All about the improv

My maid of honour speech is coming along nicely, a big surprise considering my severe case of writer’s block a month ago.

Rather than write it out fully, pondering over the use of particular words and then forcing myself to remember it all, I have decided to improvise. Being on the spot strangely enough makes me less likely to stammer or freeze up. I allow the words to flow out. Then it again it should come as no shock to anyone that talking is not a weakness of mine.

Even though there isn’t a full script, I do have the basic order of what I will be saying. Hopefully people will laugh at least once! I’m also putting together a gadget, an idea stolen from Andy Spearman’s scroll at the Heyward wedding (number 3), that I’m sure will worry Faye but rest assured, Mrs Dabek, anything shameful remains between us two until the end of time!

In putting together this gadget, I thought back to the many memories of Faye and I, along with Noolz, Parv and Jo. I would list them all here on this blog but, as I said, many things must stay a secret. I’ve even dug out the infamous scrapbook I put together containing our colourful moments ranging from karaoke to questionable dealings at Bargain Beers.

Taking this trip down memory lane has made me realise just how far Faye and I have come from those early days of being a Fresher in Sheffield. Who would have thought that come next week, six hours after we first met, that we will be on the Las Vegas Strip, having drinks at the Bellagio and getting ready for her wedding? Most definitely not me.

Pants to control those wobbly bits

One very important key piece to my bridesmaid outfit that I only just remembered to buy is suitable underwear. It literally came to me on the bus to work. What is missing? Dress – check. Shoes – check. Handbag – buy when I get there as styles seen so far are either too tacky, too small or not the right colour. (I know, chances are that the one I get from Las Vegas will be a combination of all three.) Camera – check.

Then it hit me. Eish! I need some control under my dress to not only hide those wobbly bits but also to preserve my dignity – in other words not accidentally flashing to both Chris and Faye’s parents and God forbid, the Reverend!

Today’s 45 minute lunch was spent in Marks and Spencers ooming and ahhing over slips and control pants. I needed something that will blend in with my cream dress. Anything too white or too black would show up against my cream dress. Then came the skin coloured figure-hugging slip to the rescue. Now it is quite possibly the least attractive garment ever made. Imagine stretching another person’s skin across your body. But ugly or not, it does the trick.

Gok Wan has been championing these control garment for years and I finally understand why. They really do smooth out those bumps on the waistline and stomach area. Getting into them is a chore unto itself. I definitely spared a thought for Bridget Jones who in the second film required the help of the shop assistant to get those pants over her thighs! For me the ultimate test was whether I could sit down in them and feel comfortable. There is nothing worse than buying any form of control underwear but only to find that when you sit down you feel those excess wobbly bits rolling up towards your chest!

So now that the dress is complete I just need to break into my ridiculously high shoes and pray that I make it up the aisle in one piece. Because make no mistake, even though all eyes will be on the bride, I fall over or display a wardrobe malfunction, then it will be something that I will not live down for a long time.

Rachel Getting Married (and no it’s not friend number 6!)

Of all the many wedding-themed films I have seen this year, this independent, rough around the edges, Oscar-nominated flickHath starring Anne Hathaway is by far the best. The film centres on Hathaway’s character Kym, a recovering drug addict, who returns home for the weekend to attend big sister Rachel’s wedding. Where Rachel is successful in both her professional and personal life, Kym has lost her way, ever since the peak of her addiction resulted in the death of her baby brother. Cue plenty of sibling arguments, bitter confrontations and revisiting painful memories. Almost everything threatens to ruin the big day. But the love and bond between a family proves strongest and there is nothing quite like a wedding in bringing people together.

For me the biggest message was the importance of having your family around on the big day. No matter how frustrated they make us or how many times they let us down at the end of the day, we can choose our friends but not our blood. So how can we not share the day with our parents, siblings and best friends? Don’t get me wrong though, if a relative has betrayed us beyond repair then understandably they should not share in our big day.

Admittedly I have pictured that if I were to one day get married, I would just run away to Cape Town and say my I Dos on top of Table Mountain – pure and simple. No stress, no fuss, just me and my groom in the most beautiful, peaceful setting imaginable. Then upon returning home, have the ultimate reception. However I’m sure it will take a lifetime for my nearest and dearest to forgive me if I were to just run off like that. Believe me, me getting married is such a big deal that many people will want to be there to make sure it happens. And I wouldn’t want it any other way!

Team Neurosurgeon or Team Vampire?



