Sunday 31st January: The Honey Monster

I've been waiting weeks to see my friend's new addition, Honey the Golden Labrador, aka The Honey Monster.

Her feet are too big for her; her teeth are like needles; 'Sit!' and 'Heel!' are just meaningless words; and anything new that she sees, which is most of the time, she faces with pure wonderment and a waggy tail.

We could learn a few lessons from Honey: don't put your big foot in it; don't bite the hand that feeds you; listen to your elders as they probably know a lot more than you do; and take a look at the world each day as if it's the first time you've seen it.

But whatever you do, don't have a crap in the road and don't fall asleep with your face on someone's crotch.

Woof!

Saturday 30th January: The Post Office queue

My fear of looking stupid meant this picture, of a Post Office queue, is blurry. There were so many people around so I just took a quick shot, and moved too soon. As I've written previously, I need to get over it, otherwise my blog will be a series of blurry pictures, which only equals a blurry memory, which defeats the whole object of this project.

Back to The Post Office Queue - and you've gotta love it. You get a mixture of the 'oldies': the pensioners who you can't help but make you mutter to yourself: 'You've got all the time in the world to come to the post office, why do you come on a Saturday when those people who work in the week need to use it?'; you've got those who walk in, take one look at the queue, and then walk out again; you've got those who make sure they are getting as close to the front as possible by standing right up against you; and there are those, like me really, who just enjoy observing human behaviour while in a queue.

The queue always looks longer than it actually takes in minutes: two rows of people really only equate to about 6-7 minutes, now that isn't that long is it?

What I can't abide, and what I also experienced today after the orderliness of the post office, was a long queue because there was just one guy serving. A guy (always a guy isn't it?) came up behind me and shouted out to the cashier: 'Are you the only one serving? Can you get someone else?'

You may find this a harmless couple of questions, but this guy was a twat and clearly has a job and a home life where everything just happens to him when he wants it.

You can probably guess, another cashier came along and asked for the next customer. Sure enough, twat-man sprinted across to be first served. A voice, which I realised was mine, shouted: 'Excuse me, can you let this woman go first as she's been waiting in the queue longer than you have ...' He didn't hear it, so the voice repeated the question.

It was as if he'd been completely oblivious to everyone else around him, as if we all liked standing in a line waiting.

The lady thanked me and took her rightful place.

I hate queues, I don't particularly like orderliness, but pig ignorance is something truly detestable.

If we can be polite enough to form a queue, surely we can be polite enough to respect those in it?

This blog is dedicated to the pig in the queue today: may you read it and be more considerate in future.

Friday 29th January: Fish and chip night

Nothing more to say really (and I've had enough of working on my laptop today).

Thursday 28th January: Victoria at rush hour

Lately I've got into the habit of getting in to work at 8am so that I can leave earlier. The aim being that, if I hit Victoria at 7.30am, no-one it's so quiet, and likewise, if I leave between 4-5pm, it's equally as calm.

As is usually the case, though, 4pm becomes 5pm becomes 6pm, and you end up trying to claw your way through this mess in the picture.

But rush hour is such a London trademark, strangely there's almost an affection for it. Perhaps it's because, although everyone hates each other at this time of day, it's something that's common for all Londoners and brings us together?

We all have the same grievances: someone walks in front of you and caps your speed; someone changes direction or, worse, stops still and you run into them; someone has their music too loud (although when it's a bloke in his twenties listening to Whitney, you can only laugh); someone's ticket doesn't work and holds you up a crucial, life-threatening, two seconds; the train is cancelled because there isn't a driver; the list goes on ... just like the way we have the same issues and concerns with health care or tax increases etc ... it unites us, makes us as one, and you don't get that often.

So, when I next miss 4pm, then 5pm and get out at 6pm, I'm going to embrace The Rush Hour, I'm going to feel the collective energy, and I'm not going to tut when someone walks too slow.

Let's see how long that lasts ...

Wednesday 27th January: Back in the black

As I was walking along Oxford Street on my way home tonight, there was a stark reminder that, despite the government declaring yesterday that we're no longer in a recession, there's still a long way to go.

We are still to face increasing taxes and a rise in interest rates at some stage, but the barometer I love is related to fashion, or in this case, lipstick.

