Saturday night saw Adam and I host a murder mystery party for some of our much-loved friends – and it was a fantastic night spent laughing and enjoying great company. We crawled into bed at 4.30am with our faces aching from having so much fun, and we were delighted at having spent some quality time with a brilliant bunch of people who we just don’t see enough of.

Four hours later I woke to the news that Dave Hodgson, former Marketing Birmingham director and something of a twitter legend for his unfailing positivity, had lost his battle with cancer. For the past few months I’ve been inspired and horrified by Dave’s candour and overwhelming belief and determination as he’s recounted his suffering, his ups and downs, the terrible muscle wastage and effects of his treatment, and at times his utter despair. Like many, I was so impressed by his constant battling and unswerving determination to survive that I was genuinely shocked to find he’d gone. My thoughts are with his wife and daughter.

Last night, I attended the wedding of a former colleage and mentor, Linda Jones. Years ago, I had a rough 12 months (don’t we all?) and Linda was there throughout for me; she probably knows more about me than many of my friends because there’s so much of it that I’ve drawn a line under and moved on from. The whole time I worked with Linda, her devotion and adoration to her fiance Neil was unwavering, but despite a ridiculously long engagement, there was always some excuse not to get married – she was starting a business, she didn’t need a piece of paper, they already had two gorgeous twin girls and a happy family – why seal it further?

A few weeks ago I got the devastating news from Linda that Neil had been taken terribly ill. As we all do when our world is turned upside down, Linda’s priorities changed and it became vital that she make those vows and tell the people closest to her, however well they already knew it, just how much she loved him. When I received my invitation to the wedding three weeks ago I was astonished – I’d been told they’d be tying the knot in hospital. But Neil’s determination and focus meant that he wasn’t going to settle for that. He has amazed doctors with his courage and fire, and despite walking with a frame a few days ago, not only did he walk up the aisle yesterday and stand to say his vows, but he walked into the reception, greeted his guests and danced his first dance. I always cry at weddings, but last night was truly touching and I’ve had a lump in my throat and prickly eyes ever since. I wish them both a long, healthy and happy marriage.

So, it’s been a melancholy beginning to the year, but it’s made me realise that those resolutions about losing half a stone that I make every year are actually neither here nor there – what counts is that we make the most of the time we have, spend time with the people we care about, and do more things to make us better, happier people. Life is much too short to spend it on a diet, watching mind-numbing TV, saving for a rainy day that may never come, or working round the clock and cancelling every arrangement we’ve made to get that project finished – sure, we have to strive to be a success and do the best we can, but not at any cost.

So that’s what I plan to do this year – work to live, not live to work, and spend more time with those people I care about most. I spend more time tweeting people I’ve never met than I do enjoying the company of those friends I’ve built up relationships with, so in 2012, I intend to spend less time in the virtual world and more enjoying the real one.

All those things I said abot this project being completed by today; scratch that. We’ve encountered yet more setbacks. You know that fire we had fitted six weeks ago? This one?

It’s been covered up by black plastic ever since to protect it from plaster and paint, and this weekend was going to be its grand unveiling. We unveiled it to discover that in last week’s storms, water’s poured down the chimney, reacted with the soot and the resulting acid has dissolved the shiny black metal, leaving us with plates coated in rust. There’s a grand well spent. Getting an expert to clamber onto the roof is going to cost us even more, and there’s no guaranteeing he’ll be able to help once he’s there. Oh, and he’s coming on Friday. That’s the 23rd.

My chances of a cosy Christmas beside the fire are fast diminishing.

That said, we made definite progress on the decorating front this weekend. We’re currently here:

Chimney breast (and destroyed fire)

Which gives us five days until our guests descend, and a considerable way to go. I grow weary of it.

Remember the 1986 Tom Hanks movie The Money Pit? I’m living it. What started out as an exciting project has now dragged on and on for weeks and cost almost double what we anticipated, and we still have no radiators, no floor, and no wallpaper on the walls. That said, I have discovered that I am a demon with a paint roller and that the mixed-to-order Dulux paint we chose is every bit as lovely as we’d hoped. We have walls painted and skirting boards glossed. Adam’s got handy with a sander to avoid us shelling out yet more cash on cupboard doors, and we’ve restored the existing old doors on our meter cupboards to make sure they’re inkeeping with the rest of the woodwork. The interior glazed door, we found when we chose to replace that, was in fact hanging on by one solitary screw thanks to the previous inhabitants.