Dempsey (left) Skarsgard (right)
Is there any contest between these two? Seriously?!


War has officially broken out between the Ng sisters as to who is hotter: Patrick ‘McDreamy’ Dempsey or True Blood’s Eric played by Alexander Skarsgard. Those who are Facebook with us both will see on Wendie’s wall the endless comments made to my post regarding my verdict on the vampire.
It went along the lines of: “Dude! Totally NOT feeling True Blood’s Eric. Maybe with dark hair, stubble, stronger jawline.”

Oh did the comments come in! One of Wendie’s closest allies, Nat, said I am mad for not seeing the attraction.

Now admittedly I don’t watch True Blood as religiously as I do Grey’s Anatomy so my conclusion is based on the wonders that is Google Image. So maybe the hotness is only detected via the small screen.

However, after many, MANY minutes on Google Image, I stand by my conclusion. Eric you doth not get my blood a-pumping.

In retaliation, Wendie ridicules my “bad taste” for McDreamy along with, apparently, Mandela and President Obama. Sis, with regards to these two there is a fine distinction between admiration and attraction.

Bad taste? Wendie reckons this Eric character is hotter than her previous TV crush: Prison Break’s Wentworth Miller. Or Wentworth FitBit as she used to shout out at the beginning of each episode. Hotter than Wentworth...seriously? Am I missing something here?

Now diplomatic Debbie would admit to seeing why the vampire can get other women all riled up but I just don't feel the same.

However this is a full scale battle of the hotties amongst the sisters. No room to be diplomatic.

So dear readers, it is over to you to have the final say. Vote now in the poll at the top of this blog page.

It should come as no surprise when I say, give me the Doc any day!

ALWAYS Tell The Bride... especially if it's a Vegas wedding

Vegas weddings – love them or loathe them. To be in the ultimate microcosm of the entire world, complete with shiny lights, while reading your vows. Viva Las Vegas as The King sang. Or, think it is the tackiest idea, devoid of any romantic notion. Blame it on The King with his notorious drive-thru, shot gun wedding to Priscilla at the Little White Chapel.

Tonight’s episode of Don’t Tell The Bride is set in Las Vegas. Now I normally steer clear of such trashy TV (honestly!) but what with a certain Vegas wedding taking place in two weeks, how could I resist? The show centres on the groom who is given £12,000 to organise the perfect surprise wedding for the bride. Operative word being surprise. Yes, the bride is left entirely out of the loop. Talk about disaster.

It turns out that a Vegas wedding is the bride’s worst kind of nightmare. Did she loathe the idea! At the 11th hour it was hit and miss whether she would go ahead with it. TV being TV, she eventually walked up the aisle at The Venetian. But there was no sign of the bride’s brother and sister, the groom’s sister and their friends and extended family. Oh and the groom wore a bright, white tux. He picked the wrong dress - the bride in the end demanded a new one at a cost of £1,500. She broke down in tears at the airport when she discovered her destination. On top of all that her sister, the maid of honour, refused to go because she was that disgusted with the groom.

Admittedly, I was disappointed that the bride went ahead with it. If I were that heartbroken, angry and worst of all disappointed in someone I trusted, no way would I have boarded the plane.

Call me dark, bitter and cynical but I cannot see that couple lasting forever.

Surely the groom would have had some inkling to the kind of wedding the bride did NOT want. She wanted stately country home, a big wedding shared with all of her friends and family. He wanted Las Vegas. The groom either knew this but went ahead with his preference, taking the biggest gamble of his life by betting everything on the hope that the bride would go through with it. Or he was just a plain, simple idiot.
It was painfully addictive to watch. Is it wrong, wrong, wrong to trust someone else to organise our wedding day? Without our input...even if that person is The One? Like the old cliché, it’s not where we end up but the journey in getting there that makes it worthwhile. For a bride to be left completely out of the loop is unthinkable and of course she will be devastated. Tip for all future grooms: Do Always Tell The Bride.

This episode proved that Las Vegas weddings are not everyone’s cup of tea. Having said all this, I have no doubt that Faye and Chris’s wedding will be nothing short of fantastic. Firstly they’re on the same page, secondly Faye is in full control and everything will go to way she planned. Oh and thirdly just when I think she can’t get any more organised, today I receive a laminated official itinerary of the big day.

This couple could just be the Chosen One who will rewrite the book on how to do a Vegas wedding perfectly. Love them indeed!

