I sat there, going through photos that I’ve taken and I couldn’t choose just *one* photo I was proud of (and by proud I’ve taken the meaning to be something I take pleasure in, not necessarily satisfaction/pride).

So anyway, I picked three four. Because I’m greedy.

Picture number one: Diani beach. I took this on our last holiday down to the coast. I love the curve of the wall I’m standing on which leads your eye from the beach to the sea. Ok, who am I kidding? I didn’t think about the curve when I took this photo – I just thought about how lovely the beach looked with no one on it. Although it looks warm I seem to remember it wasn’t. It was the middle of June and therefore winter – prone to sudden thunderstorms and cold weather (and by cold I mean about 25 degrees, so no, not freezing). Despite this, June is a fantastic time to go down to the coast – there’s no one else there which means you get the run of the beach. It also means that there’s no one in the hotels which means the fisherman always called round at our house first.

Picture number two: Samburu elephants. Ok, I think I could have framed this a little better but, as it was, I was just pleased to capture it at the point I did. Baby drinking, chap in the middle looking a little pissed off, fellow on the left looking particularly disinterested. The conservation work they’ve done in Samburu is fantastic however sadly, two years after I took this photo, flash floods ripped through the park and devastated buildings, equipment and cameras. Thankfully, no one was killed. It has, of course, completely changed Samburu not only in the way in which is looks but the way in which the animals and people there live. Nature’s an amazing thing.

Picture number three: the old man. I love this photo of my father. It was taken at the Safari Sevens a number of years ago. It was stinking hot and he’s quite content watching the rugby, White Cap by his side. All around him it’s manic but for me this is a picture of calm. I think it’s the hat.

Picture number four: Samburu airport. We were in the middle of the bush waiting for our little plane to bounce its way down the runway and take us back to Nairobi. The ladies, the lucky things, had a concealed long drop. The “gent” had to go in the bushes.

This blog post was submitted for the weekly gallery over at Sticky Fingers. This week’s theme was “A photo I am proud of”.

FF and I have been friends since University. He was the man who taught me drinking games, tried to teach me the finer points of rugby (although he can talk lucidly about the game, I’m yet to see him use these skills on the pitch) and very nearly made me fail my degree. And yet, FF remains, one of my closest friends. I am not alone in this – he’s one of those guys that pretty much everyone who knows him (whether they “know” know him or think they do) counts as one of their closest friends. 

So when FF called me last night, despite the fact it sounded like he was a little tired and emotional at the time and that he’d just woken me up, I was pleased (in a half-asleep “I’m pleased but I bet you I’ll forget this conversation as soon as I put the phone down” kind of way). And, as the song nearly goes, he just called just to say he missed me and that I was being thought of. Warm fuzzies all round. 

The call reminded me that I haven’t updated you since…well, since my last post. Obviously. 

You will be pleased (I hope) to hear I am currently at point seven on my list of things to do in order to get a house in Switzerland. That’s right. I found, I looked, I loved, I applied, I was accepted, contracts being drawn up and all is good. 

"Don't sit on it, you'll get chilblains"

The flat itself is lovely. Just what I was looking for. A bigish 2 bedroomed flat with high ceilings, wooden floors and those great old school radiators (as in radiators you used to get at school, not old-skool radiators – what would they even look like?). 

The next big hassle is trying to find some furniture and organising the logistics of it all. 

Daddy & Mummy Cow have a house in the UK as well as living in Kenya. All their furniture is currently sitting in storage. “What’s the point in that?” M-Cow said. “Why don’t you have it in Switzerland?”. Great idea. 

But how the hell do we get it there? Several options mooted – everything from driving it over ourselves to finding an empty van already going to Switzerland to walking with it on our backs. Mummy Cow is having a holiday in the UK in May so within the next 2 months something (or nothing) will be sorted by then. Any ideas, sling ‘em my way. 

This weekend will be my first “proper” weekend here. Last weekend I was so knackered that I sat on the sofa and did nothing all weekend. Not this time. Tomorrow, I plan to explore. This is a beautiful town (especially with the dusting of snow that we got yesterday) and I plan to make it mine. 

