Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of cheer!

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

With the hearts that are glowing

And the happy Ho-Ho-ing

And mulled wine and cheer!

It'[s the most wonderful time of the year!

 

Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year for me. It’s so magical and wonderful watching the lights on the tree, eating all the mince pies in the world, wrapping gifts all nice and happy. I love nativity plays and carol services. Once at school I got to play the part of Baboushka in the Christmas nativity play. She isn’t mentioned in the Bible and is often forgotten but I think she probably was real and important. I had to sing a song about being Baboushka and sweep the stage with a witch’s broom.

Advent was also a very exciting time for me. My mum made us an advent calendar with little pockets for chocolates to go in. It’s the only time of the year you’re allowed to eat chocolate in the morning you know. One year we had an advent candle. Turned out to be a bit of a nuisance actually. We had to keep lighting it and waiting for it to burn the last 4 days away from when we’d forgotten. Our impatience took the advent magic away a bit.

On Christmas Eve, when I was a small Hannan, me and my sister would watch The Snowman (remember that documentary I wrote about last time, about the snowman that abducts that boy? Click here to read about snowtimes…) and then maybe the Crystal Maze or Gladiators and then it would be time for bed. We would be too excited to sleep, obviously, so me ol’ Mum would drip lavender oil onto the pillow to make us all sleepy-tired and we’d drift off to dream land. I got a tiny bit freaked out when I thought properly about what Christmas Eve entailed. I knew in my mind that Father Christmas couldn’t get down our chimney (it’s a gas fire) and the idea of him creeping up the stairs and into my room really unnerved me but no-one else seemed concerned so I just pushed my fears down into the part of my brain no-one knows about and tried to sleep. That’s the healthy response to fear I think.

Oh but it was so exciting to peep our eyes open in the morning and see our stockings full of presents! We’d run into our parent’s room screaming “HE’S BEEN! HE’S BEEN!” and open our gifts with glee. As we grew older, the gifts became more practical until 2 years ago I basically received sensible underwear and stationary. Didn’t have go to Paperchase for 4 months, it was great!

I love giving presents. A couple of years ago, I bought my sister the best present; a book called Awkward Family photos. I knew she would love it because we are that family, awkward in photos, with a hundred cringey stories of our history. Anyway, she handed me my present and I opened it. It was exactly the same book… Inside I was laughing my face away but on the exterior acted all cool as a Christmas Tree and accepted it with surprise and joy. “Ohhh! I haven’t seen this before. Ever! Oh HOW funny! I cannot WAIT to read it!” *Pretend to read the blurb and flick through while casually handing her my present…* Best reaction ever.

Growing up, Christmas day would always involve having someone over for the day as an act of goodwill and love. Sometimes my Mum would invite random students home from church, or a local couple with no family, or a random man from the bus, or whatever. Our house was so warm and open and welcoming. So welcoming in fact that one year a long-lost cousin from New Zealand rocked up without warning and spent the day with us!

I remember the first Christmas it was just me, Mum, Dad and Jess. It felt weird. Like Sunday lunch but a bit fancy. It was like getting into a party frock and then going to Asda. Not that Christmas wasn’t glam that year, it’s always super special. It just felt weird not having strangers sharing it with us!

Last year was the first year I spent Christmas day with The Boy and it was mega special. I screamed “HE’S BEEN!” in his ear’ole and made him take it in turns to open presents from our stockings! I sewed the stockings myself like an old fashioned house wife and they are well good. When we were having Christmas dinner at my parent’s house in Preston it was The Boy’s job to open the champagne. He popped the cork and suddenly noticed that the fizz was rising up. He tried to stop the fizz coming out by putting the cork on top of the bottle but this made it all worse and he sprayed the whole room with a disc of bubbly, like when you put your thumb over the end of the hose and the water goes crazy all over the place. It went all on his face and our faces and into the apple sauce and on the Christmas tree…

This year my Dad is in charge of opening bottles…

Have a Merry Christmas and remember Baby Jesus while you sit in front of your Christmas Tree, singing Cliff Richard and smiling with love. He’s the reason for the season! (Baby Jesus, not Cliff Richard…)

Love Hannan xoxo

Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow... please?

I was peeping at the Guildford sky today and noticed it was looking paler than usual. Maybe it had just put talcum powder on after a lovely shower, or maybe it was feeling a bit poorly. Or maybe...just maybe... it's hiding a winter full of snow behind its back. Maybe its waiting for us to close our eyes at sleeping time and then SZHUZH! Down it will fall, flakey floaty onto our land, covering everything and making Surrey clean and beautiful! I hope so.

This hopeful wondering got me thinking about all my adventures in the snow and I thought I would share them with you.