Right now, this is what it looks like:

Which, while it looks like there’s a long way to go, is a massive improvement on how it looked a month ago:

Aah, how I miss that television, that sofa…

I’m crossing everything that by the time I next post, there will be radiators on the wall, maybe even wallpapaer on the recessed walls and the new lights fitted. The end is in sight (how many times have I said that now? Don’t tell me.) The floor will be fitted early next week and I sincerely hope that by Friday 23rd, I’ll be able to put the Christmas tree up and drink a vat of eggnog in a desperate bid to capture the festive spirit I’ve missed out on.

Until then, I’ll continue to have my Christmas iPod play-list blasting out to try and remind myself that the house should be filled with fairy lights, holly and mistletoe. Thing is, I’d happily give up a Fairytale of New York forever in return for a Fairytale ending.

Unfortunately, what we hadn’t allowed for when we booked our flights was the fact that we’re be neck-deep in plasterdust, sawdust and paint fumes. The idea of taking four days out to enjoy a city break and to return to a home that still needs so much TLC is simply unthinkable, so we’ve cut our losses and agreed that we’ll put all thoughts of Christmas markets and gluhwein out of our minds in favour of varnish, emulsion and gloss.

Maybe next year...

I’m telling myself that it’ll all be worth it, but right now, I’m struggling to see that it will.

It was logical, we said – once it was taken up, the new one could be laid and then we could have skirting boards. We spent 40 minutes, our hearts plummeting with every one, ripping up the boards and looking despondently at the dark, damp flooring beneath. What had happened, we discovered, was that the former residents of our house, Mr & Mrs Botcha-Job, had basically laid underlay and plastic directly onto a wet concrete floor. And what happens when we lay an air-tight cover over something wet, kids? That’s right, the air can’t get to it and it becomes a nasty black putrid stinking mess.

The Gods of Renovation were, however, smiling down on us and almost immediately, the floor began to dry. We spent a couple of hours chipping up black bubbled surface stone and four days later, the ground is completely dry, thank goodness. Unfortunately, the delay meant another night without radiators.

On Sunday, our carpenter arrived bright and early – oh yes, we have the rare breed of workers who arrive at 8am every day, no chance of a lie-in at this establishment- and spent 10 hours ripping out our cobbled together crappy banisters and replacing them with white pine Georgian spindles and deep hardwood sapele rails.

And – stop press – one of the radiators is working. Not that we’re exactly in a position to sit there and enjoy it, but it makes the next phase a little more comfortable.

The next phases are painting, wiring in lights, fitting new doors, laying the floor,  and fitting the skirting boards, before I actually get to do the fun bit and hang the mirror, picture and start tossing cushions around with gleeful abandon. Last night we went on a window shopping spree to remind ourselves how it was going to be worth it.

I’ve promised myself a reading corner and, further to the devastating realisation that my chaise won’t fit in the alcove I’d earmarked it for, Im buying a striped chair and footrest to curl up on with my kindle.

Of course, the fact that we’re just 19 days away from Christmas puts us under immense pressure, but not as much as I’ve decided to pile on with my insistence that we’re finished by the 19th so that we can put our Christmas tree up, stick on feel-good festive films and wrap all of the gifts that are stacked high in the bedroom.

So, that’s what? 13 days to get it done? Easy.

I have a new style crush. Five years ago, I was obsessed with Tiffany jewellery (the silver, affordable kind) and spent hundreds of pounds on it. Two years ago I developed a thing for Pandora and all things charming and shiny, and this month, I’ve been bowled over by LaLa Rocks.

Last night, LaLa Rocks held a showcase of its winter 2011 collection at The Wedding Club in Birmingham, and I joined lots of other ladies (and a few nervous looking men) there to see the different pieces for myself. I’d already got my eye on a dyed freshwater pearl bracelet, but after seeing the whole collection, I realise they’re a bit like Pokemon – you just have an insatiable need to collect them all.

I particularly like the pyrite and silver one, but I wouldn’t say no to the sparkle rock crystal one, the aquamarine one, the hematite one, the grey agate, the rose quartz, the amethyst… you get the picture.