Can YOU watch the love of your life marry someone else?

I randomly came across the music video to Leona Lewis’s song Happy last night I have to admit it almost made me cry.

The video (for those who haven’t seen it check it out here) is set in Cuba and the beginning sees the singer at a wedding, confetti falling around her, and she is well, happy.

Then it rewinds to the moment where she meets and becomes obviously smitten with this handsome man and he appears to feel the same too.

In one shot his hand brushes against her shoulder, in the other they’re gazing into each other’s eyes.

Skip forward to Leona getting ready for a wedding, her mum putting a flower piece into her hair.

Then just about 20 seconds before the end of the video, the groom (said handsome man) walks up to his bride, take her into his arms and pulls her in for a dance. The bride as it turns out is NOT Leona but her friend.

So basically Leona plays the unlucky-in-love gal who watches the man she loves marry someone else. Unrequited Love in its cruellest form.

I guess we’ve all been there in terms of liking someone who doesn’t feel the same way but I do wonder just how many people can do what she did. How many of us can accept a wedding invitation and watch the bride or groom marry someone else knowing that we are in love with one of them?

While it happen in (some) films and TV shows where at the very last minute weddings are stopped because someone decides to take a gamble and declare their love, in real life people are more likely to settle with forever holding their peace. After all it takes courage, bravery and many layers of thick skin to shout out loud marry me instead…in front of two sets of family and friends. But even with all these factors in check, who really wants to be forever known as that person who stopped a wedding?

Having said that stranger things have happened so it would be interesting to see just how many weddings were abruptly stopped because of this reason.

When it comes down to it, if you were invited to the grand wedding of the person you were hopelessly in love with do you a) be the bigger person, attend and try to be happy for the couple or, b) avoid at all costs?

If it were me I would follow Leona’s lead and attend because hey, this is me after all. Even if it killed me inside I would still turn up to send my blessings. At the very least it saves having to explain for the hundredth time why I was a no-show.

A weekend of no weddings or hen dos: just pizza, cocktails and dancing

I finally reunited with the Derby Gang last Friday for a night of pizza, cocktails and dancing. It was both necessary and relaxing to go back to the East Midlands and have a weekend unrelated to weddings.

During my catch up with the dear friends, it really dawned on me how much everyone has noticed my seven month hiatus. Naturally the first question asked was "So how have all your weddings been?" I also felt bad when Amy admitted that it got annoying and disappointing for the group when I constantly had to turn down invitations for dinners, parties and hang outs because the dates clashed with my busy schedule. Obviously it's not my fault that by sheer coincidence the weddings are so close to each other. But, like I've said before, in an ideal world I can be in all places at once and still have me time to sit back, reflect and write it all up.

Admittedly, even though I wasn't physically at a wedding that weekend, I would be lying if I said I didn't think about it. Being near four couples it's hard not to look at them and wonder. Well after a night of observing, I can safely bet I know who will be the first to get engaged. Hello?! Obviously it's going to be............. On second thought it's wise not to reveal my prediction.

I don't want to be the reason why this couple breaks up because one turns out to be a marriage-phobe or I've somehow created a lot of unnecessary pressure for the guy to produce a ring.

In all honesty, it doesn't matter who out of the four gets married first. I would be just as equally happy for any of them if I were to receive a WE'RE ENGAGED text tonight. However the line has been drawn: if the big day is in 2010, I'm not going!

Bellagio, O Bellagio... how can I say no?

It's done. I have gone ahead and booked myself for one night in the five star hotel. This comes after days of pondering, two friends telling me to just go for it (Heather and Carly - you will be the reason why I'll be living off supermarket own branded products until 2011!) along with my irrational, spontaneous side completely kicking it's logical, sensible opponent in the arse. When in Vegas right?

After everything that has happened this year and a bit, all the downs I've experienced, I should treat myself, allow myself to the chance to be happy once more. And while true happiness may not necessarily be achieved by jumping up and down on a king size bed, watching the famous Bellagio fountains shoot up at the precise moment and relaxing in the oversized bathtub... oh who the hell am I kidding? Bellagio here I come. Can get a woo woo WOO!

Fortunately my logical, sensible side was not completely wiped out in my moment of truth when deciding Bellagio or no Bellagio. I changed my check in dates at the Hard Rock to avoid the steep $189 plus tax rate. So now rather than stay in the Bellagio on an expensive Sunday night, I shall be spending my last night there - saying goodbye in glamourous style. The only slight, microscopic even, glitch to this is that I have to leave the following day at 7am to catch my flight to Vancouver. Therefore I cannot oversleep. But I'm sure the Bellagio has a wake up call service and I'm sure it's the best in the world!