I love the snow. I actually try to embrace all seasons and weathers or else you end up all fed up when it rains and moany when it snows and that's never fun. So I always look on the bright side of bad weather. When I was little and it snowed it was the best day ever. Rules went out the window. Forget school! Or if we HAD to go it was all "Let's all go out and build snowmen and have a great old time!" It was all fun and games until someone got a snowball in the gob though. There are no words to describe that feeling. Like a freezing jelly that sticks onto your eyelashes and in your nostrils. It's also a mega hazard for contact lens wearers like me. It can freeze them solid, or slide them out! Nightymare.

I always have a little go building a snowman. The trouble with building snowmen however, is this. It's never like in that documentary "The Snowman", you know, the one where the little boy's snowman takes him flying around? The snowman always ends up grey at best, if not brown from scooping up mud and grass when rolling it together. And when you stick their twiggy arms into their body it splits them in half and they fall to pieces! Tricky tricky.

I always overestimate how much I love snow. I allow myself a good 2-3 hours of snow time and go bounding out, rolling around on the floor, making snow angels, all sorts. After about 15 minutes though, my fingers are numb, my toes are numb, my face is numb and I just fancy watching Made in Chelsea with a brew in my jim-jams. I forget every year how quickly the novelty wears off!

This year if the snow visits I am determined to try a bit of sledging. The idea terrifies me though. What if I lose control and slide into a danger...? What if I tumble off and roll, roll, roll down the hill like a determined log heading for an icy pond...? Or if I fall off the sledge on my face in the snow...? What if I hit a fence? Or a dog? Countless hazards await. But as we have already discussed, I must try to overcome my fears (Click here to see my earlier posts all about my other fears!) So I shall be going to the Mount (apparently a good sledging spot) and having a little go.

Watch this space.
It can only end badly.
I'm Hannan after all.

Love Hannan xxx

Sticky rice, tight dress, ska-punk and love :)

Dresses with waistbands that make you feel sicky,

Thai food with noodles and rice that's so sticky,

Ska-punk and punk-rock and dancing with friends,

These are a few of our Date Night happenings...

I am loving being married to The Boy. But when you are married sometimes you have to work really hard to make the other one get tingly tummy butterflies. This means sometimes you have to say "Sit down The Boy, don't get up. What do you need, a brew? Slippers? I shall help you." Or maybe it means listening to me when I casually mention how I need new pyjamas which "HAVE to be boys long pyjamas and HAVE to have pockets and HAVE to be cosycosy" and then surprising me by buying them! Or it could mean a little hand squeeze when we are walking down the road or a cuddle in the kitchen just because. It might mean a txt saying "You're RADIANT!" or a love note on the mirror.

And sometimes it means planning a superb date night. The Boy and I are mega into dates and this week we decided to do the "50/50 Date" which involves one of us choosing the first part (food time) and the other deciding what we do after! It is fun because it means you only know half of your date and the rest is a secret surprise! I thought I would share with you what we did on our date because it is interesting. Maybe you will agree. Let's see!

Last night I decided we were going to go eat at the Thai Terrace in Guildford because I'd heard it was magnificent and it is up at the top of a building with a lift which is always a bit fun. We got all zhuzhed up (like shushed but with a z sound like in treasure, how does one spell that??) and rode the lift to the top. Obviously because it's us we hadn't booked a table (We only decided to have date night that afternoon to be fair!) so we were told to wait in the lounge bar area. It was super snazz and we got some drinks and sat on the sofas. The restaurant is beautiful and had a wonderful buzz about it, everyone talkytalking and sharing their lives. We hardly had to wait long at all before a table was ready and we sat down and ordered our food.

Now, I'd chosen to wear a lovely dress that I have had for ages, but unfortunately being married makes people put on weight (apparently) and my dress was way tight. So tight in fact that I started having difficulty living and felt like I might fly up into the clouds in one more moment. I was trying hard to listen to The Boy's fanciful tales and gorgeous man-voice but was so distracted by the squeezing of my tummy and lungs that I began forming an emergency vomit plan in my head ('drop your napkin', head under table, take phone out of bag, sick into bag...) such was my nausea. In most situations it is always good to have an emergency vomit plan. Tip number 1.

When the food arrived I began to eat and eventually I started to feel better. The food was delicious and arrived very quickly. The Boy had chicken curry and sticky rice and I had veggie noodles. There was a slight confusion when my noodles arrived as the egg in the noodles looked suspiciously like chicken. I don't like eating chickens or other animals so it perturbed me that I had been presented with one. I was assured however that it was egg and that tiny drama was over quickly as it was in fact egg! Those naughty eggs are always trying to look like their mummies aren't they! I enjoyed the bit where The Boy got sticky rice stuck on his face (it really is sticky!) and couldn't manage to find it for a long time. Hahaha. How silly.

