Monday, December 05, 2005

I have a hole in my tights. That is not related to this post in any way.

Oh, yes, did I not tell you that I was a dinner lady for a bit? I was. At the end of the summer before I went to university, just after I got back from travelling. It was mighty fun. I got to wear a smock and serve baked beans to deranged adolescents. My fave bit was picking up squashed chips from the floor whilst overhearing spotty youths trying to guess my bra size. They were way off, I seem to recall. No one ever gets it.

Last week, in unrelated-to-being-a-dinner-lady news, my Dad got his CBE. From the Queen at the Palace. I was thinking, wouldn't it have been strange if, instead of it being the Queen, it was actually Queen giving out the honours. Like, you'd be looking around for a small old lady with a crown and instead Brian May would be standing there, looking coy and clutching a medal.


It was the actual Queen, as it turned out. I wasn't there, as my Dad got to take three people to the ceremony and he chose my Mum, my Grandma and then constructed an elaborate lottery-based system to allocated the other invitation. For a while he was going to cleverly hide a golden invitation in thousands of chocolate bars, sell them around the house to me, Alex and Sophie and see who was the little girl lucky enough to happen upon it one cold morning outside the plentiful sweetshop, but then he changed his mind. Or... um.. something.
Sophie went, anyway. She can tell you about that, maybe.
Afterwards, though, we had a room booked out at this private members' club in Belgravia (which is London-speak for Much Too Posh For The Likes Of You). There were thirteen of us, and Alex, Sophie and I had been given £150 each to get a new outfit and our hair done.
(I am electing not to tell you the story about the night before in Topshop spent trying to find an outfit for Sophie because she hadn't done it before and I was supposed to be going for dinner with Dan and he had to sit on the seats outside the changing rooms for THREE HOURS while I got crosser and crosser and Impish Sophie and I raced around THREE FLOORS OF TOPSHOP HELL trying to find something that wasn't too Bohemian or Racy or Spangly for Brian May, I mean the Queen, and I tell you, heads nearly rolled. Dan was patient and nice about it, me, not so much because I am a bitch who gets CROSS. And, in case you're wondering, no, we didn't find anything by 9 pm when the shop closed. And no, I did not kill my little sister, but only because she is Impish and can run faster.)
It was a lovely day, for there was Champagne and lo! That is good. Lovely food, as well. And my aunt made a very funny speech, and we took turns wearing the medal and Alex was silly with it for a bit and everyone thought she was maybe drunk but she wasn't, she's just funny. We had our own private room. It was very fancy indeed, the place, and the whole day was really very special, and we toasted my Dad (um.. by which I mean we raised our glasses to him, not held him over an open flame until he was brown and crispy, it really wasn't that sort of a day) and it was jolly. The only thing that confused me a little was the fact that the Ladies' toilet was called the Boudoir, which I have always taken to mean the bedroom. Which could lead to some embarrassing mistakes, I reckon.

So now I am officially the Commander's Daughter (CBE = Commander of the British Empire) and can get married in St. Paul's Cathedral. I haven't had any offers yet, but I'm sure that once word gets out the offers will come flooding in, like a flood.

I am moving into a flat with Bec and David on Saturday, in Oval. We haven't talked about the flat-warming party yet, but I really am in favour of one. You are all invited. Unless I don't like you, in which case I will still let you come but I will tell you it's a fancy dress party when it isn't really and you will look REALLY STUPID and I will LAUGH like this HA HA HA.

I have to go and sort out references and things. Um... you could be my referee if you like? Unless you don't like me (don't gasp like that, it has been known to happen) in which case you would probably write a reference that seems like it's nice but if you take the first letter of every line it spells out SHE'S HORRIBLE DON'T TRUST HER and then I'd be screwed.

I wrote a song this weekend, and I also went out and had fun in Soho.

Also I wanted to mention that the other day I spent quite a long time thinking up shop names you could make out of Nirvana songs. So far I've got the following:

In Bloom: Florist
Lithium: Chemist
Smells Like Teen Spirit: Parfumerie
Nevermind: Funeral Parlour

That's all so far, but I'm sure there are more. Can you think of any, kids?


Anonymous Paul said...

Heart-shaped Box - Jewellers

My Girl, My Girl - Sex toy shop, or if the title is actually

My Girl, Don't Lie to Me - Private investigators.

Too much time on my hands. Hmmm.

11:44 am

Blogger Dancinfairy said...

The idea of you being a dinner lady just makes me laugh - all the dinner ladies I remember had blue rinses - oh you didn't did you?

That sounds like an amazing time - all posh and fancy. I am very jealous that you can get married in St Pauls. This will never happen to me as I don't think they give out CBE's to car mechanics from Cornwall.

12:17 pm

Anonymous Paul said...

Oh, and Lake Of Fire - Extreme Fishing Tackle.

12:44 pm

Blogger male73 said...

