DON'T talk to me about magic. I was gutted when I missed the Harry Potter premiere. Hunky kilted athlete Kriss Akabusi cheered me up by flashing his pants at me. They were tucked into his sporran. Foolishly bought a fake poo for the wee man. Ended up seeing Potter film. It's just wizard.
WENT to fabulous second-hand, retro clothes shop, Armstrongs, in the Grassmarket, Edinburgh. I was looking for a birthday gift for my niece. As I browsed, pal Dynamite bought three leather jackets for pounds 60. I bought a floor-length satin coat. Why? I have no idea. It's nice, but entirely useless. Didn't get anything for my niece.
HARRY POTTER premiere tonight, but I can't go 'cos I'm working. I hand my ticket over to another with a tear in my eye and, as she gets dressed up as a witch for the film of the year, I trudge off to The Corn Exchange to do a corporate presentation for an internet bank. Ended up having a great time. Olympic hurdler Kriss Akabusi was the surprise guest. He made a speech wearing a kilt, which looked nice on him. I joked about him being a true Scot underneath it. He just laughed. Finished at 9.30pm and went round to see my niece Sarah, who was celebrating her 19th birthday. She had been out until 4am the night before and looked fresh as a daisy. I, on the other hand, had enjoyed a good night's sleep and looked like a flesh-eating zombie. Life is so unfair.
MOVING into a flat for a couple of months until the house is ready. Pop round to see the previous tenant, who seems to have an awful lot to do before she leaves the flat in 24 hours. Dave collects her dry cleaning and does a bit of heavy lifting for the old soul. We get the keys tomorrow and move in next week. Big sweat. Another presentation for internet bank, another speech by Kriss Akabusi. Later, as we stood in the bar, he hinted he was a true Scot. I said: "Aye, that'll be right." This was his cue to produce his pants from his sporran. No wonder the lady in the front row passed out. He was so taken with the kilt he is wearing it at a sports dinner in Park Lane, London, on Saturday night. He'll bring the house down.
WAKE to find son Louis standing at our bed, clawing his head. After inspection, I realise he has nits. Phone the school and am told he must stay at home. Throw him in the bath and try to delouse the wee man. He tries to convince me playing on the computer is good for head lice, 'cos if they stare at the screen they faint. Put a bag on his head and drive the lady whose flat we are moving into to the airport. Wash Louis's hair three more times.
GET the keys to the flat today. Head round, only to be faced with an overwhelming whiff of gas. Transco put a death warrant on the boiler and the hob, saying they have been spewing out gas for ages. This, however, pales into insignificance when we discover the monumental pile of rubbish in every room. Every piece of junk mail ever sent to this lady has been kept in neat piles with elastic bands round them. There are boots and shoes, a toothbrush and a pan full of food on the cooker. There is even a bottle of sulphuric acid in the cupboard - it makes Steptoe look like a minimalist. Feel faint and need a drink. Go and have several, then go for a curry to calm me down.
IT'S Louis's birthday party on Sunday so I go to buy stuff for the goodie bags in a joke shop. As I perused the imitation fingers and boils, Louis spotted the fake poos, which are much more realistic than in my day. There was sheer joy on his face when I secretly bought one and produced it in the car later. Big mistake. As we sat in the car park, with me talking on my mobile, Louis started waving it around and being revolting. I eventually grabbed it and threw it out of the window. After a quick lecture on manners, I was suitably appeased. I spotted the offending article in a puddle so, without thinking, I went and picked it up. I caught the eye of a wifie who had just seen me pick up a dog poo in my bare hand. No wonder she was retching.
LOUIS'S seventh birthday party. Met 15 children at 8.30am to take them to see the Harry Potter film. Frantically counting 16 hyper-active heads as they hit the pick and mix counter at 40mph. Pal Anne had volunteered to help so I gave her the relatively easy task of looking after the four girls, the theory being the boys go to the loo all the time and tend to punch each other. But, for some reason, the girls were far more excited and kept running to the loo with Anne, who swears it was the nearest she had come to an aerobic class in 15 years. Fabulous film, though. After a birthday lunch at Pizzaland it was 1pm and I was ready for bed. Flat clearing, packing and being good are my plans for next week.
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|Title Annotation:||Alisons Diary|
|Publication:||Sunday Mail (Glasgow, Scotland)|
|Date:||Nov 18, 2001|
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