After our meal The Boy revealed our after-dinner activity which was a gig at The Boileroom. I was almost blue at this point (remember the dress situation?) so we bobbed home so I could get me ol' jeans and converse on. It was at this point I noticed I'd been wearing my new leggings with the gigantic price tag out the back all evening. (Not the first time that's happened) Typical. That possibly didn't help my discomfort. Always take out cardboard labels. Tip number 2.

We got to the Boileroom and I had to wait outside with the friendly bouncers while George paid in and went for cashback at the bar to get me in (it was like that logic puzzle where you try to get the chicken, grain and fox across the river in a tiny boat). Once in we met my brother and sister in law and had a grand old time dancing and smiling. I love venues like this because you don't have to worry about wearing a party frock or being special and smart you can just be nice and relaxed and have a good dance. Vicki and I found a prime location on a bench at the back. Excellent view and minimum chance of local moshers smashing my beer bottle into my teeth whilst I'm drinking. Perfect. We saw a brill band called Mike TV who were playing with a couple of other bands (including the JB Conspiracy of which my bro-in-lo used to be a member! Woooo!) in an event called Stevestock. It was a charity event raising money in memory of a man called Steve Kelsey who died earlier this year of a brain tumor. The gig raised money for Macmillan Midhurst and Rosemary nurses. That is a kind and lovely thing to do and I was touched that all these sweaty, ska-punk, party-hard beer men would meet in a little awesome venue to dance and have fun in memory of their friend AND raise money to help others with similar illnesses.

The world fights back in the name of love once again and I like it :)

Had a fab date night. I encourage you to check out the Thai Terrace and the Boileroom as they provide for different but equally inspiring dates with husbands, wives, lovers and friends.

Peace,
Hannan :)

A group of Hairy Tales

So I want to talk about hair please. I just had my hair cut and it went in a fairly standard manner. This time. It got me thinking though of all the hair related adventures I have been on and I thought it was only fair I made you hear about them. Here they are listed in the order in which they come out of my memory...

1. The time I was thrown away from the hairdressers...
One day, me ol' Mum took me and Ja Ja (miniature Hannan) to the hairchoppers to get all spruced up. Probably it was the summer holidays. We were children then, and sometimes we got to sit in the children's chair which was usually in the shape of an aeroplane or racing car. So I was sitting in the cool racing car getting my hair combed when the hairdresser stopped combing, turned to my Mum and said "I am afraid I cannot continue. THIS CHILD has headlice"...

HOW embarrassing. Mum rushed us both out of the shop and filled a turban up with that headlice shampoo to get rid. Even now, I sit with my hands gripping the chair, my eyes flitting nervously around the room, trying to avoid eye contact in the mirror waiting to hear those immortal words... "I cannot continue. This woman has headlice!" It hasn't happened since then though so I really shouldn't worry.

2. The time my inability to say 'no' caused a problem with me' barnet...
I was a younger Hannan but not a child. That awkward bit in the middle of grown up and grown down when you're not sure where to put your arms when you stand there, you're learning how to do stuff on your own and you have to speak for yourself... I was having my hair cut on my own for the first time and it got to the bit where she shows you the back in the mirror and asks "How's that love?" I could clearly see without a doubt that one side of my hair was longer than the other at the front. I knew I had to speak up, say SOMETHING Hannan! Come on! You'll be the laughing stock at school! Yet alas... my stupid old mouth let me down and before I knew it I was walking out of the shop having told her that "Yes it looks lovely, thank you very much". My Mum took one look at me when she picked me up and sent me straight back up to the woman to tell her to sort this mess out. The woman looked again and "oh yes I see, OK let's sort this out". She did a few snip snippys and I left the shop with even shorter hair...that was still wonky... I refused to go back a third time and just had to keep putting it behind my ears for a few weeks. No biggie.

3. The time I looked ridiculous...again.
Once, my Mum decided she was fed up with me looking pretty like a girl and decided that I should have all my lovely Rapunzel hair cut away. Kindness, Mama. It ended up being more like a bob (actually would be very trendy nowadays) but the problem was that it was bob-ish at the front but went all the way up to NOTHING at the back! I had legit boy hair at the back. I even had that silly 'v' of hair in the nape of my neck. It was a horrific era of school those days as it was without having a little point of hair for them all to tug on. All day long I got tugged at and laughed at. I was so fed up. And to add salt to the wound my friend Liz had luscious long locks. When she put a jumper on her hair would stay in her jumper "keeping her neck warm" so she would say. I had a cold neck every winter :(

4. The time Mum got snip happy
Now this isn't what it sounds like. Mum has never messed up my hair by snipping it. OK, we went on holiday once, possibly to France, and I got one of those beautiful hair braids wrapped all around my hair. It had many different colours, beads at the end and even used glittery thread! I loved it! However, my hero of a school decided it wasn't in the uniform policy and we had to remove all such lovely things before September. My Mum had a little (tiny) go at removing it with her hands (the conventional way) before giving up and simply snipping it off at the top...

