Crumptales: Seeing your names in lights, OK, raspberries...

It’s my birthday today. I have had two consecutive weekends of birthday fun. So today, the day that 36 years ago I arrived in the world, I am having a fun night in with Chad. We have had a ‘Chad Special’ meal (yummy chicken with gorgonzola and Parma ham) and we are watching Desperate Housewives as I type. Heaven.

Yesterday we had gang fun at Charlotte and Brendon’s. I got to feed my godson, who is having solid food shovelled into his mouth for two weeks now. It was brilliant fun. He was spitting out the veg (carrot and broccoli) but has miraculously learnt how to swallow the sweet apple and pear option – sweet tooth (well gums) – good boy. Anyway the little angel was put to bed and the grown-ups drank bear / wine and had a lovely Thai take-out. Fun, fun, fun.

The highlight of the evening was (apart from hanging out with my best friends) my birthday cake. Charlotte made it, it was delicious, and most importantly it had my name spelt out in raspberries – how fabulous. Thanks Charlotte.

The cake itself nearly included essence of lottiedigits. Not heard of it? Well let me explain. The Lotts was making the cake and was using a tea towel over the bowl to prevent the cake mix being splashed out by the electric whisk. The towel then got caught in the whisk and pulled it into the metal blades followed by the Lott’s hand which ended up mangled in with the whisk. After a bit of screaming good old Bren ran in the kitchen and hit the eject button to release the whiskie bits, towel and fingers.

Thank goodness that the cake mix was fine – otherwise Lotts would have been most annoyed.

Tripping the light, not so, fantastic

Last Easter weekend I reported the glue incident in relation to my DIYing. There was a further incident that weekend that involved me nearly electrocuting myself!

I have one of those handy gadgets to detect if there in any electrical wires behind a wall. I spent six hours last Saturday putting up this nifty metal sheeting on the kitchen wall. It was a real fiddle but I managed it (although during the last half an hour the fiddle factor went through the roof – as did my blood pressure). Before commencing this I ran this gadget (not sure what the proper name for it is) over the wall where I was working to check for metal and wires. There was a wire so I avoided drilling there. Simple hey!

Anyway I was packing up my tool boxes feeling very pleased with myself and then we decided to put up this magnetic knife strip on the wall. I totally forgot to do the gadget check. Chad was holding the hoover as I drilled through the tiles. Hole one no issue, hole two was a whole other story. As the drill went in there was a MASSIVE flash of light from the hole and all the lights at the back of the house went out. Chad and I just stared at each other for a few seconds in total shock. I had drilled straight through a wire. I was SO depressed for hours after this incident – I hate it when I am a muppet.

Anyway we spent most of this week walking around in the dark, but our electrician, Nico, came yesterday and fixed it all. He told us that the new consumer electrical unit that we had put in a month or so ago (as part of doing up the bathroom and kitchen) had saved my life!!! The old 1960’s one that we had in before wouldn’t have tripped so quickly and your truly might have been a gonna. How scary is that.

I live to tell the tale – result. Anyone need some DIY doing!!!

Grumped: You can glue it if you B&Q it

Ok, ok, I know it is my own fault for not going to Homebase for my Easter weekend DIY needs...

Chad and I stupidly went to B&Q (groan) so it's my own fault for getting myself covered head to toes in contact adhesive.

It is especially my own fault because it was B&Q branded adhesive (ok it was 'IT' branded which is their rubbish kitchen range but you have to give me some dramatic license here), I mean it actually had a B&Q logo on it - so I was simply asking for trouble...

I pick up a tube of glue today in the 'Orange Hell' and the tube (and it turns out every other tube of glue in that box) had a split in the top of them. I walked down the aisle and with the tube in my hand, hear a weird squirting sound, and next thing I know I look down and the tube has covered me (jacket, cardigan, jeans, shoes and bag) in fringin' glue. I was so angry that I nearly took off through the leaking prefabricated roof. Poor Chad didn't know what to do (other than look a bit scared and suggest that we get another tube!!!). Thankfully he didn't laugh as I might have started crying as there was a major excess of adrenaline in my veins at that exact point.

Anyway I get dumped at the paint counter by an assistant with some wet wipes to try and get the glue off me - which I proceed to smear deep into the fibres of my clothes. After asking TWICE I was taken off to see the manager. He was actually very nice and wrote me a letter of apology on the spot (with instructions on the dry cleaning policy followed by the clothes replacement policy).

I am gutted that I have glue on my beloved and favourite Armani jacket. I hope that it can be saved in Paradise* or otherwise B&Q face a £600 replacement bill.

Anyway I HAVE to learn from this. Stop going to The Dump and go and see the lovely people at Homebase when I have DIY needs. They may be an extra five minutes drive away but I won't end up wanting to tie bricks to my feet and jump in a reservoir after I leave.

* The lovely dry cleaners on Parkway in Camden.

Just one Venice, give it to me...

Last weekend I had the absolute pleasure of visiting Venice, it is one of the most wow factor places I have ever been to - I loved it. The place is totally chaotic, falling down and just so desperately beautiful and romantic. It seems to cast its spell on everyone - everywhere you look are couples holding hands and having a damn good snog. Young or old this place makes you feel amazing.