PS. Another fun fact about FF. This is the man who tries to make me cry every time we see each other by crooning “Stars” at me. (He attempted it last night on the phone – goodness knows what the pub thought.) Most of the time it works. However, I cry in the knowledge that when we went to see Les Mis together, he had “something in his eye” throughout the whole show. 

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Suddenly I’m no longer at work.

I’m 8. Christmas is snowy. Presents are bountiful.  Nothing is bad or scary. I’m not worried about anything. The holidays last forever. School isn’t until next year.

A wry smile plays on my lips. It can’t have been that good. We used to wear DMs, listen to Bros and it was still about 5 years before I got a gameboy.

Are there any Christmas songs which take you back to childhood?

*EDIT* while going through this, I realise that actually, I don’t want that much this year. Hence, where it says 7 and I’ve only written 1, it’s because it’s true. I don’t want anything else.

7 things I must do before parents arrive – in my case, because I’m not seeing the parents over Christmas (N and I are having Christmas chez Cow Towers this year) it’s going to be 7 things I have to do before my pre-Christmas Christmas meal on Saturday:

1) decide what I’m going to make for pudding
2) pick up beef from butchers
3) get table and chairs from club
4) decide whether I’m going to do DIY crackers or crap bought ones
5) wrap presents
6) clean house
7) clean house

7 things I’ve been doing instead of preparing for Christmas.

1) working
2) working
3) working
4) working
5) working
6) working
7) working

7 things I can’t do this Christmas.

1) see my parents – both in Kenya
2)
3)
4)
5)
6)
7)

7 Christmas wishes

1) Financial security
2)
3)
4)
5)
6)
7)

7 things I say as Christmas approaches

1) “please… just be helpful”
2) “don’t you dare go poking around looking for your presents”
3) “oh bugger, should I have sent a Christmas card to X?”
4) “shall we put some carols on?”
5) “deck the boughs with halls of holly”
6) “I really must buy that little drummer boy song ”
7) “that bloody tree is dropping needles. So much for non-drop”

7 celebrities I’d invite for Christmas dinner

1) Stephen Fry - a staple in my house
2) Hugh Laurie - well, Stephen would be lost without him (probably)
3) James Martin - he’d be good at carving
4) Bradley James – horrible name, beautiful man
5) Dawn French
6) Zara Philips - I just think she’s cool
7) Kenneth Branagh - really into him at the moment

7 favourite festive foods.

1) Mince pies
2) Smoked salmon
3) Goose
4) Gravy on bread
5) Cold leftovers
6) Parsnips
7) Foie gras

What about you? What’s your festive seven (or one?)

In London alone, there are 169 different gangs, each with their own patch, their own rules and their own way of doing things.

I was once in a gang. In fact, I used to be a gang leader.

It was a family affair. It was started by my mother, I became leader and set about recruiting new members.

The tiny village I lived in had never seen anything like it before. Suddenly gang emblems were springing up all over the place. People wore their membership like a badge.

That’s right. They were members of the Happy Gang.

I was never entirely sure what my new gang did. We didn’t have a secret handshake. We didn’t have an initiation.

We did have badges though.

And headed paper.

four times as many people in this age-group [twenty and thirty-something] now choose to co-habit rather than get hitched, compared with ten years ago.

Nowadays, even the Queen approves.

I am one of those “twenty somethings”. N and I have been living together for three years. It’s never occured to me that we wouldn’t. We love each other. We have fun together. Why wouldn’t we want to spend our time together? (ok, maybe let’s not answer that question…!)

I see co-habiting (another evil word) as merely a precursor to getting married. A “try before you buy” scheme.

