That Time Of Year Again

I almost forgot this so big thanks to both Strickers and Fiver for reminding me that today is one of the greatest days in the Plymouth local calendar. 

Yes, it's the day of the "Baby of The Year" supplement in the Evening Herald - where thousands of parents enter photos of their beloved children in the hope of winning a family holiday to a caravan park and a teddy.

I'm not exaggerating when I say looking through the pictures is one of my favourite pastimes EVER.

First of all, there's the interesting selection of names - some I like, some... Well, not so much. 

And yes, you've got the typically cute ones. They're alright. But then you've got the ones pulling funny faces. Believe me, there is not a lot funnier than a tiny baby poking their tongue out. Then there's those babies that are about three days old, with more hair than Justin Bieber. I LOVE this. Extra points also for cheerers or wavers.

I'm honestly not being sarcastic. It's no secret that any children of mine are going to be blessed (or cursed, depending on how you look at it) with brilliantly offbeat names, and I don't care what anyone says (even my husband). I'm telling you now, I would actually question science if me and Mr G do not one day have a huge baby that looks like Winston Churchill with an Afro. If that time ever comes, you bet he or she will be gracing the pages of BOTY.

Any child with no hair but wearing a hairband is automatically disqualified from my poll (sorry but it's not right) and sadly, this year that appears to have reduced the numbers quite significantly, but after much deliberation I am thrilled to announce I am backing baby 1385, the phenomenal Rupert Merrifield!

NB Whilst this blog appears on the thisisplymouth website, I am in no way associated with the competition and the views expressed here are my own.

Thank you, goodbye...

Last Friday saw the final operational day of my old workplace, the 118118 call centre in Plympton.

The blog started one day when I was bored of looking for work instead of enjoying my voluntary redundancy from that very place some 12 months ago. Say what you want about call centres and the people who work in them but half of Plymouth has been employed by that place at one time or another and I can honestly say I've had some of the best times of my life whilst I worked there, I met some interesting and eccentric people, I made lifelong friends and eventually, after kissing a fair few poisonous frogs along the way, I found a husband.

Working at 118118 was like being in the sixth form for an extended period. Sometimes we hated it but a lot of the time, we had a lot of fun. We had a lovely boss who used to come in early on special occasions like Valentine's day to put chocolates on all 200 odd desks, we had on-site massages which were subsidised by the company, we had pizza parties, and sometimes when nobody was looking, we used to play swivel chair Olympics.

So it is testament to how highly people thought of their time there that so many past employees turned up to the closing party on Saturday night.

A few months ago I made the (very wise) decision to stop drinking wine because it makes me go CRAZY, which means I stick to spirits now on a night out. Sensible in theory, unless you forget which spirit you were drinking so sample them all. And at least if you are drunk on wine, you know you're hammered. I thought I was acting absolutely fine, strutting around like I was Kate Moss, putting on layer after layer of lipstick every time I went to the toilets, and towards the end of the evening, just going up to people saying "I haven't got any money. Will you buy me a drink?". Yep, totally normal.

My memory of the evening is pretty patchy but I had a great night and it was a lovely send off for the end of Chapter 118.