My Plus 1 is... me!

I can really relate to Betty Suarez. In last week’s episode of Ugly Betty, the imperfectly beautiful woman with the heart of gold attended a swanky company party alone.

The man she hoped would ask her instead took another girl, former boss turned best friend Daniel took his new assistant and while her intentions were primarily selfish, ditzy friend Amanda offered to find Betty a blind date – by advertising for men who are into “plus size Latina ladies.”

But far from staying home comfort eating, Betty walked into the crowded room with her head held high, proudly declaring that she is her “own plus 1.”

That’s how I feel in not just the weddings I have attended this year but in any typical day.

When there is a film that I really want to watch, I’m not going to wait patiently for a friend to be free just to accompany me. If I want sushi then I’ll happily sit in the corner with nothing but my BlackBerry to keep me company. Honestly. In fact it’s these rare moments where I can relax and embrace the quality me time. You think it’s a coincidence that I arrive into Las Vegas two days before Faye and Chris?

The episode ended brilliantly with Betty dancing alone to an up tempo version of Dancing With Myself. You go Betty Suarez!

Shortly after watching this mum randomly asked me if I’ve ever been properly chased by a guy.

That would be no. So Mama suggested that I reduce my “male-headed independent strength.” Translation: be more willing to let a guy do the rescuing.

Sorry Mama but that’s not going to happen. I’m not going to waste time holding out for some kind of hero to take me to places, buy me green cables at the cinema sweet counter or hold my shopping bags for me.

There is no way I’m going to compromise my independent strength by becoming a damsel just to attract a man. No way!

You wouldn’t expect Michelle Obama to suddenly stop voicing her opinions derived from her Ivy League Law education just because she’s the First Lady.

If my stubbornness means many more years of being my own plus 1 to friends’ weddings and their babies’ Christenings then so be it.

That will be me you will see waving her hands in the air like there’s no tomorrow in the middle of the dance floor!

And in a perfect world, the perfect wedding goes something like this...

So after that proposal mid-season 5 of Grey's, the finale saw Derek and Meredith finally tying the knot. Or more precisely, signing the post-it. See for yourself here.

Yes it's not official nor legal but join me if you will in suspending reality for just a minute and focus on the simplicity and ultimate perfection (there is no other word I can think of) that is this moment.

The vows are their own and the moment is shared by just them two.

That's what I want. A post it! Or a piece of lined paper where the vows are in shorthand understood only by myself and my One.

A girl can dream all she wants... and I intend to do a lot of it!

If only every wedding proposal is like this one...

You will have caught on that I am a Grey's Anatomy addict. After Season 5, as unbelievable as it sounds, I am now a bigger fan.

The main reason being is that finally after so long of will they/ won't they, Derek and Meredith get engaged. It only took five years for her to realise that this McDreamy is the real thing.

And in typical GA style, the proposal is wonderful, beautiful and unrealistic. That's right, the show has not only made single ladies the world over go searching for their tall, dark, handsome, complete with The Hair, surgeons but, has raised the bar for the perfect proposal. See for yourself: The McDream of all proposals

Call me hopeless, call me whatever but to me this is how it should be done. This is my kind of perfect. None of this getting down on one knee, with a ring, roses, teddy bears with the red love heart on the front or fireworks. Just, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 11 words. OK I confess it also helps a great deal if the guy's day job is saving lives.

I am doomed for all eternity aren't I?

Wedding traditions are like sooo 1950s

Grooms you can now all relax. You are now no longer expected to go up to your future father-in-law filled with deep dread and exhibiting signs of an early heart attack just to ask for his permission to marry his daughter.

Likewise fathers, you should probably give up waiting for said nervous wreck of a man – or boy – for that rare occasion where you get to be the first in your family to be let in on big news.

Why? Such wedding tradition, if results from a poll are to be believed, is dying out.

Put more precisely, just one in six grooms ask for permission, compared to one in two in the 1960s.

Results of the poll conducted by researchers at The Wedding Inbox also found that other favourites such as tying tins to the back of the couple’s wedding car and the bride having her something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue have been halved in the past 50 years.

