We're moving.
We need to move.
Our flat is full of mice and JUNK.
LOADs of junk.
We're moving. To a posh new minimalist flat. Modern. Not able to deal with CLUTTER.
Sara Sizzle = Clutter Machine.
We're moving in three weeks.
My job today?
Sort out the wardrobe. My clothes.
My shoes.
My mis-matching earlings and lacy pants.
My bundles of laddered tights and flourescent pink socks.
The vests, the coats, the shorts, the skirts (mini, tartan, smart, ripped, denim, ra-ra, lacy, pink), the trousers, the JEANS: my GOD the jeans, the maternity wear, the beach wear the 'where on earth would I ever wear that to?' wear.
It wears me out just thinking about it.
Here come the heart palpitations, the misery, and a severe lacking of motivation.
I have a lot of clothes. A lot.
ALL a girl needs is a capsule wardrobe. Keep telling yourself that Sara. Capsule CAPSULE.
Bah. Where to start?
Here is the photo story of my day.
Start as you mean to go on... act sensible:
The first pile full:
Oh ok, a bit of bed-bouncing fun with the Pops, you know, just to get my mood up a bit:
Strike a pose:
First item. Now, should I keep my 'Sexy Santa' Ann Summers outfit?
And were shorts with a waistband like this REALLY ever fashionable?
Do plastic boxes make good hats?
Erm, no.
Strike another pose, you know, just for good measure.
My leopard print baby. Ridiculous as you are, I could never EVER give you up:
I've never worn this skirt...
...to this day I have NO idea why. (oooh, don't I look good in a veil?)
One of my sack-dresses, i.e. post birth purchases when size of whale. Bit of a shame with this one as is silk and lovely and, if I remember correctly, did wonders for those 34Fs when I said them (*sigh*)
Oooh glittery shoes. Me likes!
Nice aren't they? (they are red, glittery, high, uncomfortable, go with NOTHING, and I have never worn them. 'Keepers' me thinks!)
A little-bit 'Axel'...
Yee-hah! (seriously, cowboy boots?)
...AND they don't even fit me.
I'm sorry. But I just have to feel just a little bit happy (smug) that I used to wear these every day post-Poppy, and now. Well, look:
Slimfast ad:
Ear muffs. I hate the word 'muff' but I quite like these:
WHY did you let me go out in THIS DRESS? WHY? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHY?
Apparently, one day in New Look, I fancied myself as a bit of a hippy and bought this tie-dyed atrocity. Christ. Got the hippy-hippy shakes. Why have I never been murdered?
Camouflage. Let me repeat that CAMOUFLAGE. Dungarees. Let me repeat that. Dungarees.
Truth be told, I've always known this furry, brown, erm... I'm not even sure what to call it, erm... 'top', was hideous. But Tracey used to tell me it made me like a cuddly teddy-bear so i've kept it all these years. Comfy level = 12 out of 10. Acceptable attire level = 0.
"NE-VER forget where you've come here from..." Yep, Take That t-shirt (one of six I came across today)
...I just sent Mark out with Poppy with a shopping list for a delicious dinner tonight for us and our lovely friends James and Colin to bring in 2009 in style. In the mentime, my plan was to get the flat spic and span.
I got distracted (surprise), though, by some peroxide and am now waiting for some rather chunky blonde highlights to develop in my hair. I have a feeling this could have been a BIG mistake. Eek! Fingers crossed!
2009: year of the green haired beast?
...Christmas that is.
Don't get me wrong, I like a bit of Christmas as much as the next girl. But this year it just seemed to go on FOREVER.
Poppy's second Christmas.
Highlights included Poppy eating so many Chocolate buttons on Christmas morning that she was actually sick. Down my leg. On my new slippers. Then immediately resumed her chants of 'cock cock cock' (her, rather unfortunate, version of 'choc').
She refused to eat anything but peas and carrots for Christmas lunch. Oh, and an enormous bowl of custard.
