Merry little Christmas

  It was one of those Christmases where you say it was a "quiet one" - the close family and watching the King's Speech by 8pm, in bed by 10pm reading one of the books you were brought for Christmas. After an evening of too many Scrabble competitions, teaching Grandma how to play Boggle and still explaining the rules by the last round and teaching mother how to calibrate her new iPad. Obviously all of that was after a lavish meal of, of course, turkey and all the trimmings. The turkey was in the oven by 9:45am - I know. It was huge, we got it from a farmer who lives in the village and we said we wanted one to feed five, so he chose us one that would feed 12 "just in case" - we now have 3/4 of a turkey left and I've had a turkey sandwich every day since Boxing day. Soon we will be having turkey curry, a stir fry and then no doubt the bones will be used to make father's delicacy of turkey gelatine (mm-mmmm) and stock - used for Sunday roast to make the gravy ("jus"). Aside from sounding undoubtedly Southern there, we did partake in the classic hat wearing, joke telling, cracker pulling pre-dinner entertainment. Which, by the time 2pm came around we'd already had three bottles of champagne between five of us and we still had a bottle of white and three bottles of red to get through - it was quite a merry morning. We had my suggested healthy starter of salad. Yes, really, smoked salmon, prawns, avocado, pea shoots washed down with Chablis. We never usually have dessert but this time we took the plunge and opted for Sainsbury's Taste the Difference Christmas Pudding - it was delicious (it said it would feed eight, we scoffed the lot). We turned the lights off and poured over the 40 year old Hennessy XO and lit it, it was a glorious sight that went on for a good minute, blue flames and the smell of burning cognac with the taste of cranberries, pecans and spices, doused in madagascan vanilla cream - it was a great ending. 

 I then retired to the drawing room - HA - the spare bedroom to play Christmas carols on the old Joanna and then it was time to watch the Queen's Speech - which we watched on Demand as 1) we forgot to record it because 2) we forgot it was on because 3) it wasn't the best speech in the world. Something about a man with a cast on - not sure what the wider metaphor was about but lo and behold Kate and Walter were mentioned with their new born Ronald and their first Noel. Yawn, I did actually yawn, who cares if it was Ronald's first Christmas! It was my 21st and Liz didn't mention me, or anyone else for that matter. Ronald stole the show and he's only five months old. 

 I don't know how others start their Christmas morning but we open presents first, after I've woken everyone in the house up with a hot drink - its not the same as being five and running into your parent's room screaming - you have to be a little more mature at 20 (apparently). I was working Christmas Eve and got home at about 12:30. I got myself a night cap (rosé) and heard a "Ruthie!" from the living room (It was dad, he doesn't sleep and he always calls me Ruthie, mum calls me Rufus - please don't call me either unless I really really like you). I went into the living room to find the old man wrapping presents! I thought, well this has blown Santa out the window hasn't it! He asked if I could put ribbons on a few presents because I'm "the best". So I helped him, to find out in the morning I'd actually put a ribbon on MY OWN PRESENT, the cheek! We then watched a bit of TV about some people having their own Christmas lights turn on at their own house - I know, lets kill the polar bears and let our grandchildren deal with climate change whilst we use 10 times the amount of electricity we use in one year in one month. 

 That aside, we went into the living room (everyone with their hot drinks me with my orange juice and a banana - start the day right!) to open our presents. It was a different year this year, my parents had inherited some money, so whereas the last few years it has been satsumas and nail files, this year it was mangos and a full nail set! So mother got her new iPad and dad got one of those electric golf trollies (he's getting on) I got a Nike+Fuelband - get one, you will want to exercise ALL THE TIME. No really, I've been to the gym twice and had a run once since Christmas day! - See. Nike have kind of invented their own metric system of "Fuel" points which in turn leads to steps and calories etc. Everyone needs to asses their food intake after a Roses chocolates, Foxes biscuits and Thorntons excessive indulgence, however it is the season to be merry (and bright - just whack on some more Touche Eclait on those dark circles!) so I'll let you off if you've put on half a stone because I'm right behind you! Lets all just drink a ridiculous amount and eat till we feel extremely ill and cannot move until out stomachs settle and we have another mince pie. 

 I hope you all had a very enjoyable Christmas, I hope you all were on Santa's nice list and I wish you a very happy New Year,

with love

RHS x 

Happiness

Since my last post, I have returned from Uni, turned 20, been to bars in Derby that I have never ventured in before (and probably won't again until I take out a loan), had my nails painted, put up my first ever real Christmas tree, had a dinner party with close family friends and drank rather a large quantity of French red. 