So is this true? Are wedding traditions dying out?
Now I’m not one for mushy tradition. I’m not keen on the tins and I definitely believe couples should write their own vows. Don’t even get me started on the love, honour and obey!

But when it comes to getting the father’s permission, I dearly hope that my match is that rare one in six.
You see my father is all about tradition, principles, discipline – especially when it comes to me and my sister. Thankfully my brother-in-law had the sense to ask Papa Ng.

It’s extremely important to me that my future knight in shining whatever involves my Dad because he is and will always be the most important man in my life. Whoever I end up with must accept second place. Now I know that is a lot to say and you may be thinking, ‘well you’ll think differently when you find your match.’

But honestly I can’t even entertain the idea of my Dad being anything but Number One. He is my teacher, my confidante, my hero, my leader. I’m first and foremost his daughter before I am somebody’s match.

And what about introducing new traditions? Here’s a few I say there should be more of:

• Brides and maid of honours giving speeches
• Couples writing their own vows
• Couples reading their vows only to each other before the official, legal binding ceremony.*

Hear me out on this last one. A wedding ceremony is never private between the couple because they are being watched by their friends and family. OK so they may want to share the day with their nearest and dearest. But if it were me, I would like to have a moment, my moment, with my groom and say my personal vows to just him – so that he can be the very first person to hear my words.

Now coming from me that is true love.

* The inspiration to this will be all explained in the next entry or two

Las Vegas to Vancouver to Montreal to New York

As of yesterday, all my flights and bus tickets across North America have been booked and confirmed.

My ticket from Vancouver to Montreal and then Montreal to New York were bought yesterday. After many hours price comparing, I eventually bought the Montreal ticket from the first source: WestJet's official website. The worst thing with this is having to fork out an extra $12CAD to reserve a seat. OK so that equals to less than £10 but such a surcharge is still disgraceful! Call it a great marketing scheme or just a plain old scam, I didn't realise about this extra cost until about five 'continue' buttons later. By this point I could not be bothered cancelling and searching all over again. I hope there's something special to this plane seat on top of the guaranteed extra leg room.

Originally I had not planned on stopping in Montreal but when I heard that a former Derby housemate, Alice, is now living there (thanks to her French degree, she has a swanky job with the Quebec HQ of Rolls Royce) I had to pop over and see her. Such spontaneity came way before the sensible me kicked in screaming, "How are you going to afford it?!" But I figure, it's one less day to pay for a hotel. Besides, money should be no barrier when finding time for your friends.

To further save the pennies, I opted to take a bus from Montreal to New York. Now I may have sworn to never take a long distance bus journey ever since that mammoth 26-hour ride from Cape Town to Durban that gave me none of the ocean views and beautiful landscapes I expected, this time it will be nine hours. AND it cost me around £50. Plus if I flew, the plane arrives into Newark airport which I have been told will cost a lot more for me to take a taxi into the city. I have thought this through very clearly.

With the travel all sorted, now is the time to finalise accommodation. I still have yet to decide where to stay in Vegas on the third night. On top of that I need to find a hotel or hostel in New York. Twenty-two days left before I fly. Time to decide.

Lotto: It cannot happen to me

Last night I bought my first Lotto ticket, a £1 lucky dip, and yes I admit that I hoped to win the £2.4 million jackpot. Or maybe a slice of that pie.

Because lets be honest with £2.4m I won't have to worry about money for quite some time. Oh and I will also be able to fork out a mere $189 (plus tax) for that room in the Bellagio. Heck I can even cancel all reservations made so far to stay at the luxury hotel for the full six days... with the assurance that I will have money leftover!

However it was not meant to be as only one of my numbers came out last night: 49.

I know gambling is not the smartest option when trying to find or make money. So it's back to the drawing board...

4 Weeks

This time next month, I shall be at the Wynn hotel helping Faye get ready for her big day. I cannot believe that it will all be kicking off in four weeks time.

So little time and yet so much to do! I still have a maid of honour speech to write, get my travel insurance sorted, book the flight from Vancouver to Montreal and the train onwards to New York and also book the accommodation. Oh and I am still deciding whether to go for it and book the room at the Bellagio for the third night. My head literally hurts now.

As soon as I arrive onto the Las Vegas strip I am heading for a bar and treating myself to a much needed Long Island!

To stay or not to stay at the Bellagio? That is the $189 question

So far I have booked the accommodation for five out of the six nights I'll be in Las Vegas. I'm now weighing up the pros and cons to paying $189 for the third night at the one and only Bellagio.