The "lipstick index" theory states that sales of lipstick go up in hard times as women dump buying their designer outfits and reach for the lippy as a cheap treat.

Now we're out of the red (and I'm not talking lipstick now), make up sales look set to dwindle while the more expensive treats will see a return.

That should bring a smile back to our faces, just don't forget the lippy.

Tuesday 26th January: Surprise nights out

Sometimes, it's the nights when you just go for a 'quiet drink' that always turn into the good ones.

And it couldn't have come at a better time. Thanks to Sarah (pictured) for making me laugh and feel human again ... you're the best! x

Monday 25th January: What anger looks like

So, I was on my way home and, because I'd had a busy day in meetings, I was catching up with emails on the train.

There was one that popped up that made me simmer with rage, and one which, by the time I'd got off the train and started walking to the car, had me boiling over.

I'm sure a lot of it was just the nature of emails in that people write things that they'd never say to your face. But why not? Surely if you write it, you mean it, therefore you can say it?

So as I walked, no make that stomped, to the car, I was already planning the response in my head. I think I was talking out loud at one stage so I must have looked a right sight with feet pounding, lips muttering and lots of head shaking.

The only thing was, I had to wait before I could compile the email as I had to get to the pool for training.

They say exercise can take your mind off things. Like hell it can. All the way through each of the sets, I was wording the email response. During a 100m set, during the kick set, and during the swim down.

When I got out of the pool I just wanted to get home and type, no make that bang, my fingers on the keyboard.

Now, with email response written and ready to be sent when I get in the office in the morning, I feel calm. Yes, it might be the wine I JUST HAD to have, but I sense that it's actually the therapy of 'getting it all out' in the email. Well, a tailored edit anyway.

And writing this blog has made me feel much better still (although I'm now half a glass down on the wine), so I'm resolved that this blog is a good thing. It might be hard to find a picture, and it might be a bind feeling I have to write something every day; but once I have written it, I feel great.

Just as well when I have 340 more entries to write ...

Ps, the picture came from a website I found after typing in 'What does anger look like' in Google images, it's not me, although it very well could be.

For anyone else who gets hit by the angry stick every now and again, try this:
What you can do if you feel angry
It didn't do anything for me, but I have my blog now, perhaps it should include that in its advice?

Sunday 24th January: Seeing the light

I had to cheat slightly today and post a picture that I took yesterday. There are two reasons for this: the first is that I quite like this picture. I took it last night in a Moroccan-themed bar in Brighton Marina after watching Avatar.

The second reason, is that I've been working all day so didn't even leave the house until I went swimming for 8pm.

So, I could have posted a boring picture from a boring day, or a picture that I at least like and am happy to share.

And there it is.

Now, back to Bond and "Die another day". There has just been such an unbelievable scene where he dons a parachute and some scrap metal and surfs his way through a tsunami. Only James Bond ...

Saturday 23rd January: Avatar

I could put it off no longer, this afternoon we finally went to see Avatar. I can't say I was brimming with excitement over the actual film, more the popcorn, I tend to go off things the more hype they have, and the fact that it wasn't going to be a 'realistic' film made me want to see it even less.

I was pleasantly surprised, and towards the end of the two and a half hours, I was coming to the conclusion that, while it had its faults (patronising, patchy and political pap), it would probably be one of my favourite films of the year.

And then the last minute happened, which prompted me to 'fail' it on twitter (I can't find the hashtag on my mac!).

Towards the end of the film I was expecting a heartbreaking moment as Jake would have to say goodbye to the Na'vi, and his 'wife' Neytiri, and return to a full-time, wheelchair-bound, human life." Because that's life isn't it?

Apparently not. I'm probably alone in saying this as everyone else seems to be banging on how great the film is, and yes, visually it's stunning, but for me, it was great for 160 out of the 161 minutes. Had Jake returned to his former life and let the Na'vi get on with theirs, it would have been so much better.

Friday 22nd January: One for the road

If you have "one for the road", I always thought it meant a drink before you hit the road to go home.

However, if you're an Aussie, the term is much more literal: one for the road is to actually take a drink in the car with you.

So, I found myself heading out with him indoors and two friends, knocking back champagne on the way to the pub.

It was perhaps a scenario more apt for a limo rather than a Ford Focus.