20th Birthday drinks! 

And over the past two days I have been unbelievably happy, I thought I was before Saturday (which I was) but something that I saw on Saturday made me realise how happy I actually am (and you all will be as well!... or at least I hope - if not let me know and I'll whack out some warm fuzzies... ). 

So I woke up on Saturday morning, my 20th birthday, to be greeted by my parents with a Yves Saint Laurent gift and a Ted Baker gift bag, who doesn't love material items?! Then my mum handed me a voucher to get my nails done in my favourite spa in Derby. I was just going for a simple manicure when Mrs Lillian Bettencourt (look her up) walked in. Or should I saw Ms. She began ordering around the six-month pregnant manager of the Spa with all of these dates she wanted "beautifying" as she had a "ridiculous amount" of Christmas Parties that she simply must look fantastic at darling. She booked two pedicures in one week (how they are fitting her in, I do not know - unless it comes to monetary terms - the senior manager is on maternity leave and there are two junior therapists and the manager - who's pregnant). She also booked in four spray tans between now and New Years Eve, two facials between now and NYE and other things that I can't even pronounce or were just too extreme to contemplate. All this happened whilst she was checking her emails on her gold iPhone 5S and shaking her wrists whilst she showed off her rose gold Marc Jacobs watch and Links of London bracelet - which nobody asked to see. She then threw down her Prada and began taking off her boots to have a pedicure - which involved a serious amount of cling film, foil and what looked like soaked muslin. This was a serious pedicure for a women who's feet looked like they'd been pampered an hour previous. 

She then talked about her "breakfasts" with Mr x (not her husband, not sure whether it was her partner or not - sounded more like a business thing) - who does "breakfast"?! And then how she had started having botox in her nose... yes, not her forehead or crows feet (of which she had none because clearly she has had botox there)... she said it only bled for 20 minutes and she felt like she had a new nose... 

Whilst I waited for my nails to dry I was just staring in adoration at this woman who had clearly a ridiculous amount of money to spend on these kind of treatments and she looked incredible - her hair was perfect her make up was incredible, she wore Prada and a cute Joules knit. But there was no way she was happy. I could  see it in her eyes, especially when she looked at me like I was a piece of dust that had scraped her pedicure. It was like she was superior but actually she knew that everyone knew she was deep down trying to cover something up. I don't know what, thats obvs a bit deep for a spa, but it was interesting to see. I wonder how her pedicure held up and how her parties went. 

The pregnant woman was happy, she's wanted a baby for a really long time and now she's finally eight weeks away from the bundle of joy (errrr) entering the world. However she said she has been unbelievably sick since the first month of being pregnant, but she said it is so worth it. If you can be sick four times a day for five months and still be extremely optimistic and excited that is definitely pure happiness. 

Today, I am reasonably happy, I woke up with a pile of dishes to wash and champagne flutes to not break as well as having just compiling all of my assignments that are due in. I have six. Yes six. That have all been given to us in the space of four days. They range from 1,500 words to 4,500 words. The silver lining is that they are not due in till 10th March, some not till 2nd May! #winning. Still that is going to be a long Christmas of planning. BUT who cares... its Christmas! - that is very exciting news! 

It is interesting things that make up happy, usually the material, tangible things are only a temporary cure, I'm happy when people find mistakes in my blog posts because I can't be bothered to check them. At least you know they are written by me and not some robot I have employed! 

I hope you have a fantastic Christmas and a very happy New Year

RHS x 

The most wonderful time of the year

Nigella's taking cocaine, Ryan Giggs has turned 40 (insert love or hatred for him here), Christmas trees are going up, lights are being turned on, Christmas songs are being played in stores, Movember is nearly, NEARLY over (cannot come quick enough!), my Christmas jumper has made its first appearance and yes, I have downloaded my Christmas album onto my iPod - however, I haven't yet listened to them (much). In my house the Christmas decorations go up around the 16th December, after my birthday, of course and we usually just have a modest tree and a nativity scene, however at Uni, as we are only here for two weeks of December, decorations have been up for nearly a week. Essays are due in, there are nights out to be had, naked calendar launches to be squinted at, birthdays to celebrate, secret Santa's, one too many glasses of mulled wine and an unhealthy amount of mince pies to be consumed. As well as about four traditional Christmas meals to be had before actual Christmas day. My mother rang me the other day to say she had ordered our turkey from a colleague who's husband owns a farm, she has called it Ethel and Ethel shall be £40. Forty pounds?! We'll have three... 