The first two nights I'm in Vegas I will be at the Motel 6. I figured that seeing as I'll be on my own why not stay somewhere cheap and cheerful and meet some random people. For the final three nights I'm booked at the Hard Rock because for $45 a night, I'd be a damn fool not to take up the bargain.

So that leaves me with the Sunday night, the third night. I narrowed down my choices to either: Bellagio, Venetian, Stratosphere or MGM Grand. No thanks to the Ocean's Trilogy, the Bellagio won. Then again I'm sure I have always been leaning towards this hotel from the beginning!

But one night at the Bellagio, plus tax, will cost me $225. That's around £135.

The sensible me is saying don't do it. It's too much money and besides how many hours are actually spent in a hotel room? The third night is when Faye, Chris and the whole gang arrive and apparently we're having dinner at Caesar's Palace which will no doubt turn into a full on night out. So I won't actually get to spend time at the Bellagio. $189 guarantees me a good night sleep.

But the devil in me is saying: DO IT! DO IT!! DO IIITTTTTTTTTTT!!! When in Vegas right? What better way to witness the magestic Bellagio fountains than from my own hotel room? Or how about after two nights of 'roughing' it at a motel, why not treat myself like there's no tomorrow with eight hundred different pillows, a king size bed and, get this, a jacuzzi shower?

If I had a job and earning money I probably would not be in this predicament. But now more than ever I am learning the value of money and how proper saving can prevent continuous worrying in how to pay the next bills. Whatever decision I make - and I will make one by the end of this week - it will be one where I will have asked myself whether paying this much for essentially a bed will leave me with many countless sleepless nights?

Four Weeks!

With any luck this time next month, I shall be somewhere on the Grand Canyon witnessing sun rise/ sunset. But in order to get there I still have so much to do!

Namely, book the hotels (yes, plural, I'm going to be a hotel whore) and figure out some way to raise the money needed for spends.

I'm Going to be Famous!

The official email from the Wynn hotel with the link to see the live broadcast of Faye's and Chris's wedding came through today. I woke up way too early for a Saturday to see the email notification on my BlackBerry. There it was in the subject box: Debbie Ng, you have been invited to a wedding!

Yay!

Hold on a minute, live broadcast...lots of people back home watching every detail... I'm IN the wedding. I must, I must, I must not mess up. All I have to do is walk safely down (or is it up?) the aisle in my ridiculously high shoes and deliver the perfect maid of honour speech with no hiccups, no stutters and no lame-ass jokes met with awkward silences. Piece of cake (!) Ooh how fun these next four weeks should be!

So after calming down slightly, I get another shock today when a small card came through the letterbox for me. My first reaction was 'not ANOTHER wedding!' I was actaully terrified to open it. But there was no need to be scared as it turned out to be a false alarm. The card is fact thank you card from Mrs Louise Carass. And breath!

Dragons I'm here to talk to you about WIGS FOR BIG HEADS

Successful and powerful men and women become so by having one ingenious idea. That’s all it takes to make and, quoting Gandhi, be the difference they wish to see in the world.

One idea.

Dr Martin Luther King shared his dream that one day he would live in a world where his children will be judged not on the colour of their skin but the content of their character. Mandela realised the ideal of equality between the races, the one of which he is prepared to die, comes through forgiving the people who put him in 27 years of prison rather than seeking revenge.

Less symbolic but just as relevant is the likes of Bill Gates whose idea of Microsoft forevermore secures his position as one of the world’s richest men. Or how about that guy Mark Zuckerberg who set up a website to connect with his Harvard friends. That site otherwise known as Facebook is now used by some 500m+ people globally.

It all begins with one thought that turns into a grand vision and then before we know it, we wonder just how we got through our days without it.

Ladies and Gentlemen here is my idea. Wigs for big heads. At the same cheap prices as the generic ones. It is time that people can go on party websites and buy wigs that are just 'one size fits all' but actually come in ranges of small, medium, large and so on? Even better how about wigs that stretch out to a specific size?

I'm sure somewhere in custom-made, expensive land, such wigs made from real hair exists but I'm talking about the normal, cheap everyday designs that comes in various colours, ideal for dressing up. Why should people with big heads have to pay more just to enjoy sporting a new hairstyle and colour along with the rest of their friends.

One size fits all is like the eternally cruel joke in being a size 14 trousers in nine out 10 stores but low and behold number ten is where you struggle in getting the denim past your thighs.

