The grauny has got a story about the blogger who was sacked because of his blog. It's interesting enough, and like Inspector Sands said - he was a bit daft for calling his work place Bastardstones. What tickled me (did I really just use the word "tickled?) was that the paper very knowledgeably says "it is believed to be the first time in Britain a blogger has been dismissed for what they published on the web".

Considering how many blogs there are in the country, how can they suggest this with any confidence? Not all blog-related sackings manage to bring themselves to the Guardian's attention. Someone I knew at university used to keep a blog and was sacked for making dubious comments about her employer (the NHS) and some colleagues on it. There was a fairly full comments box after the event saying "oh my god" "that sucks" "why why why?" etc. but then it got forgotten about. Mainly because she asked everyone to shut up about it - she had to remove all the dubious references and promise never to write about it again, and going to the press would have made it a whole lot worse. Plus, in the summer of 2003, no-one would have given two hoots about a blogger getting fired, particularly not the Guardian, which only seems to have become obsessed about them in the past year or so.

Anyone know anyone else who was sacked because of their blog before Mr. Waterstones?

I have half a day left before I have to go back to work. Why can't it be christmas eve again, with 10 gloriously lazy days stretching ahead of me......

Anyway, I have 2 options. I can print out all the insert slips for my wedding invitations. This scares the shit out of me, because it means I'm getting into the "socially awkward to call it all off" stage of wedding preparations. Not that I want to call it off, but it's comforting to have the option ;)

Or I can stand next to a mirror and analyse my body, following the guidelines set out in my christmas present - Trinny and Susannah's new book "what you wear can change your life." And then hold up all my clothes next to my face and decide which colours suit me best.

This is the sprt of behaviour I have been morally opposed to for the whole of my life. But I'm stragngely drawn to the idea of doing it.

Heck, if I get a wriggle on, I can probably fit in both!

Summary of the festive season:

The Blackheath Christmas procession, involving “Donkey, Mary, Joseph and Shepherds.” All I saw was a fed up looking Donkey. No children dressed in nativity clothes. I was most disappointed, so instead of following it to the church and belting out some carols, I went home and watched them on telly (carols from Kings) instead.

Cooking a real life Christmas dinner. With a nut roast (not a Granose packet mix) and roast potatoes “just like Mum makes” and everything. Spending the day alone with my boyfriend, or, ahem… fiancé.

Seeing a squirrel in Greenwich Park with its dick out. And a busker with a dog dressed as Father Christmas.

Returning Sammy Davis Jr’s biography to Waterstones, (present from my “estranged” father) and swapping it for some books I actually want to read. About 2 years ago, I mentioned to my Dad that I was after a Sammy Davis Jr greatest hits CD. Just the 1. And as he ran a record business, asked him to keep his eye out for one. Since then, every Christmas and birthday present has been Sammy-themed. I despair.

Making the hideous, awful annual pilgrimage to R’s vile grandmothers house. She is a hideous awful woman, who thinks it is acceptable to give her vegetarian guests a jacket potato and lettuce for lunch. I wouldn’t have minded so much if she hadn’t turned down our offer to bring along something veggie with us. She assured us there would be plenty for veggies to eat. Old bag. The good news is R has decided that she will piss him off so much that he doesn’t want her there on our wedding day. Result!

Making the far less hideous awful pilgrimage to my mother’s house. It still had elements of hideous awfulness to it though.

Going for an 8 mile bike ride, and waking up the next morning barely able to move, with muscles I didn’t even know I had aching like mad, including, weirdly, the palms of my hands.

Going to see “The Incredibles” at a little theatre close to where my Mum lives. It is run mainly by volunteers, has an interval between the trailers and the main film, and the drinks cost 70p, ice creams cost 80p, and (best of all) you can get a cup-a-soup for £1. In a real mug! Tickets were £3.50 which still worked out cheaper that going to the UCI on Orange Wednesday. Just don’t try and book seats online. When you go to collect them from the box office, the volunteers scream at you like Vinnie and Reenie from the Royston Vasey charity shop.

Going to the Panto at another little theatre close by. It was so hot I nearly fainted, and the only people who enjoyed it were my mum and my 6 year old niece. Also, I didn’t like that out of the 2 fairies (Fairy Vanity and Fairy Virtue) Fairy Vanity was the evil fairy from hell, who dressed in red tights and DMs, and rode a motorbike. Fairy Virtue was as white as snow and liked kittens and puppies. 2 observations – fairy virtue was much vainer than fairy vanity, and fairy vanity clearly had a lot more fun than fairy vanity, with her motorbike. I’d much rather be her.

Spending NYE at the top of Crooms Hill, watching the fireworks over the whole of London. Much easier than going into town.

Actually, inspired by Casino Avenue, I thought I’d do an audit of the past 11 NYEs

1994 – House Party with friends. Aged 15, I snogged 7 boys, which increased my previous total seven-fold.

1995 – Bournemouth town centre, in various pubs. Was ok, but far too expensive and I had to work the next day.

1996 – Houseparty with friends again. Same house, same friends as 1994. This time I ate a hash cookie, threw up everywhere, (are the 2 related? God knows, but it was nasty) and went to work the next day feeling sick as a dog.

1997 – Houseparty with friends again, this time with an element of fancy dress. I think I was an angel. Same house, fewer friends though. Worked the next day, felt sick the next day.

1998 – Stayed in with my sister and her gay-best-friend. Dreadful. I didn’t have to work the next day. Shame – at least I would have been perky!

1999 – I had my own houseparty this time, which meant I could control who I invited, and had a rip-roaring millennium eve. It was just fabulous.

2000 – Spent it with my sister, her fiancée (now husband) and my 4 parents. Who sniped at each other the whole time. As the clock struck 12 they all snogged their respective partners (fortunately not each others) and I felt as miserable as I’ve ever felt in my life. Vowed never to do it again.

2001 – Friend’s house party in Bath. Brilliant.

2002 – Friend’s house party in Bournemouth. Brilliant.

2003 – My own houseparty in London. Brilliant.

2004 – Stayed in, watched Armando Iannuci’s review of the year on BBC3, before galloping up to Blackheath to get the lazy person’s view of the London Eye. It felt strange, not spending it with friends. But I enjoyed it.

So that was my Christmas and new year. Hope you all enjoyed yours!