I have been to quite a few cities in Italy, Verona, Florence, Siena, and Rome (which rocks), but Venice totally wins for me. The city is so familiar to the new visitor as it has been used as the set for lots of movies and adverts.

As a child the advert for Walls Cornetto had a massive impact on me. When you are ten years old you LOVE ice cream (I still do) and this particular brand represented the height of totally sophistication for me. On family outings (mainly to stately homes or castles - of which we visited hundreds) my sister and I, as the offer of an ice cream presented itself, used to beg for a Cornetto*. I cannot remember the exact price but they were always the most expensive option from the ice cream van or the sliding glass topped deep freeze at the gift shop. I would estimate that sis and I had a success rate of only ten per cent on scoring the Cornetto. Poor dad would plead poverty and so 'no, no they are too expensive'. But if he was feeling flush we used to get a Cornetto. I can actually recall a memory from more than 30 years ago of one such occasion when we 'won'. I can remember how happy that mint Cornetto made me as I sat on the steps of a castle, wearing my Popeye the Sailor Man t-shirt and favourite grey Hi-Tec trainers in the baking sun. Bliss.

So with this deeply rooted association between ice cream / happy family holidays and Venice it is not really surprising that I got a lump in my throat as we got onto the beautiful wood clad water taxi to speed us to the airport. Venice is an amazing place that is at the top of my list of places to go back to.

The Crumpometer is in the Green - with pink tinges, cooing doves, violin stings and the lapping of the gondolier's paddle in slightly sulphur smelling canal water.

*Baby brother Ian prefered a Mr Whippy which he used to smear over his angelic face

Brussels: good, but mainly bad and ugly

I write this post as I hurtle along on the Eurostar back to London having spent a full week with a client at a congress in the capital of Europe (and Belgium): Brussels. This is probably at least my thirtieth trip and time and time again it’s just amazing how this city continually fails to impress.

A trip to Brussels is more about the highlights: suddenly finding great stuff, little sparkles of joy, amongst the mire of total and utter crude. The whole city is full of truly grumpy people, far too many very scary and aggressive homeless people (I’d be hostile if I was homeless as well by the way), and generally a feeling that everyone, given the chance, would jump on the Eurostar, and like me experience the palpable sense of pleasure that grows proportionally in relation to the distance that you are sped away.

Now first of all, I must say that I feel quiet lucky this trip – I wasn’t robbed. A trip a few years back saw my laptop being nicked while waiting in a taxi queue. Not so for a colleague on this visit, who was accosted by some ‘drunks’ on his way back from a restaurant, only to find that they were in fact pickpockets who relieved him of his wallet. Poor Stuart.

On this trip there were some good bits; meeting up with two old work colleagues and going for a great dinner, as well as eating in two other fantastic restaurants with my super clients. One of these restaurants had a crazy menu of weird food combinations that were ace – amongst the choices were combinations of starter and main course that were billed to be ‘rejuvenating’, ‘detoxifying’ and ‘energising’. There was also a ‘pregnancy’ menu which I avoided.

But this is the thing about Brussels – the food is really good, excellent and I always enjoy it (and I am not a foodie), but pretty much everything else is well, rubbish, disappointing, irritating, or downright anger-inducing.

Other than being robbed which is never a good experience, elements that drove the Crumpometer into the red this trip were

• A range of smelly taxi drivers: you name the exudates and I seemed to get into a taxi honking of it – totally disgusting
• A range of taxi drivers who needed anger management therapy. I even had to shout at one to inform him of my displeasure as he steered me through a number of near death experiences
• The RUDEST and LAVIEST congress centre-employed staff EVER...

...They just did not want to be there. A piece of chewing gum on the sole of their shoes would have been more welcome in their lives. The exception was a lovely lady called Alyson who worked with my team on site who was ace but we hired here from a separate agency. An example of the staffing drudge happened for about the 50th time this week as I approached an information desk this morning. Lumpylo (I think that is what her name badge said) behind the desk had her back to me as I approached to ask her for some ‘information’. She was woofing her way through a croissant (or three), turned her head towards me (I still had the full view of her gargantuan butt) and talked to me firing crumbs out of her mouth while still skilfully maintaining a sneer from the corner of her mouth. She was totally unhelpful, did that shrug of the shoulders that so perfectly communicates: ‘I don’t give a bugger about you and I would in fact be delighted if you would move out of my sight, die and never darken my door ever again’. Aaarrrggghhhhhh

Another annoying, yet amusing, congress employed staff moment was with the audiovisual technician who fell asleep in full view of the audience of the meeting I was helping organise (he was literally slumped over the av equipment). Initially I panicked as I though he was dead but a sharp prod to the ribcage seemed to revive him!!!

Anyway must stop the grumbling now, Brussels was good in many ways. the congress was fun, clients were super, activities all went well, plus I am now back in Blighty having emerged from the Channel Tunnel and am on my way home to decorate the kitchen – oh bugger, maybe Brussels isn’t that bad and ugly after all…