As the bubbles started taking effect, the indecision about where we were going also kicked in. Thus, it seemed quite sensible when someone suggested we turn left, then right, a total of 10 times, where upon we would go into the next pub we saw after such frenetic corner taking.

So, we found ourselves in The Woolpack. No, not the Yorkshire one, although it would have been fun to get mixed up in all that rural drama, rather the one in Burgess Hill.

We then set about given each other challenges, which I won't bore you with.

The next pub was decided by going left, left, left, right, left. To which we ended up, quite strangely, outside The Windmill.

A game of darts, banter with the publican, or republican according to the Aussie, who announced to his drinkers that if you turn left, left, left, right, left from The Woolpack, you get to The Windmill. I hope we were right.

A Friday night to remember, and thankfully, because of this blog, I'll remember more than I would have.

Thursday 21st January: Late night working

Well it's nearly midnight and I've just packed up for the night. Had a break to go swimming and then straight back into it.

That's the problem with working at home for the day, it becomes working at home for the whole day. Anything to tread water though ...

Tired and jaded so only a short post tonight.

Wednesday 20th January: Gerberas - what dreams are made on?

I've always adored gerberas, and it's good to know that, after seven years together, him indoors knows that they're the flowers to get me, should he have the urge to be soppy and ridiculous.

So it was that I came home from work yesterday and these were on the table. You see, on Tuesday night I had a HIDEOUS dream that left me disturbed for the whole day. I managed to bore people at work about it, and even myself by the end of the day, so to see these when I walked in brought a smile to my face.

For that is what they are - sunshine on a stick. There can not be another more vibrant, charismatic flower on earth, and how they develop such rich colour is staggering. I'm not one for pastels, or anything that pretends to be a colour, like mint green or champagne white, how on earth can you be when there are colours such as these in the world?

A dream is but a temporary illusion, these flowers are tangible and very much alive in front of me as I sit and write this. So I'm going to put the dream behind me and focus on the flowers and ...

... and yet, I can hear my argument unravel when I think of Prospero, for aren't we, and indeed the flowers around us, "such stuff as dreams are made on"?

Why is it that you spend a few years learning Shakespeare not ever imagining you will ever remember any of it, and certainly not using it as a counter to your own argument?

Damn him, he really wasn't supposed to come into this when I started to write my blog for the day.

I leave you with Prospero's pontification, while I will try and work out how a post about gerberas, all colour and joy, became a post about the fleeting and cursory world we live in ...

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158

Tuesday 19th January: Apologies from the start

If this blog is about memories, which it is, then this Robert Pattinson calendar just has to be a post.

You see, today was the day that I finally put the thing up on the wall, yes, 19 days into the new year.

It's actually Edward Cullen that makes my knees go weak. Anyone who's read the Twilight series knows exactly what I mean (unless you're in the Jacob camp), and I'm not the only one (I've been trying to find the link to an article I read recently saying it's the older, disillusioned, mother in the States who is falling for him). A state indeed.

I don't care what you think: he's on the side of my bookcase and there he is staying, at least until 19 January next year ...

Monday 18th January: Morning glory

Now that I've got this blog, I'm on red alert for most of the day trying to take a picture to post. Sometimes it gets to my journey on the train home and I'm still without a picture.

So, imagine my delight, when at 8am this morning, walking along Oxford Street, I saw a hundred horses, as opposed to irate taxi drivers and big red buses.

So bemused was I though, that I didn't think about taking a photo, the sight of the horses took me by surprise and it was only when they had nearly walked by that I suddenly though: "Shit! I need a photo for today and that's probably as interesting as it's going to get."

Such is the excitement in my life ...

Not caring what I looked like, I dropped my bag in a flurry, grabbed the camera, waited impatiently for it to turn on, and then click.

Needless to say, if you do anything out of the ordinary in London, you get 'the looks' and are given a wide berth.

But with this blog, there has to be an element of 'I don't care what I look like, I just want to get a good picture'.

I think I will have to get used to making a tit of myself, it's only for a year, and after that, I can go back to being 'normal', whatever that means.

Sunday 17th January: Out with the dawgs

Sunday morning, bit of a hangover, bit of sun, three dogs and one restless boyfriend. And yes, I did get run over taking this picture!