...leaving a tiny sprout of hair on the top of my head by my parting that stayed for MONTHS until it had caught up with the rest of my hair.

By the way, having re-read this blog, Megatron is coming off in a fairly bad light... let me stress that there were thousands of hair related times that went very well thanks to my Mum. Like the time she got glitter powder for me that I could put in it, that was nice. And the time she painted the bottom bit of my hair bright pink so I could be hip and with it, that was cool too.

If you were a psychologist you may say that the reason I have long hair now is to meet unfulfilled childhood desires. Maybe. Or maybe I just avoid getting the hairs on my noggin snipped because of all the disastrous reasons above.

Both I think.

Love Hannan :)

I'll be yours if you'll be mine...

Wedding days are special and beautiful. They make people love each other, and there are so many flowers and friends there. They are heart felt and real because of all the love happening. I know this to be true because I had a wedding two weeks ago. The Boy married me all lovely and romantic like. And I'ma tell you about it right now.

So sit your sweet peach down on the sofa or the ground and listen with your peepers, because here's the deet's.

The Boy and I had been planning this party for so long we forgot it was a real thing that would actually happen one day, and so when the day arrived it didn't feel quite real. I woke up and my sister, Jessicatty, said "Happy Wedding Day!" and I said "Thank you" and had a shower. I then had some tasty coco pops. Because on your wedding day you can eat anything for breakfast.

I got all ready, a hairdresser did my hair and when I returned, my 'maids were there (bridesmaids, not servants) to help me get excited and ready. It was a lovely sunny day and we had some photos in the garden. Then it was time to get into the VW campervan we had ready for us, me and me ol' Dad, and drive to the church. Our chauffeur was Henry, The Boy's brother and he did a good job (he also got all emotional which made me feel like a bride in the films, where people stop and cry in the streets because she's so beautiful).

I'd planned this whole dramatic entrance of the bride which achieved the desired effect, people were crying left, right and centre! So was The Boy. He had begun to well up as my maids traipsed in all dainty, and then at the grand moment, I walked through the doors, sparkling like a summer snowflake in my dress, all beauty and peace, he really went for it. Lots of tears and that.

It made me feel special though. Anyway, the wedding itself went well, my almost sister in law, Vicki, read a bit of my favourite book (the Bible, not Harry Potter, although it was a toss-up between that reading and the bit in Harrry P where Harry tells Voldemort he'll never know love)

Our friends Gareth and Tara prayed for us which was super special and meant a lot. Super Knomes led the worship with a great band, and our friend Tom read a reading about love. Ahhhhh.

It was quite weird with everyone looking at us all day. I'd be sipping a brew, or talking about having a wedgie, or something else equally private and someone would take a photo from across the way. The hard thing was when you glance around the garden and see someone taking a photo, do you ignore them because they obviously wanted a 'natural' shot, or do you smile at them!? Tricky tricky.

Also, when you're a bride, everyone has to do things for you. Jessicatty had everything I could ever need in her handbag. Perfume, hairspray, hairpins, sellotape, etc. When we got food, I casually mentioned how much I love the crispy bits of dauphinois potatoes and so the waitress scraped the top layer off and gave it to me!

Anyway, the day was incredible. There was a cake (my Mum had made, it was so good), bagpipes (Handle insisted on contributing by playing, despite us and him having zero links to Scotland), a barn dance (do-si-do, strip the willow, swiiiiing your partner), herbs (who doesn't want a free herb!?) and two shiny sparkly rings.

So now I'm a Mrs. I've learnt a new autograph and learnt how to share the bed every single night. I'm learning how to not get cross when the toilet seat is left up and how to take it in turns to watch my programmes. (It goes Gardener's World, Made in Chelsea, Gardener's World, Made in Chelsea...)

Come round for a brew and I'll introduce you to my husband, The Boy.
Love Mrs Hannan The Boy
xxx

3 more sleeps until I'm Mrs The Boy...

In 3 more sleeps I get to have the best party ever and become married to the love of my life, The Boy. I feel quite excited, like someone is tickling my tummy with a feather, or like a group of tiny vandals are climbing down into my tummy and graffiti-ing on the lining of my stomach. Planning this party has been a long and arduous mission. Fun at times, scary at times, sometimes stressful but all very exciting. It got me thinking about all the things that will change when I become Mrs The Boy.
Here are my thoughts written down...