It is essentially time to start buying presents. I have already bought my flat mates' presents, they are hiding under my desk, away from prying eyes, awaiting to be wrapped. Talking of wrapping paper, B&M has the best deal: 12 metres for £1 - incredible, however, if you want a variety of wrapping paper, Card Factory are doing 3x3metre rolls for £1 - take your pick! B&M also do a box of four wrapping paper rolls with lots of bows and ribbons for £4.99 - I've done my research. I'm so sad. Its procrastination at its best. Boots also has Maximuscle Progain on offer HALF PRICE (£25) - so tempting. 

Two weeks now till it is the end of term (and my birthday woop) and although I went home last weekend there is always something nice about home (and the fresh air, free from ill Stockton-ers, someone in the shopping centre today just sneezed and didn't cover his mouth as I walked past. What is this country). There is always Ben and Jerry's in my favourite flavour - Blondie Brownie and food is on tap with a quick text to Dad asking him to pick up goats cheese, pâte and a small amount of caviar (only joking! we don't eat pâte that much). I have the house to myself in the day and it is so quiet. No one having far too much fun in the room above mine, no locals getting arrested outside, a clean kitchen and bathroom and not having to worry about how much electricity is being used. Bliss. 

I almost can't believe how fast this year has gone (yawnnn), yesterday I was at work for NYE, then I was in an exam hall, then I was in Marbella and now I am writing Christmas cards and finding the best wrapping paper deals - I'm actually an old lady, after all, my name is Ruth (expectation: Ruth sits quietly by the fire and knits, reality: Ruth sits by the fire (at home, obvs) and reads E.M.Forster... completely different people). 

The gym will also be packed after Christmas and the "post-Christmas lunch" workouts will go up with challenges including "run for four hours just to burn off one mince pie" - basically meaning I feel claustrophobic in the gym. Just don't eat too much! Last year was hilarious when I got a training schedule from Athletics for over the Christmas holidays which said "a steady 30 minute run on Christmas day is essential" - Sorry, what? Do we think Jesus would approve of missing his birthday for a training session, definitely not, I'll miss the jelly and ice cream. ha. 

I'm not saying M**** C********* before the 1st December, therefore, 

Much Love! 

RHS x 

Confessions of a Marriott Waitress

I've not had my letter inviting me to a tea party to celebrate my Marriott anniversary yet, its a new manager so I'll let her off, but its my third year working for Marriott. I'm incredible I know. 

It was only a month after my last GCSE and I became a waitress. I cried on my first shift. Haha, no really I did. I can't fully remember why but a chef probably shouted at me and I probably got an order wrong. I say probably because these things happen often "No Madame, you definitely ordered a medium steak, it says so on the cheque..."

So in three years I have witnessed the great to the down right crazy, oh and several restaurant managers. Each new one with bigger and bolder goals than the last, unfortunately most would find it difficult to organise a hug in a brothel. However, the current one seems to be doing the best out of the several hundred I have seen. 

So, the guests, wow we get some oddballs - I've been asked to make a red wine spritzer, thats red wine with lemonade, so basically high treason and accountable for death. I had to ask twice whether he wanted me to actually mix the two, he did... sacrilege. 

I've spilt red wine over a man's shirt - he refused to help me hand out the drinks to a large table, downright rude, so I had to offer him our free dry cleaning service, which he refused but throughout the night continued to say "careful, she's back!" every time I served the table.

I've served Swiss guests and told them extremely confidently that the Sea Bream is a river fish and they completely fell for it, so did I till I realised what I had said 3 hours later... Not my finest hour. 

The list is massive on all things I've witnessed, done wrong or assisted in doing wrong. I've ripped up a sign that said "Linconshire sausages", its "LincoLnshire sausages", I've now thrown away approximately five free lap dancing tickets that keep appearing in the bar (whoever keeps putting them there, stop, I had an angry mummy slam one on the bar after her three year old daughter asked why a naked lady was on the front of the ticket) - this really has confused me because the ticket says that last entries are at 3:30am, the bar closes at 4am and then the place closes at 5:30am... what happens in that hour and a half... or do I not want to know? I still have one in my bag for evidence, if anyone wants it... 