She ran around like a lunatic all day long, throwing things around then shouting 'oh no' like she couldn't possibly begin to imagine how the tv remote ended up in the very place she threw it to.
She is a total monster and I love her. 
My mum was really ill so my super-dad, god love him, was all alone in the kitchen and did us all proud.
Poppy had a lot of tantrums on CHristmas day. I think the excitement of it all was too much for her.
Her favorite pressies were:
- her little baby buggy, complete with Baby Annabel doll (although the doll was quickly thrown across the room in favor of a child-less buggy to push around).
- a dance with me Teletubby which is actually Dipsy but now called 'YaYa' which is Poppy's own special name for him. She carries him round by his antenna and punches him in the face. It's all a bit worrying really.
- a tea set. My GOD she loves her tea set. Top marks to Mark who suggested we get it for her. HOURS she spends, making pretend tea, stirring in pretend sugar, emptying pretend sugary tea between cups using a tiny spoon. Pouring pretend scalding tea over my head from the teapot...
As for me, well, I had some ace pressies.
My faves were this Mark Pawson People/Things Reversible Necklace from Tatty Devine (one of only 36 in the whole world!): 
A great pressie from Mark. You can, my friends, either wear a necklace saying 'People' if the mood should take you, or 'Things' if the mood should not. I love it.
Another fantastic pressie from Chicken was this: 
No real explanation needed. As one of my friends commented on Facebook, I FINALLY HAVE MERCHNADSIE!
I did get presents off other people, but the low-down on the top gifts includes another great one from Mark...
THIS bag
which is even acer than it looks. For two reasons.
1. It is HUGE, plenty of room for all of my crap
2. It has working speakers to plug in my iPod. Wicked.
Needless to say, Mark did pretty well this year. I wont mention the fact that in his desperation to fill our flat with blu-ray movies he bought me the sequel to The Chronicles of Narnia. Oops I just did.
Truth be told, I simply cannot say a bad word about Mark at the moment because he bought me my camera again. Yep. The one that got stolen. Turns out we weren't covered by our contents insurance out and about (needless to say we've changed this now), so I thought I was going to be camera-less at Chrimble. Then Chicken decided to be amazingly generous and buy me it again. Thanks Chicken! 
I took 723 photos over Christmas.
I am really quite annoying with my camera.
I am quite good at pressies myself too, you know. I bought Mark this rather fab Bose speaker thingy to plug his iPod in to, which he loves (and I love too, truth be told).
I also got him a new watch (Fossil) a lovely Penguin t-shirt and scarf, erm... and loads of cool other stuff too. See, I am a good girlfriend sometimes.
Christ. I guess if I had been wearing one side of my new Mark Pawson necklace to write this post it would have been on the 'Things' not 'People' side. I am a horrible person/thing. Must do better.
The other day at work, Mark and I were talking about how long we had worked at the company.
'I was only 22 when I started here,' I said longingly - I am not at peace with the getting old thing.
'You were,' Mark said, 'I remember 22 year old Sara, so quiet and shy at first. She was such a lovely girl'.
Yep. Thanks for that Mark.
I can imagine myself sitting on this doing my make-up each morning.
Get one yourself (or for me!) here
Sara Sizzle's Christmas Party Dress (tried it on tonight figuring out how much starvation is needed this week on a scale of one slice of apple a day to fry-up central). 
Which leads me nicely in to my song lyric of the day...
"I wish my life was a little less seedy
Why am I always so greedy?
Wish I looked just like Cheryl Tweedy
I know I never will..."
The lovely dovely Lily Allen with Cheryl Tweedy.
I know I never will, but can die trying,
(PS - know that kind of misses the point of the song but... hey!)
This t-shirt is wicked. Love it. 
I know I know, Sara Sizzle is turning in to some sort of weird online shopping list.
So shoot me.
...we only want to get drunk".
- The Manics, A Design for Life
Song lyric of the day.
Why, oh why, did I drink so much last night at my friend's baby shower?