1. I will have a different last name.

I have had a name for 27 years and I know how to spell it, pronounce it, know what others will change it to when they write it down or call it out wrong at the Doctor's surgery. Know how much room to leave when writing it on a line. I can sign it in a signature (although every time I do, I get to the start of my last name and begin to panic thinking "I can't remember hOW TO SIGN MY NAME!!!" but by the time I've thought this thought I look down to see I have signed it perfectly. Every time, I panic and every time it is just right). So after my wedding I will have a sparkly new golden name to learn. Its an unusual one and it has a 'z' in it so I feel ever so exotic. I will have to learn what to say when people say "Ooh, where's that from?", learn which names to listen for at the dentist for when they mispronounce it, and get used to actually responding to that name instead of looking casually around when I hear it, thinking "I wish Mrs Jezeph would hurry up and go in, I'm waiting for my appointment!!"

2. I'll have to share my house with a boy

I moved out of my flat away from Crazy Meg in April (*sob*) and missed having a living companion a lot. I quickly got used to living on my own though, and quite liked the idea that, if I put something away, or in a specific place, I know it will still be there when I get back from work! I know that there won't be any pants or socks on my bedroom floor, or any beard hairs in the sink. The towels will be hanging on the rail, dry rather than on the floor or bed, wet. However, after W-day, all these things could change. Pants and socks may appear on my lovely floor, beard hairs could appear in the sink like a tiny party of ants sunbathing on a ceramic beach....
Nah, I'm sure it will be fine and actually I'm super excited to come home to The Boy, cooking dinner, handing me a glass of wine and saying "I cleaned the house today darling Hannan"...

3. I should probably buy a beige nightie...

I feel as though getting married means I'm super old and boring now. I was looking at buying some pj's for my honeymoon and happened upon the nightie section of Marks and Spencer (which was the first clue that I'm getting old and boring by the way... Goodbye Topshop, Hello Marks...) I glancd at a flowery, shapeless, floor length nightie and for one fraction of a second, 1% of my brain told me that I should buy it. The rest of my brain however, quickly kicked in and reminded me I am still a young woman. They bustled this 1% of my brain away as if to say "Oh we're er... terribly sorry about him, he's er... not well you see..." as they cover him with a blanket, red faced, and bundle him out of my ear. From that moment on, with the remaining 99% of my brain, I vowed to maintain my youth as long as possible. My mantra is "Getting married doesn't mean you hang up your converse and sparkly tops! Keep those batman girl boxers and don't stop crimping your hair!!!"

4. The Boy may need rebranding...
Since the dawn of this blog, hardcore Hannan Fannans (big up yaselves) will know that I refer to George as The Boy. This was because I originally intended this blog to be sort of annonymous. I thought it would be a fun little secret that people on the interent and I could share. But word got out (from my gob really) that I'd written a little thing called a blog and so people I knew started following it. Calling my boy The Boy however, stuck. BUT...Now we are becoming man and wife, is his name really appropriate? Should he be called The Man... or The Husband!? I don't know. I shall have a think. If you have any thoughts do let me know. Ahhhh life's big problems eh?

This is my last blog as Hannan B. The next one will be written by Hannan J.
How exciting. If you are coming to the wedding (and everyone is invited to the church bit, so do pop along! Ask for details if you want to come), but if you are coming, pray that I don't do anything silly like fall onto the cake, or trip coming down the aisle, or be sick in The Boy's lovely hair...

See you at the church!

Love Hannan xxxxx

P.S. I had an AMAZING hen do, organised by my sister, sisters-in-law to be and bridesmaids and I had such an amazing time. There was crimped hair, tutus, tequila and a Michael Jackson impersonater. What more could a Hannan want? Thanks girls xxx

Flat packed dreams and Swedish meatballs

If you just need to organize

Clutter and mess

There’s only one place

And it’s really the best

 

 It sells lovely boxes

And pictures for walls

Flat packed bookcases

And spicy meatballs

 

It’s big and it’s brilliant

With arrows on the floor

And showrooms, a warehouse

A big spinny door…

 

…You know the answer,

Let’s hear you all cheer,

Hip Hip and Hooray!

We’re off to IKEA!

 So here’s the deal. I’ve moved house into our marital home (as of 25^th May anyway). But all my clothes are in a bin bag in my room because I don’t have a wardrobe. And so we went to IKEA. The Boy borrowed his Mum’s big car to fit all the lovely furniture in and we set off at 4pm on a Friday afternoon. Once we got there The Boy had to have a little play on the trolley, obviously. He scooted around smiling like a dog with his head out of the window. Then it was time to get down to business. Off we went, following the arrows, as is the IKEA rule, looking at all the beautiful pretend rooms. The Boy thought it was hilarious to wheel the trolley through the pretend kitchens and bedrooms saying, “Hi, yes, sorry, just looking….you have a nice kitchen” etc.