While I prefer the classic styling with the 9 carat gold bead detail, the Howlite skull detail was getting a huge amount of attention.Looks like everyone’s planning to get their rocks on this Christmas!

Last Saturday, I returned a dress that I really liked, because I thought I was being irresponsible buying two new dresses. Twenty minutes later, I spent £25 on lightbulbs. LIGHTBULBS.

The next day, I tried on the stunning blue velvet Charlotte Olympia-esque velvet shoes I’ve been coveting for weeks, and I didn’t buy them, even though they were just be-e-e-ea-utiful, because they were quite uncomfortable. I have at least three pairs of shoes in my wardrobe I’ve never worn because they’re so uncomfortable, so since when did that matter?

And then, yesterday, I’m almost too embarrassed to write it, I spent £300 on bannisters.

Let me tell you, I am rueing the day I started banging on about renovating our house. For the past year I have stomped and stormed about how much I hate the nasty decor and the boyfriend finally gave in. For a month now, I’ve been basically living in one room; the sitting room is empty, fire fitted, walls stripped and replastered. The conservatory is stacked with furniture and the kitchen is just a mess. My bedroom is the only room I see from dawn till dusk – and beyond.

This weekend, at least, the plaster will be dry and the painting will begin. The carpenter will fit my freakishly expensive bannisters, and next week, our new oak floor will be laid and our skirting boards fitted. And then – and I can’t tell you how excited I am about this – we can have the new radiators fitted. At present, it’s like living in a fridge. What possessed us to undertake this project in November and December I don’t know (Yes OK, I do. It was me saying I wanted it done by Christmas).

I know it’ll be worth it, I just hate the waiting. And the fact that my nails are all broken, I’m not getting to the gym, and that I’m having to forsake clothes in favour of wood varnish and light switches.

And yet, I don’t learn. Even though I can’t bear the disarray and the dust, I still want everything done at once. That’s why I bought all the bedding I wanted and why I waited for Adam to be otherwise disposed before sweet-talking his Dad into fitting the chandelier I bought weeks ago (which Adam kicked into the spare room and shut the door, I might add) for me. And doesn’t it look fabulous?

Oh, the lovely purple glamour of it

I confess, I wasn’t prepared for quite how much hassle it would be – it took a good two hours and that’s not allowing for the fiddling about with the crystals (I did that bit), and then I was slightly aghast at the £25 lightbulb revelation. But not as aghast as the discovery that there’s a fault and only one of the five lights works. I am acting oblivious, if it gets taken down, there’s a good chance it won’t get put back…

My current mission – and I do think that Adam will spontaneously combust if I push the issue, which has so far been met with a surprisingly loud ‘NO.’ – is to get a new floor fitted in the bedroom when the lounge flooring is replaced with lovely heritage oak and the stairs and landing is treated to a plush new coffee-coloured carpet. After all, it will just look scabby and untidy, will it not, on traipsing over all that loveliness to tatty old carpet?

I am currently torn between white limed oak and smoke brushed elm boards – rather rustic and gorgeous with the white furniture and deep purple accents, I think. All feedback welcomed.

Smoke brushed elm or white limed oak?

Although given that the bedroom is the one haven I have amidst the mess, maybe I am mad to even think of it.

In the meantime, I’ll just continue to oversee things in my supervisory, tea-making capacity, while demanding to know why everything’s taking so bloody long.

I’ll keep you posted.

Similarly, I am a nightmare to buy for (see previous posts on the birthday of identical thoughtful gifts!) because I like so many things, but invariably buy them for myself before the big day. At Christmas that’s acceptable, right? After all, I have so many parties and nights out planned that all of the shoes and bags, dresses, shrugs and earrings that I covet from mid-November would come in jolly useful before Christmas…

Take later this month. On November 29th, a fabulous new jewellery client of mine, called LaLa Rocks will be launching. I’ve already earmarked these gorgeous blue velvet shoes and clutch for it – and I plan to wangle an armful of matching bracelets for the big event. But then I saw these sparkly beauties at Dune and spied a matching clutch (there’s a theme to my coveting, isn’t there?) and thought – well, how much more Christmassy can you get? From being the hostess with the mostest on Christmas Day to teaming with jeans and a fauz fur jacket to meet my friends for cocktails, I’d wear them to death, so I need those before too…