Saturday 16th January: Dad's 70th party

Growing up I was incredibly close to my cousins. Every Sunday we would drive to my Gran and Granddad's bungalow and we would spend the afternoon with my Mum's two sisters, their husbands and their two girls. There were six of us in total, and my brother was the only boy, poor thing.

We would always take a sponge, which I hated, unless it was chocolate. It was usually a plain sponge and I would always be in charge of making the coffee icing filling. I remember getting the coffee, pouring on a bit of boiling water to melt it, and then add the icing gradually. I can even smell it now as I recall the arm ache it caused as I stirred and stirred to create the paste.

So today it was quite surreal to see things have moved on a generation. Now my cousins have their own children, who were running around the house screaming, just like we used to do.

We hardly get together at all now, so it was great that we had my Dad's birthday as an opportunity to see each other again.

Now, instead of us enthusiastically helping to blow out the candles, it was 'the little ones' puffing their cheeks.

Oh, and Dad too - he was just as much a kid as they were, and the sponge tasted great :)

Happy birthday Dad!

Friday 15th January: Going home

No matter how old I am, I do not tire from going home to see my family and sleeping in my old bed.

As soon as I see the words 'Yeovil Junction', I'm already sat in the armchair at home with a cup of tea, legs curled underneath me, chatting to my folks while the dog tries to get his head underneath my elbow for some much-needed attention.

The purpose for my return, so soon after Christmas, was for my Dad's 70th birthday party. As followers of my blog will know, I spent the weekend before sorting out his card on moonpig.com. While an early week delivery was stated on the website, it actually wasn't until Thursday that I received Dad's card, with much relief!

For a present I gave him a Lonely Planet book on Malta, as his 'real' birthday present will be a long weekend there later in the year as it's always somewhere he's wanted to go.

The whole card and present buying has made me quite reflective this year. Whereas I'd usually go to a card shop and try and find something as apt as possible and chuck in a few scratchcards as a present, the fact it was 70 years made me quite sad. I actually sit here writing this with a lump in my throat and tears ready to gush out at the slightest weakness. Seventy just seems so old, for a Dad; for a Granddad no, but a Dad, that's old isn't it?

Especially when he's still so young at heart and still tears around like a seven year old!

I guess the truth is, it made me realise that my folks won't be around for ever, and I simply cannot imagine it.

So, ignorance is bliss and I'm going to forget about the number. Besides, I prefer words, numbers were never really my thing.

Thursday 14th January: Back in the pool

I have just done my first training session after six weeks off, and, while I was expecting it to be absolutely horrendous, I was pleasantly surprised.

But, there's somethig niggling away inside, I think it's actually a memory, that is saying the second session is always the worst. And, given that I did write tonight's set, and made it quite easy, I think that niggle will become a reality come my second session on Sunday.

But, aside from all that, I feel great. My lungs have expanded, those endorphins are flying around (I'm smiling at strangers, I feel that great), and the lethargy I've been feeling the past few weeks has disappeared. Hell, I could run the London marathon now if I had to.

I'm sure the low will follow, most likely when I wake up in the morning and can't move, but hey, I'm going to live this moment and carry on being sickeningly smug, because frankly, it doesn't happen that often.

Wednesday 13th January: "alma"

Alma from Rodrigo Blaas on Vimeo.

First, an apology. This isn't 'strictly' a picture, it's a video, but it's sort of a picture when you're not playing the video. Besides, I've already bored myself with the snow pictures, of which there was more today, and nothing else has inspired me.

I watched this short, which I found after reading @katematlock's tweet referencing her blog, Inspiration Crush.

It's weird and wonderful and stirs that thing inside our brains called our imagination.

Now that's surely better than another snow picture?

Tuesday 12th January: On the way home

My journey out of Victoria Station tonight ...

Monday 11th January: Broken biscuits

With all the sales (still) on at the moment, I'll almost felt duty-bound to have a look in some shops this evening. I made two (Zara and TopShop, where this picture was taken). They both had so much crap in them, I walked in, touched couple of things (like we do) and even held a couple of things up (again like we do).

With 'Clearance' messages coming through on email and 'Sale' signs everywhere, it doesn't entice me in like it's supposed to, rather it pushes me away as I know there will only be the 'broken biscuits' left.