 
The real drama started when, 30 minutes before closing time, we were only just out of the show room and into the ‘market’. It started to be a bit like supermarket sweep at this point, frantically grabbing things off the shelves. We got to the warehouse (10 minutes to closing) and began running up and down the aisles with our fully loaded trolley, looking for the right wardrobe. Now, I love IKEA, but the cheap prices and sleek designs come at a price. Nothing is called its real name. If the labels read “Delicious oak coffee table”, or “tall strong wardrobe”, or “that white wall clock everyone owns”, we would all know where we stand. When Crazy Meg and I moved into our old flat we rung up an IKEA receipt about a foot long. We highlighted everything that was mine so when we moved out we would know who had bought what. Except by then we had forgotten what SKUBB was. And LACK. And even GRUNDTAL… SO we had to google every single name, find its picture and identify it like they were accused criminals in a furniture line-up parade.
 

Anyway, all the wardrobe frames, doors and shelves are called PAX apparently at IKEA, so we had a right nightmare trying to find the one we had spied in the showroom. Halfway through dragging a door onto our trolley I remembered I’d forgotten the ONE thing I actually wanted from this once-wonderous now-hellish place; magnetic spice tins. SO I legged it into the lift, 5 minutes til lights out, back up to the showroom to get them. When I came back, The Boy informed me that we had the doors, frames, shelves and hinges for the wardrobe but the handles were….

    ...in

           the

              showroom…

For goodness sake.

 He ran once more up to the dreaded showroom while I tried to drag a flattened chest of drawers onto the trolley. The lights flashed and a voice on the tannoy asked us to leave because it was almost tomorrow and no-one should be shopping at IKEA past 10pm. It was like the end of a night out when a club flashes its lights and sweeps the stragglers into a pile in the corner.

Eventually, The Boy came back and we wheeled everything through the checkout. Obviously we had put all the heavy flat packs the wrong way up on the trolley so they couldn’t be scanned. And obviously the cupboard doors were too long for the car. We had to drive home with them between our heads in the front seats like a partition. It did mean we got to play a fun game of ‘Blind Date’, where we took it in turns to be Cilla, the creepy guy after anything he can get, and the ditzy blonde (George’s favourite role).
 
Despite all the drama, I still love IKEA. I’m sitting here at my sturdy yet affordable coffee table, watching the cheap yet beautifully scented candle flicker in the evening atmosphere and I feel happy. There are boxes with labels in cupboards and clothes colour co-ordinated in my wardrobe.

 

Everything has a place in my house.

Now if only I could organize my thoughts in the same way…

 

Love Hannan xx

"NO" 100 lighters and "NO" rhumba of rattlesnakes!

I saw this movie once about a man who got some magic into him and then he had to say "Yes" to everything he was asked because he was a real ol' meanie and the magician thought if he said "yes" to people instead of "no" then he would be a nicer person. I thought the concept was a bit flawed though because what if someone said "Have you seen someone prettier than me today?", or "Does my chin look big in this...?" or "Do you want the last mini egg?" (hoping he would say no). Yes isn't always the best answer. That's what my brain tells me...I wish it would tell my mouth sometimes...

I have this anxiety thing where I say "yes" in panic to tricky (or sometimes easy) questions just to escape an awkward situation.

I once went into B&Q because I was meeting The Boy in 10 minutes and had to kill some time. I was wandering around looking at wallpaper samples and checking my watch when I heard an announcement on the loudspeaker....

             "In 4 minutes, any customers standing by the table in the garden furniture section of the store
                                 will win a special prize..."

My ears pricked up. My brain was saying "NO NO don't bother! It'll be something you don't need and you'll definitely have to spend money. SAY NO" but my feet were already walking.
I got there and stood waiting patiently alongside 3 other people. 'Twas a bit embarrassing because we all knew why the others were there so we just looked at the garden furniture casually until the lady appeared behind the table. To cut a long story short, the 'prize' was a postcard sized sample of a magic cloth called Magicloth and as there were only 3 other people next to me (actually 2, one bailed after getting the wonderous prize) the woman made eye contact through her entire presentation and pretty much asked me personally if I wanted to buy a full size Mummy Magicloth to go home with the baby one I already had. Of course my anxious mouth had said "Yes please" before my brain had registered the question and I left the shop with not just 1 A2 sized Magicloth but 6!!! AND a Magicloth MOP!

I cannot say "no" in awkward situations. I once went into the bank a few years back to ask them to change my mobile number on their file and left with a Gold account...somehow. I went home and told my Dad and he came back into the bank WITH ME and asked them to cancel the account, informing them I had got confised and didn't really need to pay £20 a month for global travel insurance. Embarrassing.

It's a nightmare! When I go into shops, banks, answer the door, The Boy has to come with me if there is any slight chance I might be offered anything ever at all.

One day, The Boy was not with me and I stood on my doorstep for an HOUR just smiling, nodding and taking literature and books from a Jehova's Witness because I was too scared to say "no thanks, I don't need this literature, I already know about God". I've walked away backwards from street information people (the ones with the clipboards) saying all kinds of things to get them to break eye contact with me...