Polly - Pet Shop
Come as You Are - Tailor Shop
I'm So Happy - Funeral Parlor
Come on Death - Life Insurance Office

I know, I suck at this. You should see the name of my blog.

1:47 pm

Anonymous Paul said...

Ooh, alternative Heart-Shaped Box - Speciality Undertakers.

Shut up Paul.

2:00 pm

Anonymous Anonymous said...

oh ok then, go on, ill marry you.

what if it was a queen, instead of queen, or indeed the actual queen?

3:30 pm

Blogger Dancinfairy said...

Man Who Sold The World - Estate Agents?

I'll get me coat, I'm rubbish at this!

3:51 pm

Blogger Doug said...

So Paris Hilton hasn't taken you up on your offer of marriage?

4:13 pm

Blogger Adz said...

If only it was Queen giving out the CBE, a hologram of Freddie Mercury and then breaking out into a rendition of "We are the Champions"

Get married in St. Pauls? Very nice and very pricey I guess....but maybe go up to the Wispering Gallery one weekend, and see if anyone responds to marriage requests?

6:17 pm

Anonymous Angela said...

I'm still in the beginning stages of learning the English language as my native language is a horrifying Southern American. I'm guessing that "dinner lady" is what we would call cafeteria ladies, which is, in a word, quite funny!

And, God, I'd marry you if it meant I could get married in St. Paul's--that's incredible!

6:29 pm

Anonymous Jenny said...

I vote yes on the flat-warming party. I only wish I could come. I would bring a flat-warming present to make up for any foot in mouth incidents or to cover the awkwardness of having a stranger at your party....

8:31 pm

Blogger Adrian said...

House warming parties are top. Would love to come if it's really an open invite. Although would feel wierd not knowing anyone.

9:50 pm

Anonymous Anonymous said...

It's sick, but maybe Top Shop could be renamed "Rape Me". An ironically titled Fopp-esque record shop for hipsters could be "Radio Friendly Unit Shifter".

10:15 pm

Blogger Dancinfairy said...

This bit of the comment has no relation to the post what so ever:

Lord Asriel had a Snow Leopard. The guards that were guarding (no way!) Bovangar (?Spelling) where they were doing the horrible things to the kids. Not that it makes you horrible just ferocious and brave. I think.

Thanks for your advice on the getting through today. I like the pretending I am someone else thing!

This bit of the comment does:

House warming parties are fun but I get scared that the house will get trashed before you get to enjoy living there. Then I have some beer and everything is happy and good and shiny.

8:04 pm

Blogger lady miss marquise said...

Hairspray Queen or Bleach (is that a song or just the title of the album) could always be hairdressers? Okay, rubbish. Yes. I know.
Paper cuts... a stationery store.

Okay. I'll stop now...

11:13 am

Anonymous marshmlo10 said...

I don't have much to say, but I just wanted to leave you a note to let you know that I really enjoy reading your posts! Your life sounds so interesting!! It's so weird that we're about the same age, but living totally different lives...I like yours better :) If you ever want to trade with a tax accounting girl in Indiana, let me know.

4:18 am

Blogger Dancinfairy said...

Another unrelated comment - if you want to email me I think you can just reply to this comment. Or there is an email me button on my blogger profile.

2:19 pm

Blogger Cecilia said...

Congrats to your dad! I've forgotten, why did your dad get to become a CBE? I think you should definately get married in St Pauls because it's big enough to fit in all us random people who read your blog! Although I'm not sure that I'd like to get married in a place that has dead people under my feet . . .

2:43 am

Anonymous Dan said...

Floyd the Barber - barber
Mr Moustache - a specialist barber
Paper Cuts - stationer
Big Cheese - they would sell cheese
Come As You Are - a church
Breed - fertility clinic
Territorial Pissings - cat shop
Something in the Way - traffic cone specialists

Shit news about the flat - not tempted by one in Battersea? I hear it's nice, if slightly difficult to reach.

12:26 pm

Blogger Miss Devylish said...

I'm with angela that being American I'm not sure what a 'dinner lady' is.. but guessing you served food in some way.. I did that in high school when I went to Norway for foreign exchange - except we were voted in, my host-sister and her friends, like it was a really cool thing to do. Let me just say, besides trusting us w/ LOADS OF CASH in an OPEN safe we could ACCESS.. (and I never stole, honest!) it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.. tho I did get better at Norwegian.

Anyway, I digress.. living in Seattle, I take special pride in your Nirvana mention, even if I don't love them to pieces - except for my love of Dave Grohl, LOVE him. However, the ideas I have - Smells Like Teen Spirit - sports store specializing in medals and trophies, Bleach - laundromat, Rape Me - Used car lot, Milk It - specialty baby store, White Lace and Strange - fantasy clothing and sex shop.

Ok, time to stop rambling.

5:12 pm


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