Send me an email showcasing new arrivals and I'll take a look, what I'm getting at the moment is the equivalent of watching a dog doing a number two.

Sunday 10th January: Welcome home!

Just when we thought all the fun with the snow had finished, we arrived home after a wedding to find this snowman by the door.

He'd obviously been drinking the bottle of Stella in his hand as he couldn't stand up straight.

A few hours later, he was gone. It wasn't as dignified a demise as the Snowman in the film, rather, like a drunk, he simply fell to the side with a crash against the front door.

You were great while you lasted, thank you.

Now to get the neighbours back ...

Saturday 9th January: A genius table plan

Had to record this fantastic table plan at our friend's wedding last night (brother of the groom in the photo). Organised by chocolate (we were on the Snickers table - good choice!), the couple - Chris and Blue - had been on to Facebook to get mugshots of everyone and stuck our faces on the table plan rather than names. We then had our photos framed on our table as a gift to take home.

The pressure is on to do something different at weddings, and Chris and Blue did just that. Thanks for a great day guys!

Friday 8th January: Moonpig frustrations

I love the idea of Moonpig and had never used it before, but if you want to upload photos to a card, make sure you've got bags of patience in reserve, it takes a while!

I'll let you know what the finished card looks like and if it was worth it the hassle ...

Thursday 7th January: The darkness

So, there I was, typing away on my laptop, when all the lights went out.

Up until that point, I didn't hear any noises, I didn't have palpitations and I certainly didn't think there was anyone upstairs.

Fear of the dark, or nyctophobia, is more common in children, for obvious reasons. It's actually not the absence of light that makes children scared, rather the fear of impending doom and imagined dangers that darkness brings.

Freud would argue that a fear of darkness is a manifestation of separation anxiety.

Screw that. I'm an adult and I'm shit scared! I do have an active imagination, but I'm totally reasonable (him indoors may disagree) and can keep my head in a crisis.

But if you'd asked me to go upstairs, I'd tell you where to go: there's a man up there with a knife for God's sake!

Twinkle, twinkle and the lights come back on. All is well with the world.

Same house, same me.

And the man upstairs?

Don't be so ridiculous.

Wednesday 6th January: Plain crazy

Welcome to my village of Lindfield!

Well, actually, you can't come in today, it's closed. Again.

As if there wasn't enough snow a couple of weeks ago, down it dumps, ahhh gain.

And the real sting is that those who don't live in the sticks (I know, my choice) don't actually believe you when you say you can't get in to work. Yes, they think you're a liar.

Back at work you end up taking out your phone and showing the pictures to anyone displaying the 'sceptical smirk'. You only took the photos for this very purpose anyway.

"Look how deep it was!" you cry. "Look at the road sign! It says 'Closed', that's how awful it was."

And why is it that snow never looks as deep in the picture?

Smirks turn to pity, and I'm sure I heard someone in the loo talk about 'the crazy snow woman' the other day.

Still, I guess crazy's better than a being liar.

Tuesday 5th January: So long Christmas

This is about as exciting as it gets in the house now that the Christmas decs are packed away in the loft. The only remains are the chocolates, and the falling snow outside.

What is now a pouffe, was a glistening Christmas tree, and so impressed was I by its beauty, I even wrote a drunken ode to the thing.

The house is now bare, and the light has gone.

God, I hate January.

Monday 4th January: Dr Google

Isn't it funny how, when you get ill, you almost always think the worse.

Despite the above gastroenteritis bug (here under a microscope in the picture) affecting most people in my family, when your symptoms don't quite match the symptoms of the other people affected there's a fear that you've actually got something much more sinister.

And when you have the internet on hand to help you make your own diagnosis, it only makes things worse.

So, instead of believing that I have gastroenteritis (which I can now spell with ease btw) from the symptoms checklist on the NHS website, I refer to Dr Google and find the following on Wikipedia:

"A few loose stools and vomiting may be the result of systemic infection such as pneumonia, septicemia, urinary tract infection and even meningitis. Surgical conditions such as appendicitis, intussusception and, rarely, even Hirschsprung's disease may mislead the clinician."

I then have to look up all these and check the symptoms. Before you know it, I'm exhausted, not from the illness, but from hours of being a hypochondriac online.