..."oh, I really erm.... ahh you see I'm late for...ah....OK, I will in a minute..on my way back...?"

instead of just saying "no thankyou".

I fear that I will end up in a house with many useless items like a hundred lighters ("6 lighters for a pound lady?") or a rhumba of rattlesnakes ("Could you hatch these eggs for me Hannan?") or a lodger who sells my nail varnishes for crack ("Can my buddy stay with you when he comes out of jail Hannan?")

I think "YES" has its place. Like when someone says
                              "Do you have a minute? I could do with a shoulder to cry on",
or
                      "Can you spare some change?"
or
            "Big Issue miss?"

But I think it takes a strong smile and a confident Hannan to say a kind "no". BUT today I did that. A man rang up asking if I would like to discuss the cost of storing my belongings in a big yellow crate (...?) and I said "No thankyou, I don't need to store my belongings in a big yellow crate. Have a nice weekend"

And I think he will. And so will I.

 

Love Hannan x :)

I love love...

Once upon a time a man called Valentine fell in love. Someone shot a love arrow through his heart and he loved everyone he saw from that moment onwards...

I love love...

I love the kind of love I have for my family. Imagine that house out of 'UP'. Every happy memory I have of my family is like adding one more balloon onto that old man's little house. That time my Dad walked me down the road to the petrol station that was being rebuilt and we watched the diggers and lorries, and then he bought me some chocolate for my 'Friday treat'...
                                     ...there's a little blue balloon tied onto the house...

That time my Mum painted my nails when I felt ugly to make me feel beautiful...
                ...there's a little yellow balloon tied to the house...

That time my sister wrote me a note just saying she hoped I'd had a nice day and stuck it on my door to see when I came home from school....
                                                    ...there's a little pink balloon tied to the house...

All of those times and a million more meaning that the house is lifted up so high that nothing can pull it down or stop it flying. That's how I feel about the kind of love I have for my family. It makes me soar.

The kind of love I have for The Boy is sort of the opposite. Him and I are trees, planted next to each other in a field. Instead of balloons lifting me up and away, I feel like our love grounds and fastens me tightly to the ground. No storm will uproot us. Every word of encouragement we give each other, every hug or kiss we share, each time he says he loves me, or I say love to him, we grow more roots and reach them deeper. I hope that in 50 years, we will be like two ancient gnarled Oak trees in a farmer's field. Every year the farmer will say "eeh I wish I could get rid of them old trees but their roots are so deep, and they are so solid it would be impossible! Anyway they are beautiful and wonderful so they can stay in my field forever..." That's how I feel about the love I have for The Boy. It grounds me.

I love the kind of love I have for my friends. A good friendship is symbiotic (a word I learnt from my friend's 3 year old son!) which means we work together, like an Olive Baboon and an African Elephant. (Google it if you don't believe me! They're best pals!) You need a shopping buddy? I'm there. I need a shoulder to cry on? You're there!
I sometimes wonder if the reason people do kind things is because they hope that someday down the line, they will be repaid their good deed, like believing in karma. I hope not. I am trying hard to do my 'kind deed every day' and so far it's going OK. I try to show my love for people by trying hard to help them when they need help. Some of my friends have had a really tough time recently and I imagine they feel a bit like the future is a foggy forest, there's no way of knowing which way they are going or the outcome of their trials. It's a horrible feeling, knowing there's nothing I can do to make things right, so all I can do is be helpful. I sometimes worry this isn't enough but I can't make the world right except by loving people. So that's what I'll do. If they need me they know they can ask and I'm always there.

That's the best thing about love. It's always there :)

Love love love Hannan :)

P.S. Happy Valentine's Day! Hope you felt loved on Thursday.

Imagine...

When I'm trying to go to sleep and waiting for the sandman to come and sprinkle sleepy sand into my eyes, I imagine things. Sometimes it's what I'd do in a zombie situation, but usually it's not. One of my favourite imagines is a world without bad thoughts. "How childish and naiive!" I hear you cry but hold them horses right there a moment. It's really tricky to imagine all the things that would be different if there were no bad thoughts (and as a result, no bad actions) in our semi-sad world. Here are some of my observations of my imagines...

1. Sorry Locksmiths. No work for you. There would be no need for locks because people wouldn't steal and so everything can be left unlocked. You could just walk to your car, open the door, get in and push a button to drive away! No fumbling about for keys in bottomless bags, or trying to lift an arm laden with 7 Tesco bags up, all trembling with pain, to reach the key into the lock of your front door (an actual anecdote from last night when me and Crazy Meg did the shopping). Don't worry Timpsons, you can turn your hand to making tiny medals to give out to people as love gestures.