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Twinkle Twinkle

So they don’t help with the compilation of my Christmas List because I know I’ll end up splashing out beforehand.I think gifts have to have that element to them where it’s something you’ve admired for a while, but haven’t been able to justify spoling yourself with – something that to be fair, I do too much of anyway. It’s difficult, but not impossible…

For example, I’ve seen this cute coin purse from Tiffany, which would probably see the end of me flinging my   change into the depths of the Bag Of Doom never to be seen again, and this ultra-sparkly cocktail ring by Thomas Sabo which, again, is something I’ll admire and desire but can’t justify buying for myself – though it would be a beautiful match for my Chanel Paradoxal nail polish…

That said, since I’ve been so sensible with my Christmas requests from my parents – namely asking for new lighting for the in-progress lounge, maybe such sparkle wouldn’t be frowned on. Now, where’s my fountain pen? Dear Father Christmas, I have been ever so good this year…

To clarify, there’s not a sequinned G string in sight, just a bucket of hot water, a sponge, a stepladder and a scraper, and a load of walls just waiting to be attacked. Yes, the great renovation plan of 2011 has begun, and the clock is ticking.

Having never had to strip wallpaper before; I’ve only ever come across smooth plastered walls; I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the task ahead, but I found the whole thing very therapeutic – watching the reams of paper come away from the wall, removing the remnants of lining paper and – best bit ever – the feeling of satisfaction when great swathes of paper came away from the staircase reaching right up to the ceiling that I hadn’t a hope of reaching.

Quite apart from the opportunity to either bawl my lungs out singing along to my music or simply use the time to think about things that are festering anxiously in my mind, I also lost several pounds over the course of three days – clearly all that reaching,balancing,  heaving and pulling was as good as any Body Pump class. Right now, the sitting room looks ugly, and is so cold without its dado rail and coating of nasty 70s paper, but it already seems so much bigger.

Work In Progress

In the next couple of weeks, the walls will be re-plastered, our flooring will be ripped up to be replaced with rich deep brown elm, and our nasty fire will be removed, to be replaced with this…

We’re at loggerheads at present over new iron balustrades and radiators, but I’m just waiting for the chance to splash out on all of the rugs, cushions, candles and finishing touches that will make the show-house a home.

In the meantime, Project Bedroom is so far going to plan; the chandelier is waiting to be hung, the sumptuous duvet, throw, cushions and candles are all in place, and I’m just waiting for the right weekend to paint the feature wall a deep damson shade. Who knows, maybe I’ll decide I love that too.

In terms of toning up, it’s proving a winner, Karate Kid style. It’s not so much ‘wax on, wax off’ and ‘paint the fence’ as ‘wipe on, yank off’ and ‘paint the wall’. Not that I’ll be winning any trophies soon…

The book tells the opposite side of Gone With The Wind, and is touching, yet utterly disgraceful – it’s been a while since anything brought so many emotions out in me.

The accounts of brutality against black people made me wince with horror, as much as the disgusting disregard these unpleasant, stupid women had for their own children. Rather than being grateful that those children had a loving, caring mother figure while they minced about playing bridge, they ostracised and intimidated the very women they owed the most to. The parts of the book where Aibileen repeatedly tells the small girl in her care Mae Mobley ‘You is kind, you is smart, you is important,’ so that the child grew up knowing that, despite her mother’s lack of attention, were so touching … The novel has that rare power to make you sit back and think about the state of the world, human behaviour and what it would take to bring harmony.

A week later I went to see the movie and for once, absolutely loved itv – it was every bit as powerful as the book, and while it left out some of the more brutal elements of the novel, it brought home the vile, oppressive environment that these women, who genuinely loved the children in their care, had to endure.

Emma Stone was wonderful as the privileged white woman who wanted to reveal the truth, Skeeter, while the brave cast of actresses who portrayed the heartless, ignorant bitches played their parts equally well – particularly Bryce Dallas Howard who bravely took on the part of the utterly despicable Miss Hilly. However, it was the performances from Viola Davis as Aibileen and Octavia Spencer as Minnie that stood out, bringing home the dreadful reality of their existence working for rich mistresses and earning no thanks, respect or even minimum wage.

Apparently, Stockett’s daring debut novel was rejected by 60 agents before Susan Ramer agreed to represent her. Thank God she did.