Why do I do it to myself?
My new years resolution is going to be to drink less. My liver is suffering at the moment.
What? Just trying to get in to the Christmas spirit(s)!
Just been checking out Asos and stumbled upon this dress. Is now major object of desire. 
Speaking of dresses that I NEED.
I really really loved the dress Diana Vickers wore on week 2 of this year's X Factor. It is from Zara but is selling out everywhere. Bah! It is literally the most wicked dress I have seen all year.
...so am finding it hard (bumper real-life mags or no) to get in to the Chrimble spirit.
Answer? Decorate the tree and dance around to The Pogues. Yay!!
I feel so stressed at the moment I just feel like saying to the world 'I'm past it all now, throw a ten tonne truck at me, I will cope... and smile while you do it' 
BUMPER issues of my fave Real Life magazines come out. Hmmm, Christmassy. Which tale to read first? The seemingly festive 'I sold my false teeth to buy presents' perhaps? Nah, I fancy 'He sent me a pig's head in the post'. Yay!
TIme to put up the Christmas tree me thinks!
Tatty Devine, 50s Glasses Necklace. Ace fab and brill x 12.
In fact, I want everything from here.
Too cool for school. Oooh, extra especially these necklaces too. Mark Pawson is literally ruling. Yes?
Or tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it
where's the sense in that?"
- Dido, White Flag. Song lyric of the day.
Why?
Diana Vickers got voted off the X Factor last night and my life got 31.56% worse.
I loved her. I mean, I love her.
I knew when she sang White Flag, as amazing as it was, that she would go. Tempting fate.
Knee-high / over-the-knee socks
Rockin' the Clueless look and remembering being 13. Love it. Someone put on Creep by Radiohead and dye my hair pink. 
Little Big Planet. 
Quite simply the best game EVER. I want to live in this little Stephen Fry narrated world full-time.
One of the best things about it is that Mark and I can play together in an (almost) non-competitive way. Much better than Mariokart on the Wii which brought out my gaming tourettes to a rather ridiculous extent. It really is best for all of us that I don't drive. The language that comes out of my mouth when I play that game leaves a LOT to be desired. Does always make Mark laugh though... 
Poppy talking
Ah. She is so proud of herself whenever she learns a new word. This week we had the joy of hearing her start to say 'Poppy'. She has also started stringing two words together. Usually 'bye-bye' with any other word she knows. So, if a car comes on TV and then goes, we get 'Bye bye car'. We also have hours of fun with her coming in and out of the room. 'Bye-bye Daddy' she says laughing her head off, blowing kisses and waving. I'm not sure where it is she imagines she is going to... 
Curly hair and pigtails
Because I get an extra 20 minutes in bed by avoiding the straighteners.
And because it makes me feels 80s. 
If I was able to afford a new Macbook, and I was able to use this company to make it pink. Or purple. Or BOTH! My life would be 63.24% better. Fact. I need a money making scheme. Anyone got any ideas? Willing to humiliate self over extended period and in any way to get my hands on one of these.
I am having issues with sleep. My need for some zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz's is high right now. It is high always, but recently I have been deprived of my Saturday lie-in by my own ridiculous brain.
Once I wake up, I simply cannot get back to sleep. I toss and turn and listen to the chaos erupting in the living room and I think about the dishes and the ironing and the bloody mice that have invaded our flat.
I was so so exhausted last night that I was convinced I would not only have my lie-in today, I was going to savour it. Every minute.
So, at around half past eight when I woke up, I lay there, yes, unable to get back to sleep, but actually quite enjoying just lazing about and daydreaming. This went on for an hour or so. And eventually my eyes started to ever-so-slowly tire. Just as I began drifting in to a dream about, strangely, spreadsheets, I was woken. Fast by this.
"Oh my god, Poppy Poppy Poppppppppy", "Wwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh scream scream piercing scream". I was out of bed in a nano-second to find a pale Mark and a screeching Poppy.
