to be when I grow up.

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And here are a selection of all the many selfies I did whilst we were waiting for the drinks reception.

And then things ground to a temporary halt while we tried to fix the selfie stick/camera.

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But luckily Aunt Yvonne was on hand to capture me at my most beautiful.

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I never met the guy stood behind me in that photo but I think he liked me, that or he felt pity (very easy to get the two mixed up in my world).

And lets take a moment to admire how amazingly my bun held up, despite the four hour drive/sleeping/undressing-dressing/just being me.

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You know, with some of the pictures I’m seeing here you’d think the official photographer could have taken the day off. Anyway moving on and back, the venue was lovely. I mean a wedding in a mother flipping museum is always going to get me excited. Don’t forget this…

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…This was taken before the consumption of any alcohol. So I was living the dream being able to drink prosecco and wonder exhibitions with suited and other smart type people.

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Even if it made me look like a horned beast.

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But they had a kid’s trail (and seemingly unlimited prosecco and canapes) so I was prepared to overlook this.

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We sat down for food and, you’ve guessed it, took more selfies (remind me again why we were there?) Mumma B tried to set the camera up for Bluetooth group photos, but by this point I was on the table wine with a stomach lined with a couple of mini spring rolls. Of course I wasn’t going to be taking anything seriously.

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Stella and Alun then cut their wedding cake. FYI am I the only one thinking Stella was far too happy to be holding such a sharp knife?

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Alun probably had his eye on it for his tomato addiction. His need to consume £50 worth of the little red things a week got a mention in every one of the speeches to much laughter. Everyone needs a hobby I guess.

After speeches, food and yet more table wine (suddenly the headache I had the next morning makes a lot more sense) people broke off while the function room was set up for evening entertainment.

Papa B, India, Uncle Chris and a few others got excited over a drone and Mumma B grabbed a photo just in time to get my typically Alice reaction.

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Mumma B and I instead spent time wondering around the gardens and discussing flower beds and architecture. Standard. Once the evening portion of the night kicked off it was all dancing and fun way into the night. Have you ever danced to the hit song Nelson Mandela by The Specials at a wedding? Well you have not lived my friend.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m dancing for Mandela India! We’ve got to free him!”

“[Laughs] what the hell?”

“FREEEEEEE NELSON MANDELA! INDIA! IT’S MANDELA!”

(For context, Stella spent a good deal of time in Southern Africa growing up.)

And then eventually the whole night wrapped up with a UB40 song.

“What’s this?” India asked.

“The song played when the DJ wants you to bugger off.”

***

The following days were spent relaxing and enjoying the Kentish sunshine. A particular highlight was when the four of us visited Walmer Castle in Deal. India, with her expert technical knowledge helped restore my confidence that I must be at least related to her.

Further shored up when she got just as excited over a pair of mini Wellington boots as I did.

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Tell you what, I have a lot of time for a young Wellington. Before I say anything further let me explain a bit of background behind the rationale.

Whilst loving life in Granada recently myself and one of the girls I was staying with developed an heightened interest in olives. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the fact we didn’t know each other and were jumping on the first connection we had but our lust of olives was just off the scale. Our friends would have told us to get a room, if we hadn’t already decided we were going to because of the olives. We bought a massive jar between us and in started taking ‘shots’ of olives and eventually skipped the middle man by carting the whole jar to bed with us at stupid o’clock (don’t ask me to explain why). Anyway, because the jar was so hard to open and because of how much we loved those olives I coined a phrase to subtly describe any man (or woman) that the perciever took a fancy to. I explain this to you now a) for future reference on any subsequent blog posts and b) because seeing a young Wellington in Walmer Castle prompted me to say it.

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“Ooh. He can open my olives.”

“What?”

I related the above story to India.

“Again, what?”

**

I attended my cousin’s wedding with only my immediate family and happily so. It made me wonder why people have this need to put on their dating profiles “seeks +1 to attend weddings”. Why? What’s wrong with going solo? I had just as much fun being a plus zero, if not more so by being able to be classic Alice and wander around a museum late at night after a glass or two, pretending I was living my own version of Night at the Museum. Would I have wanted a plus one to see we twirling about and exclaiming “I love History!”? Goodness no!

The Cotswold Bennett clan left Kent early on Sunday having spent a four days in South East England, a part of the country that none of us had visited in any depth before. We came away feeling very relaxed and India and I with a long list of wedding ideas for that of our own one day (although for the love of God don’t let that be any time soon – Aqua don’t have the availability).

**

Big love to my cousin Stella and her husband Alun, I had a wonderful time at your wedding and wish you all the best now and long into the future. I’m no poet but I hope this, alongside the wire chicken egg holder (memories of hunting cheap eggs in London), I hope they both make you smile.

With love, AEB x

 

New Year’s Eve Parties, Classical Art Style

You may think your planned NYE party is off the chain but trust me, its got nothing on how these guys used to live it up. And as we all know, classical paintings and depictions are 100% factual (as true to life as Kim Kardashian’s derriere).

 

New Year’s Eve Parties, Classical Art Style

As per any night out, the evening’s events begin six hours beforehand when guests start getting ready in preparation for the night ahead.
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It’s the kind of party that you know is going to be a-maze-ing. After all, name a party headlined by DJ Maz-donna that wasn’t historic?

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Feel the bass

 

Before you know it everyone is having a blast. Jesus isn’t looking too great, but then that guy always ends up boasting he’s the son of God at parties so maybe he’s having one of those kinds of night.

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Just smile and walk on by.

But then the vibe suddenly changes. It all starts when a request is put in for the live band to play Ariana Grande.

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Then someone beckons the Virgin Mary over…

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…only to give her two fingers.

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Next thing you know, the New Year’s Eve party turns into pure chaos. You’re with individuals you’ve never met before in your life and unable to understand a single word they’re saying.

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Finding an excuse to get away, you turn a corner and find your mates surrounding Jesus, who by now is not looking great. No one has a clue what’s going on and the only friend that can string a sentence together keeps repeating “swear down he was like that when I got here”.

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Then things get very blurry. Somewhere in the chaos there’s the sound of cheering as people welcome in the New Year but otherwise it all becomes a nightmarish mix of Heaven and Hell.

The next morning you visualise the night before as being like this:
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However your friends later inform you that your antics were more like:
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Still, it was a crazy night and a good one at that. A News Year’s Eve that’ll definitely make the top five. You may even choose to get a scene or two from the evening painted and framed to remember forever. Before you head off to take in the fresh air of the New Year you have only one more question to ask your mates.

“How is Jesus fairing?”

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Happy New Year 2019!