I've seen a string of associates (thats other waiters and waitresses in Marriott speak) enter and leave, some just moving departments for very unknown reasons, some for very known reasons.

Ofcourse, ever since I was 18 and started working behind the bar I have have some very interesting comments come my way from guests. Before I was 18 I wasn't allowed to serve large groups of male golfers on my own (no girl wanted to!), they're a rare breed aren't they. I've been asked several times what nationality I am; "British", I reply, "Don't lie", I've recieved back on two occasions - erm, rude, not lying. I've heard a fellow waitress of a similar skin colour be asked if her uncle is Robert Mugabe - to which she laughed, I'd have thrown a steak knife. Anyway, a few weeks ago it was a very quiet Monday evening to which I was informed I had to keep the bar open late because a few residents were returning and expected me to serve them. I knew who it was, I served them a month before and I didn't return home till 4:30am. This one male was very interested in the cellars of the place, so I said if they ordered champagne they can see them - I thought that was fair, so they ordered. Anyway, we returned from the cellar (a few others came) and a very seedy man said "was it through her back doors?" - doors, plural?!- ew. Then as I was innocently restocking the fridges I heard: "I bet you wouldn't mind waking up next to her" - to which I replied "last orders". 

I can definitely see there being a #2 to this story... 

Be good

RHS x

Wednesday 31st July: complete and nutter honesty

Its August tomorrow, 

my new, short hair, in Pizza Express

AUGUST. A month away from starting University, 2 months will Hallowe'en, 3 months till bonfire night and 4 months till my birthday, who cares about Christmas? 

Tonight, I did something crazy, 
I must have been having a young-life crisis (although those that know me know that I am far too organised to have a crisis!) because I (my hairdresser) cut about 4 inches off my long hair. 

Don't cry for me Argentina, 

Its ok, it needed it. But, nevertheless, its gone. 
I just got home and I look like Ollie Locke's twin. That wasn't something I'm allowing you to laugh at. 
But its that perfect length! 
Its ok though, the sun will make it grow, like a plant. 

To make the situation better I had my haircut paid for me, thanks mum. 
BUT then I took HER to Pizza Express (sacrilege!) 

Its gone up a league (Pizza Express), there's a new menu, loads more starters including a mushroom Bruschetta, but of course, to nurse my lul I had dough balls. 

We had a glass of wine each (I had a Merlot Rosé, of course, not cheap at £4.50 though!) 

Toffee Glory

I had an Four Seasons pizza - it had Anchovies on it. 
mm. Now if you haven't had them, you need to! they're smaller than sardines and are very salty but taste so good - they're not fishy at all. 

Then, 
I can barely say it, 
THEN we had a "Toffee Glory" 
It was huge. Like, massive - Ice cream (sorry - Gelato), toffee pieces, wafer, toffee sauce, ice cream, wafer, toffee pieces, toffee sauce, toffee sauce, ice cream, toffee sauce and then chocolate dusting. 
Its my 'bad' day.

Moving on... 

There was a couple in there that had me thinking. 

She was undoubtedly gorgeous, he was rough around the edges had a ridiculous amount of festival bands on his wrist - show off - she had salad. 

Salad - who has salad at Pizza Express?!

thats like going to a brothel for a hug - bless her, she clearly wanted to make a good impression, she definitely salivated when our dessert came. 

They were very cute though, they had to eat using only a fork because they were too busy holding each other's hands - and playing footsie (theres no table cloths silly!) 

I don't know if I could be affectionate in public - everyone looks and then try to show they weren't looking, just creeps me out. 

More madness

Theres this boy, I call him Panda (he'll kill me just for saying that), he's a very close friend of the family and he's on a date (gwarn son!), whist his sister sends me Snapchats of her and her mum sat at home. 

So I was thinking, I'm sure he's like 15?! No, he's 18 and has suddenly become a cross between a made in chelsea actor (looks wise) and a Jack Wills model and he used to be a chunky monkey. How they grow up.

Tomorrow is a new day 

Tomorrow, I'm planning a post on fitness, because I'm a fitness instructor and have concrete abs. (Ha, ahhh I'm hilarious) 

No but really, I have some great tips! 

I'm going to reduce my calorie intake, as today's food could have kept an African child going for a month. 

I'm going to practise my piano and somehow find a way to tell mum I've broken a string on my violin. 

Mozart, 

aka

RHS x