Poor old Pops had fallen down the bottom two stairs and twisted around as she did so, landing on her head. Within seconds an egg shaped bump had appeared on her adorable forehead and Mark had started preemptively apologizing (one of my biggest fears is Poppy falling down the stairs, so I nag Mark almost contantly about making sure he is behind her when she is climbing the stairs).
Poor Poppy. Bless her heart. She was inconsolable for about ten minutes. Finally calming with the offer of a Petit Filous.
It is the hardest part of parenting. Seeing them in a pain or upset and not being able to take it away. I would happily take on a forehead bump a million times the size and permanent if it meant Poppy didn't have to have it. I feel worried sick now. Mark googled 'signs of concussion' as I said 'I remember looking at that page the day she fell off the sofa' (another of Mark's lowest parenting moments when Poppy was about 4 months old, and sat propped up on the sofa. I was in the bedroom, and when Mark appeared I said 'You haven't left Poppy on the sofa have you?' to which he replied 'She'll be fine' just as CRASH BANG WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. He was in trouble that night.)
So, poor old bashed up Pops is currently at Woolworths with her daddy, being bought a guilt-toy. I dread to think what they will come back with. I also dread seeing the big bruised egg in its full glory in a few hours time. Argh. No one tells you how sick it makes you feel when they hurt themselves.
As for Mark, well, it was an accident and he feels so awful I can't punish him any more than he is himself. If, though, he tries one more time to explain in the most mind-numingly accurate detail the angles and circumstances and limb positions of the fall, I will be pushing him down the stairs. And videoing it to post on here. Men eh? 
...I'll kiss you all starry eyed my body swingin' from side to side
I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else...but you"
- The Moldy Peaches, Anyone Else But You
Song lyric of the day
Just because it is literally the sweetest song ever...
I was torn between that line and 'we sure are cute for two ugly people' which is also brilliant.
They aren't ugly though. They are super ace and fab and, yes, cute. 
Life without a camera is getting me down. Every time I think about my camera I feel really sad.
Turns out not covered by our contents insurance and cannot afford to replace it.
To try and cheer myself up I have been sitting editing the last few pics I took. 
I am not finding it too easy to blog every day. This week, you see, I have been all over the place. I spent one day in Milton Keynes, another in Stockport. Publishing, I tell you, It is a glamorous old world.
I am still loving my rediscovery of all things Sizzle, though, and plan to have 5 regular features.
1. Photo of the week
2. Poppy story of the week
3. Chicken moment of the week
4. Things that I want
5. Song lyrics of the day
Good huh?
...I always cry at endings".
- Belle and Sebastian, Get me away from here I'm dying.
Song lyric of the day.
Endings suck.
The ends of books.
The ends of songs.
The ends of films.
The bottom of a bottle of wine.
Saying goodbye.
They all make me cry. 
"Your mind is like a live camera that is constantly taking pictures of every single moment that comes onto you... So be a good photographer!"
- David Acuna
...as you get closer to thirty."
- Blur, End Of A Century.
Song lyric of the day. 
True. Oh so very very very true.
Filthy.
I am enjoying being 26.
The latest issue of Wired magazine has an article about the death of blogging.
It made me feel nostalgic for my Sizzle. Defy internet trends and carry on regardless.
Since I last blogged I tured 26, got an ace new camera from Chicken, and sat around a lot feeling guilty for not updating the blog.
I have now resolved to blog every day. Even if it is a one minute post with some fleeting thought about broken biscuits.
This is me: 
I guess the thing I feel most guilty about is stopping the updates on all the Poppy stuff.
Needless to say she is now a walking, talking, running, shouting, lovely lovely toddler. She looks like this: 
Anyway, as I said, one post a day minimum from here on in.
Hold on to your bean bag.
Stress.
I am trying to learn how to deal with stress.
You get woken up at 4.58am having lay awake tossing and turning until 2.53. am.
And it's freezing.
And you can't find Poppy's bottle.
And the milk was left out over night.
