This is 2015

My first blog of the year. In February. Clearly one of my Resolutions was not "Write blog better and more frequently."
In fact they are only two:

1. Pass driving test. As an update I tried again and failed again. This time I was robbed. If only that examiner had held his nerve for a millisecond I'd be able to check this one off by now. As it is...third time lucky?
2. Tell people how I feel. Good/bad/whatever. Avoid being "fine." Say no when I don't want to do something. Share. In real life, not just via blog. 

Yes only two, but two difficult ones. I have been attempting the second my entire life. Of course, when I say 'attempting' what I really mean is saying I intend to be like that and remaining a wuss. Is that how you spell wuss? Looks weird.

But 2015 is cracking so far. I actually got an email on New Years Day saying I'd won the lottery. £25. Winning! 

But it's not all about winning the lottery (although fingers crossed- I got driving lessons to pay for). In fact it pales into insignificance besides the other stuff that's coming. Here's a five best of for the year (in no particular order). I was going to do 10 but I don't want to make you jealous or nuffink:

1. A month in USA- New York, San Francisco, Vegas (Baby!) and a three week trek though bear infested mountains, carrying the weight in food and gear of a 10 year old child on my back. Outdoor sleeping, cold lake swimming, space and trail dancing.
2. Wilbur. You know who you are kid!
3. Bridesmaid duty for a beautiful and beautifully silly couple.
4. More time for things I like. Choosing when to work and when to play, and when work can feel like play.
5. Being able to drive. Because, damn it, it's going to happen next time. 

This seems to be a blog of short lists. What other list should I write? Things I learnt last year. GO!

1. Always chain the wheels of Isadora to the frame when I leave her.
2. Don't leave Willie Nelson alone with either socks, toilet paper or important documents.
3. Drink Barocca.
4. Have a fully stocked biscuit tin.
5. I don't like strangers. I especially don't like dating strangers. Strange strange strange.
6. Don't turn left at a roundabout if you aren't in the left lane. People don't like it.
7. If in doubt, quote The Jabberwocky at people, it confuses them.

OK, I made up number 7. I wanted seven things because it's my favourite number. But, I mean, try it anyway. I bet it's good advice.

Learning to live with Willie Nelson

This, reader, is Willie Nelson, the newest addition to our household. 