2. No CRB forms! Which means less paperwork. Need I say more?

3. No need to pay money into prisons or owt, so more moeny to spend on national treats such as "Pancake Party day!" on which the governement makes pancakes for everyone in Britain and David Cameron is in charge of the squeezy chocolate sauce. We could also spend money on lovely things like painting some of the road markings pink (double pink lines could mean that you HAVE to stop on them and do a little dance in your car)

4. People would still think of others and behave like Ladies and Gentlemen. Young men wouldn't walk extra quick to get in front of you as you are going up the steps into Pizza Express, sneak in a closing door and let it smash closed as you reach it! (Another true story which happened recently. Humph) Men would tip their hats and say Good Day as they passed you in the street, rather than pull the peak of their cap further down over their face to avoid having to do eye-smiling at you. And people would leave kind notes on your car even if they didnt know you, just to make your heart warm.

It's got me old brain whizzing this imagine has... I'd like to declare a late entry to the New Year;s Resolution declarations: I would like to try and do 1 act of kindness every single day. And I will try to record them and tell you all about it. I expect it will be hard. Sometimes I feel cross with the world, like a big old raincloud at a family picnic and I have to shake myself and say "Hannan...stop. Be sunshine not hailstones"

We'll see. Today was my first day and I got my friend Sam some delicious tea (lemon and ginger) to drink at work. That was an easy one.

Wish me luck y'all!
Hannan xxx

P.S. Blogger tells me that people from other countries have visited my blog and it made me feel special. If you are from another country to the UK, please say hello to me!! If you're from this kingdom you're allowed to too. :)

Home is where the Hannan is...

It's been a little while since my last blog, my world is continuing to spin crazy fast and time is sweeping by without so much as a tea break! But here I am, back again, when I should really be doing work to tell you about another of my favourites...

When I was a smaller Hannan I was quite dependent on Megatron and Optimus Dad and had to live in their house so they could help me grow and protect me from baddies. Ja Ja lived there too because she's my sister, and we grew up in a lovely home in Lancashire which iss called The Mother Ship. I have many memories of The Mother Ship and so, when it was time to leave for uni and then when I moved down to Surrey, I felt quite sad that I wouldn't be living there any more.

I live quite a long way from The Mother Ship, and every so often I visit. This is my all time favourite. Ever. Going home is the best.

My Mum always makes her home all cosy and special and welcoming and when we arrive I can see the warmth eminating from the house, it almost glows. The fire is always on in the living room (even in summer sometimes, it's bizzarre!) Mum taught me a valuable lesson about lighting throughout my upbringing and as a result I have an obsession with lamps and NEVER have the 'big light' on. When I go round my friends houses I tend to go around turning lamps on and big lights off.

Being a northern Hannan I love a good cup of tea. And up North is definitely the place to get a good cup of tea. No limescale in our water, no sir-ee! And everyone who steps into The Mother Ship has a cup of tea put in front of them whether or not they asked for one. Everyone except my sister's boyfriend, Brother Bear. He doesn't care for tea. Nor coffee. So because of this 'abnormality' my Mum had a mini meltdown and bought a hot drink called 'Spiced Berry Cordial'. I'm not sure Brother Bear likes Spiced Berry Cordial but he gets it every time he visits, because one must always have a hot drink in front of one.

I like doing projects with me ol' Mum, like the time I knitted The Boy a jumper which I thought would be a great money-saving idea and in fact ended up costing me eighty quid and took me 6 months to complete...and also require Mum to be there to pick up dropped stitches, add stitches on, take them away etc.

Another great factor of The Mother Ship is the wonderful meals I get to gobble. My favourite is my Mum's veggie lasagne but The Boy ADORES her Cottage pie. When Ja Ja and I were younger we would be handed a plate of cottage pie and would gobble it down before you could say hot potato. Then Mum would come in, all chill, and say "Here's the cabbage..." and we would look in dismay at the part of the meal we'd forgotten. We always had to eat that cabbage on its own as we had finished the cottage pie in our haste. Ahhhh the foolishness of youth.

The Boy and I just got home from a wonderful Christmas at The Mother Ship and had the best time ever. It was the first Christmas we were all together, Mum, Dad, my sister and her boyfriend, me and The Boy. We pulled crackers, wore those happy hats, ate turkey and played games and had a merry old Christmas. The Boy got a fondue kit from Father Christmas which he has used for every meal since Boxing Day. I got a delicious turquoise gilet with a furry hood and I love it.

One day you may be lucky enough to visit Preston and if you do, look up The Mother Ship and you can be sure there will be a roaring fire awaiting you, a delicious shepherds pie and a hot cup of tea (or Spiced Berry Cordial if you're really lucky)

Love Hannan

xxxxxxxxxxx
P.S. Happy New Year!