Oh fuck it. It'll be fine.
And Poppy is whining until the second the milk is in her mouth.
And it's only 5.00am.
And you make it too hot, so you have to start again.
And the whinning in your ear. 'It's ok Poppy, it won't be a minute'.
The she has it and she is so sweet and she goes back to sleep. But by then you may as well stay up because your alarm goes off at 5.25 anyway.
The nursery run, in the rain. With Poppy's rain cover that has a huge hole in it.
And she is screaming.
Because you forgot Pink Bunny.
And her teeth hurt.
And you ran out of Calpol last night.
Poppy's vacant expression as you leave her eating her breakfast.
Folding up the buggy. Attempting to fold up the buggy.
But their is too much crap in the basket underneath to fold it.
That you haven't got around to sorting out.
Because you're stressed. And tired.
The walk back to the train station. Trying to walk fast but getting stuck behind two smoking and dawdling mums. With double buggys and double chins and, probably, more money than you.
The fury at not being able to cross the stupid road because of all the stupid idiots in their stupid cars.
And the battery on your iPod is flat.
And you forgot your book.
And the Metro hasn't arrived yet. Or has. And is as crap. As CRAP as anything.
Queue for tickets. You are second in line and you train is in three minutes and the t%*t in front of you decides to buy a season tickets and a young person's rail card and seventy three combinations of tickets for future travel.
So you miss your train.
And the next one only had 4 carriages and not 8 so you have to push yourself on and burn up both mentally and physically for the 24.5 minutes of torturous balancing and pole grabbing and listening to idiots in suits talk about nothing. Nothing.
And your ticket wont work on the ticket machine so you have to try and find the man to let you through but he's nowhere to be seen. 
And you need some cash but the only cash point charges £1.75 just to get out a tenner. But you need a drink and you only have £1.12 in your purse and the shops around Farringdon charge at least £3.50 for a half litre of water. Because they can.
And the roadworks. Roadworks on the Pavement. And your trying to find your umbrella and use the cashpoint machine and your keys fall out of your bag on to the floor and the person waiting for the machine behind you tuts and you scowl at them or say sorry and then fume silently to yourself.
And a bit of you thinks 'I wish I could just go home' but then you remember that your boiler is broken so you have no hot water or heating and the flat is freezing and you've had a mouse infestation and the flat is a mess so you'd just end up washing or ironing or bleaching everything in sight.
And the office is still locked but you didn't bring that set of keys so you have to go and ask the same director you do every day to borrow his keys. Apologizing. Looking like an idiot.
And this is all before 8.00am.
It, generally, gets worse as the day goes on.
So.
I am off work for a week from today.
And I am having an internet detox.
When I get back, the posts are going to come thick and fast.
I have missed my blog.
There's this Facebook application called 'Compare People' which, admitedly, at one time I found completely hilarious.
Who would you rather marry? It asks, flashing up a picture of your boss and your OWN BROTHER for you to decide between.
Ridiculous.
Now, though, I am starting to get a tad (well A LOT) pissed off with the stupid thing. Especially as it has started sending me emails like this:
Sara, here are your strengths and weaknesses, as voted for by your 'friends' (I added the ' ' for humour's sake)
STRENGTHS:
best mother (potential)
prettiest
most helpful
cuddliest
WEAKNESSES:
most talented
craziest
Is it me, or does that make me sound like some sort of little-house-on-the-prairie stay-at-home cuddly MUM type?
And an untalented and totally sane one at that.
Thanks 'friends'. 
Chicken and I were out last night and somehow got on to the subject of who would be on our 'lists'.
You know the deal, like in Friends when they all consider what five celebrities would be on their "freebie list"--people they can sleep with without anyone getting upset.
Anyway, to make it official, here are my 5 in all their weird, slightly manky 'what the hell am I thinking' glory. Haha. Chicken wont be too impressed with this post.
Lee Ryan
Yes I know. I should throw myself under the 7.35am from Tulse Hill to Blackfriars. But I can't help it.