It seems I'm not alone and there is now a recognised term for this behaviour: 'cyberchondriacs'.

I am, of course, hoping that I'm not tempting fate and that I do indeed just have gastroenteritis. Should I develop any new symptoms though, I know where I'll be heading ...

Sunday 3rd January: My constant companion

I know, I'm just three days into my Picture of the day blog and I have posted an image of a toilet. You'll have to forgive me, but if this blog is all about my memories of the year, then this has to be recorded.

When my stomach made its first grumblings at 2pm yesterday, I thought, like the rest of the developed world, that it was just an aversion to going back to work after the Christmas hols. I was soon corrected by my man on the sofa, who reminded me of his very recent bout of gastroenteritis. It was almost with glee that he declared: "Ha, I think you've caught my bug!" It was almost like he was impressed by his ability to spread his germs. Hardly a surprise really when you consider most men are chuffed when they spread their seeds far and wide.

Determined to ignore the ominous signs, I continued to eat and even drank some whisky, thinking I could intoxicate and drown the bug. Alas, it wasn't to be.

The rest is not worth detailing, enough to say that the noises and smells will stay with me for some time.

However, by 3am this morning I was able to say, unlike everyone else in the country, that I wish I was well and heading for work in a few hours' time.

I'll trade you the first day back any time.

Saturday 2nd January: My new TV

I have never bought a TV: I've never been that bothered by the picture, the sound or the number of slots in the back; if it could show an episode of Friends I was happy. Thus, I have survived on hand-me-down tube TVs courtesy of my parents, the almost in-laws and friends (thanks for the ex-rental TV Zoe, it's still in use upstairs in the 'games' room!).

So, when it came to buying a TV, I got quite excited and started to do the best bit: research! Whenever I buy anything that's over £50, it's like the competitive animal inside me wakes up (not that it's ever asleep for long) and I just have to find the best deal going. So many times I've bought something that I then see cheaper somewhere else and I just feel robbed and swear I WILL NOT let that happen again.

The research began just before Christmas. The quick flick through the mags in Smiths, looking through the top 10 TV websites, which all say completely different things btw, and becoming a general bore as you talk HDMI sockets and contrast resolutions.

I whittled the list down to about three and did the direct comparison. How many times do you want to take the best bits from three of them and make your own bespoke model? Why can't someone come up with a TV that's got everything you want on it? Oh that's right, they do, for £2000+.

Then comes the exciting bit (in comparison to ports and resolutions that is): searching for the best prices. Oh how satisfying it is to find a model £100 cheaper on another website! The joy! As the smirk appears on my face and I drag myself from the floor after the big slap on the back, I promptly shut down the now 'overpriced' website, with a quick two finger salute as it disappears. But wait, the 5-year guarantee on the 'cheap' TV is the equivalent of a house deposit. And before I know it, back comes the dismissed website and I read the text next to the price and see ... the 5 year guarantee is included!

This ensues and literally, 10 hours later and, over the space of a few days, THE BEST TV IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD EVER reveals itself. As if to cement the decision, and for it not to disappear, I leave it on my screen and keep coming back to have a look at it, each time congratulating myself on a BLOODY GOOD FIND.

So, decision made and a date set to go and buy the TV from store (I really can't face having a TV delivered with a cracked screen, which is exactly what would happen to me), I enter the days of Christmas satisfied that I've 'done my very best' and look forward to collecting my 'winnings'.

So, Boxing Day at the man's brother's house and, guess what? They've got a new TV on the wall. Brilliant, I get to share my robust knowledge and gloat as I tell them about THE BEST TV IN THE WORLD EVER.

Family member: "You know, you really should ensure that you buy a TV with 100Hz, anything else just won't be good enough, it does have 100Hz doesn't it?"

Silence ...

SHIIIIIIITTTTT!

Friday 1st January: Cake!

Starting the year as I mean to go on ... sod the detox and all that healthy eating nonsense, eat cake and be merry.

So, here my blog begins, officially anyway. And, just like cake, some people may like it, others will hate it, but take a bite and if you like what you taste, please eat all of it; if you don't, spit it out and head for the fruit salad, we'd never get on anyway.

Here's to 2010, may it be sweet and full of surprises.