Just as I began to write this blog he sneaked upstairs and did a wee on the rug. I even told him I was writing this so he can't complain that I'm embarrassing him. He certainly had this naming-and-shaming coming.
On the bright side, now that he has relieved himself (in entirely the wrong place as usual) I don't have the fear that I need to keep a beady eye on him wherever he goes for a little while.
I'm on puppy duty today. It's a shame to miss the sunshine but we've opened all the windows, played ball games, tug-of-war games, had a small photoshoot, and even tested out his lead so we could at least pretend we could go for walkies. Unfortunately he doesn't like his lead so that game didn't last long. Not sure what will happen when he's allowed outside (1 week!!), but actually I expect him to be a bit afraid of it. He shook the first time he went into the kitchen, he'll probably have a small panic attack on venturing into far bigger, scarier territory.
I suppose it's fine though. I'm a bit ill still so this forced indoors/tea time is not bad thing.
Small break in writing here when I realise WN has disappeared and I search the house for him, finally finding him napping on my flatmate's jeans.
He shouldn't be napping. He kept everyone awake last night, crying in the kitchen. Remind me to apologise to the neighbours when I see them. So, except for a couple of hours when I wanted him to stop bothering me so I could read the paper, I've been trying to keep him awake. Well, serves him right doesn't it! Also, and more importantly, I'd like him to be tired tonight. So tired he doesn't need someone sat by his bed all night. So tired he doesn't bark. He's a Yorkshire Terrier: a breed not known for soothing vocal qualities.
Despite the weeing and barking, he's alright, is Willie. We're pals. Especially when he does exciting things like sit on command and master the stairs; or sweet things like lick your face if you whine like you are sad.
However, his arrival did signal a sort of life crisis for me. One that was probably not helped by a cough that has stopped me sleeping for any more than a couple of hours since Monday. There's nothing like exhaustion to blow everything out of proportion.
Let me explain puppies to you. PUPPIES ARE BABIES. Babies which are highly mobile, think biting is affectionate, can't wear nappies, and will never grow up. I'm still not entirely convinced I'm ready, even with two responsibility sharing flatmates, to be a parent.
The main reason for this is my life (hence my small personal crisis). It's not enviable. I get by. I don't love my job. I don't travel enough, dance enough, read enough, write enough, see my friends enough. The best thing about it was the fact I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, within reason. I had no ties.
Now I do, and his name is Willie Nelson. He makes me spend my evenings off in the house cleaning the carpet so I don't lose my deposit.
This, I'm sure will get better when he can leave the house and come out with me. Also, when the three of us organise our timetables better. We had to get 4 puppy-sitters this week. This will cost us a fortune in lasagne and pasta bake.
But Willie has also taught me something else: talking about your problems does not fix them. Controversial, I know. People are always telling me to discuss my feeling; tell people when they are being thoughtless or making me angry; be a grown up.
My evidence is this. Before getting Willie Nelson I twice told my flatmates I didn't think I wanted a dog and didn't think it was a good idea. That he was adorable and I already loved him, having seen him just once but I had the fear.
And the result: we got a dog and I have to accept him and learn to be fine with everything, just the same as if I had bottled up my feelings as usual.
Now, I don't want you all to go thinking I'm suffering terribly. It was my fault in the first place for thinking of these problems when we were basically already committed to getting a dog. We'd visited WN and family already. Flatmates just tried to calm me and assure me this was not the end of the world I feared.
And it's quite satisfying that I was right all along about the uselessness of discussion. I take back my Lent resolution to talk about my feelings. What a waste of time.
And to be fair the fact that I have a puppy, is softened by the fact I have a puppy to comfort me. So that's nice. He's trying to read now what I've said about him. We're bonding. He says he likes me best and he can't wait until we can go to the pub together.
Neither can I Willie Nelson, neither can I. Now I'm stuck with you, it's a good job I love you.

And that is what's called: making the best of it.

Royal Baby

Kate's having a baby (hurrah!) and I, and almost everybody else, are very excited in an almost medieval kind of way. The security of our nation is at stake people!
...Wait...that's The White Queen. 
But is it a boy or a girl? And contrary to previous desperation for the boy and heir, this time either will definitely be King or Queen one day, so I really want it to be a girl.
In fact if it's a boy I will have a similar face as Edward IV (of previously mentioned drama) when he was introduced to his new born daughter. Disappointed.
One news reporter speaking this morning went so far as to place an 80 to 1 bet on it being a girl named Matilda. Properly medieval. Now that that thought is in my head I'll be disappointed with any other name too.
But it's bizarre isn't it? How much everyone is looking forward to this new baby, like it belongs to us all. I suppose it does really...we're paying for it I guess. And we've seen Kate and William grow up, get married; we paid for their house: we got a stake in this.
So basically I'm looking forward to that easel being put up in front of the palace that announces the new arrival.
I like that too. They got it right, these royals. It's refreshing that it's not going up on Twitter straight away. If I ever have kids, that's how I'm announcing it to the world: write it on a blackboard in front of my house, then pose on the steps outside the hospital to give the waiting press a first glimpse of the little squirt, as well as how glowing I look post-labour.
Beyonce had a hairdresser, manicure, facial etc..in the hospital with her. Do you think Kate does too? I feel sorry for her actually. She's suffering (I've seen One Born Every Minute) and there are a bunch of middle aged men telling the rest of us that all is progressing normally. Ergh. There's something wrong with that.
What a weird day. And what a weird life these people have. And yet, actually, right now they are just the same as the rest of us. It's good to know.
Anyway...good luck Kate. Name it Matilda. Or Jessica (excellent name).