He's a bit thick. He's a bit of a minger. He's a complete moron. But I just can't get enough of the 'singer, songwriter, actor, film-maker and former member of the British boy band Blue' (apparently).
Some of my fave Lee gems of wisdom:
5.
“There is something really mysterious about lions. They could rip you apart if they wanted to, but at the same time they look so cuddly. Can you imagine what humans look like to animals? They must think we're so weird.”
“If I fancy a girl, I'll tell her. I'll say: 'You're fit.'”
“I'm eccentric, what else? I don't know, I've got two people telling me what to say.”
“I try not to sleep with every girl I see, but it's hard!”
“When I was a kid…I liked burning ants with a magnifying glass….but I think that progressed into adulthood where I now believe in aliens.”
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Every day, in the hour between having her tea and having her bath, Poppy Pop Star goes a bit mental.
Happy mental.
She goes all floppy and giggly and thinks everything is HILARIOUS.
There is more hilarity here for those of you interested enough (that's you mum!)
If this is what scrambled egg on toast, tomato and cucumber does to her, she's certainly never having e numbers. Ever.
In other news, last night Poppy suddenly started saying 'YES' really clearly.
'Poppy is that a duck?'... I ask, as you do.
'Yessssssssh' she literally bellows.
Bless her.
This expands her repertoire (other than Mama, Dada, Nana) to 'Duck', 'Yeah', 'Yes', 'Moo' and, of course, 'Boo'. 'Daddy' is not far off. She's such a little traitor sometimes.
Is she the first baby in history to learn yes before no?
Answers on a postcard.
Aside from her parents, who I maintain she still adores above all else, Poppy's favorite 'person' in the world right now is this chap... 
For those of you not immersed in the world of pre-school entertainment, let me introduced you to, the lovely, if ever-so-slightly insane, Makka Pakka from In the Night Garden.
I think Poppy's growing fascination with Makka Pakka comes from his obsessive compulsive tendencies which Poppy herself is beginning to display. She gets incredibly upset if anything, her bottle. her nappy cream, is missing a lid. Everything has to have a lid. And it has to be on properly.
When Makka Pakka appears on screen, Poppy immediately starts bouncing up and down like a demented kangaroo and claps her hands with glee.
'Hello Makka Pakka' I say. And she smiles over her shoulder as if to say 'Yes, hello Makka Pakka, my Mummy loves you too'.
Makka Pakka collects stones, carefully washes them with his sponge, and makes them dry with his 'uff-uff'. He then arranges them incredibly neatly in piles of three (or sometimes five) before taking off around the garden on his Og-Pog, on which he carries his sponge, soap, his uff-uff dryer and his special trumpet. He has a favorite stone which he sleeps with and enjoys washing the other characters faces. Actually, he HAS to clean the other characters faces. It is a compulsion, I am sure of it.
You cant help but love Makka Pakka, the little stone-obsessed guy is the coolest thing to hit our screens in a very long time (or at least since Chico).
Chicken and I have become quite addicted to In the Night Garden ourselves in recent times. Both of us know the words to Makka Pakka's song:
Makka Pakka,
Akka Wakka,
Mikka Makka moo!
Makka Pakka,
Appa yakka,
Ikka akka, ooo
Hum dum,
Agga pang,
Ing, ang, ooo
Makka Pakka,
Akka wakka,
Mikka Makka moo
...and I have spent many a minute perfecting the dance that goes along with it.
Every home should have a Makka Pakka. The world would be a much funnier, and much cleaner, place.
"If you have time to shave one leg, it's a miracle. If you have time to shave two, you feel guilt."
- Trisha Ashworth & Amy Noble , "I Was A Really Good Mom before I Had Kids." (Chronicle, 2007)
"Children whose mothers worked long hours had "less positive interactions" than those whose mothers did not work."...
"Working mothers are harming their children's long-term development by sending them to nursery from an early age, a leading author said yesterday."
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