But what if living together was still taboo? Imagine the shock one would get in the first week of wedded bliss when you realised* that

• try as they might, men will never be able to understand the concept of loo seat up/loo seat down
• you will still be expected to do the washing and ironing, the cooking and general tidying no matter how busy you’ve been at work. Oh, and if the man in question has to put away a couple of plates, he’ll then complain that he does all the housework
• cutting toenails and leaving them in the bath is acceptable
• wearing the same pair of underwear for three days is hygenic. Honestly
• eau de sweaty man will become a permanent fixure in the house
• if you’re cooking, make sure it’s man size (ie more than it would take to feed a small developing country)
• the “floordrobe” is a perfectly viable place to keep your clothes

 
Of course, on the flip side (she says, stealing the odd phrase from her American chums) the men in ours lives would be equally distraught to find out that

• before (most) women look half decent in the morning it takes time. And skill. And hogging of the bathroom
• all of us (without exception) love some form of trashy tv that you will hate. And be forced to watch. And understand. And discuss
• we don’t really understand what it is you do. We nod and smile and hope you’ll stop talking
• sometimes we just can’t be arsed to have sex
• or cook
• or clean

 
What do you think? Better to have the surprise of living with someone for the first time in the knowledge that you’re going to have to put up with it for the rest of your life or would you rather know what you’re getting yourself into?

I think I’m the final leg of the NC’s-gone-to-Kenya guest blogging relay. So while she goes nuts in a 4×4 in a lake somewhere, or running away from a rampant giraffe or whatever it is one does in Kenya, I’m going to go nuts with some birds on a beach.

Closet birdwatcher? Wannabe wildlife presenter? Man who has stood directly over a barely hatched baby oystercatcher? I am all those things and more – watch the video here, in a 24-hour Moo reader exclusive.

The video is from the island of Mingulay, which is here, and there’s more where that came from. You’re all invited over chez moi in a couple of days’ time for the fascinating – no, really, genuinely fascinating – way in which a ringed plover tries to lure you away from its chicks. It does a Ronaldo. It feigns injury like the dirty, lying bird it is, in the hope you will go over and eat it, then forget about the offspring. The whole extravagant, extraordinary routine is on camera. You will want a pet ringed plover.

When Godzilla comes along, I expect all the parents in the audience to start hobbling in melodramatic fashion while we kids make a break for it. It’s your duty.

I think about the best things that could happen, I think about the worst things that could happen. I think about myself and about other people. I have scenarios planned out. I have dialogue. Am I going mad?!

What would happen if I got sacked?
Where would I live?
Would N stay with me?
What would I do if we broke up?
How would it feel if my parents died?
Would I know who to turn to?
Would they know what to do?
Am I doing the right thing with my life?
Should I jack it all in, move and do something else?
Do my friends really like me?
Am I good at my job or do I just think I am?
When I look at someone on the street and think to myself, oh my god, I’m glad I’m not as fat as her… am I actually as fat as her and I just don’t realise it?
How do other people see me?
Will I age gracefully?
Will I ever have the life I want?
What would my ideal house be like?
Can you imagine living with N for the rest of your life?
What would you do if you suddenly came into money?
What are you doing with your life?

I think I need to stop thinking and start doing!

• Santa likes his whisky with a little bit of water.
• Rudolph prefers chocolate to carrots.
• Tooth fairy rates do not increase with inflation.
• On Christmas Eve we will go down to the pub, get merrily drunk and stagger to Midnight Mass no matter what condition we were in.
• Christmas presents are not to be opened until about 3 in the afternoon (after late breakfast, a trip to the pub and before the meal in the evening).
• Easter is a day for chocolate and church. Your egg will be on the table with breakfast and you may eat it then and there as an accompaniment with full fry up breakfast. You will then go to church.
• At the end of the school year you will take a thank you present to your teacher.
• Bread and butter letters will be sent after staying with someone.
• Home made cards are best.
• No matter what the weather, you will go for a walk on a Sunday.
• Saturdays are for going into “nearest large town to the village”. We will meet at 11 o’clock at “random small coffee shop”.
• All pets will have random swahili names.

It makes me a little bit sad that N doesn’t seem to have had all these types of traditions. If we get married and have children it’ll be up to me to make sure that, 20 years on, they’re sitting remembering their childhood with fondness and having a little giggle.