Reader, my tummy hurts today (largely because yesterday all my day's worth of food in one very large, very delicious meal), it's blummin' freezing outside and I have a lot of wrapping to do. All of these seem to be very good reasons to stay in bed. Unfortunately I have work later, so I have a limited amount of time to be stubborn about it, but for now I've had my breakfast here, I've ordered pressies from here and if I can find the sellotape (which the parents have callously hidden), I'll do my wrapping here.
I had the office party on Saturday, which was great fun (although I wore a bit too much make up and am quite sure I looked a bit like a trannie). I got ready at my friend's house, where wonderful snackage was provided (pizza and prosecco, fabulous combo) while having a jolly good gossip and getting tarted up. Then it was off (through blisteringly cold streets) to a bar in Leicester Square, where we were given a Christmas bonus of £20 (I spent mine on shots) and there was some seriously crap music playing. Luckily, me and my Liverpudlian friend were there to save the day and we got a bit of Dolly Parton and some Arthea playing (which led to some seriously awful dancing on my part). The problem was, what with the combo of airless basement bar, lots of people, booze and some hardcore dancing, I looked a MESS (I didn't actually realise how much till I was on the train home and checked my eye make-up in my compact, needless to say, there are crack addicts that look better to me.) At one point I had seen one of my colleagues come to chat to me, look horrified then do a swift 180 and talk to someone else. I hadn't realised it was because they were afraid of my face, but given how much like Pete Doherty in a dress I looked, I'm hardly surprised.
What was nice though, was that it was the first time in ages that I let go on a dancefloor without caring how I looked. Mainly because I was having FAR too much fun looking like a complete and utter knob. Hopefully there'll be another excuse to dance like a crazy again soon!
In other news, we put up our Christmas trees this weekend, which involved lots of arguing between Dad and I (he's an architect and loves the minimal look, whereas if I don't get a full on Dickensian Christmas, I am likely to sulk), more of my home made mince pies, Dad almost falling off a ladder trying to wind fairy lights round the foliage in our garden, Santa hats, Christmas music blaring out louder than a rave, Mum getting grumpy because Dad hadn't organised the cards properly and The Lad hiding under a slanket trying not to get roped into doing any work. Now the house looks utterly gorgeous, the perfect environment for me to learn lines in! Am getting very excited about the tour, but also pretty nervous. After all, it will be the longest I'll ever have done a show for, and the first time I'll have done theatre for about two years (eep!). I'm sure it'll be grand though, I'm so delighted that I'm finally going to be in a show my grandparents can come see (no nudity or violence? Perfect!) and I'll get to stay with one of my oldest friends for the entire rehearsal process! Which will mean vast amounts of trash tv and cheese. Perfect.
Right, I might attempt to leave the bed, I have one room left in the house which hasn't been fully Crimble-fied and this must be addressed!
Happy 12th day till Christmas!