When it comes to our heads, there’s no fitness regime, no gym sessions, cutting out carbs, drinking protein shakes or doing the Special K two week, drop a jeans size diet to lose inches off our heads. The only solution is to shave off our hair and possible lose a centimetre or two.

Even if that is a plausible solution, I bet my head will still be too big for one size fits all. As well as being blessed with plenty of thick hair, I just have a naturally big shaped head. Dad still maintains that it’s because I was delivered via Caesarean and not pushed through the birth canal. (Go figure.)

I can’t believe I wasted money on something that didn’t even cover three quarters of my head.

No, careful planning and thinking time is needed in order to turn this (admittedly daft) idea into a life changing (and money making) success.

You may laugh now but like the journalism saying there is no such thing as a stupid question, and while it will not put me way up their with the Kings, Gandhis and Mandelas of the world, there is no such thing as a completely silly idea.

Calling all the physically big-headed people out there – who’s with me?

Grieving son and one Jilted Groom

Deep inside me must be some frustrated guardian waiting to come out and save people. I always seem to find/ attract guys who are down in the dumps and make it my mission to cheer them up.

Of all the guys, in all the bars in Amsterdam I find and connect in the vaguest of senses two men – one grieving, one heartbroken.

Opening with case number one: After taking Nicky back to the hotel who surrendered to the strong powers of her joint, I returned to the bar and there I met an American guy called Matt/ Mike/ Rob/ (or Peter/ Tom/ Dick/ Harry). Whilst the other girls were talking to a Canadian and other lively groups, I see this guy on his lonesome with a pint. We get talking, he tells me he’s from Boston and I get all excited and say I’m off to Las Vegas next month. We then laugh about the stereotype that Americans only travel around their own country. So far, Matt/ Mike/ Rob seems alright. Not lechy, not weird, doesn’t look like a stalker. OK so a bit quiet. We continue chatting and then I ask him how long has he been in Amsterdam. “A few days.” Oh, so where are the best places to go? Recommend any bars or clubs? “Actually it’s my first night out.” What? How is this your first night out? What've you been doing? “I spread my father’s ashes last night. He’s always wanted to see Europe.” So that explains him being quiet.

Oh dear. Cue awkward silence. I could actually feel the disapproving glare burning into me from my rational, karma-believing self who always warns me to control the cleverness when meeting new people. From what I can remember Matt/ Mike/ Rob didn’t seem too offended and he even said seeing us lot made him laugh. Well that’s a given thanks to the fishnets, tutus and wigs!

Knowing me I would have actually sat down next to Matt/ Mike/ Rob and let him talk, talk, talk – well if he wanted to that is. Fortunately for him, I had to leave to continue being crazy with the Team Keane hens. At least I made a grieving man smile.

Case number 2: remember the Jilted Groom? Well here is the full story. In some random bar we found this group of guys who surprisingly were a bit subdued let’s say, despite being on a lads holiday. The Jilted Groom broke off his engagement two weeks before (so that explains the lack of excitement) but he went ahead with his stag weekend anyway because it was all booked. Besides what better way to get over heartbreak than with your friends on holiday? By the end of the night I got Jilted Groom dancing stupidly to cheesy pop and laughing hysterically at my mistakenly thinking the big man behind me was a wall thus leaning into it/him and consequently pressing him into the girl he was trying to chat up. Oh and the crucial point is I kissed him. It was short and sweet but very memorable. As Faye summed it up, “Debs you brought him back to life.” Maybe I did.

Even if it could not be further from the truth, I like to think I made an impact on someone that night. Maybe that’s my mission in life – to cheer people up.

Aeroplane come back! YOU HAVE OUR ALCOHOL

I seem to be doing a lot of running this year. Literally and figuratively.

Now I’m not going to go into all ‘woe is me, my life is not turning out in the way I pictured it’ by boring you with the details on the figurative part. But in the literal, hyperventilating sense, I have been doing some running for these weddings. Strangely enough it’s always in busy, public places. First it was dodging past the elderly at Victoria train station. Most recently it was bolting it through Amsterdam airport.

Trust me to leave two bottles of alcohol underneath my airplane seat. Trust me to wait until after the long trek across the airport, down one floor and through passport control that the delayed light bulb finally comes on in my head (I must be energy saving, you know the one that takes a while before reaching full voltage) and I think “The alcohol!”

Cue Gill and I on a mission. Ignoring the no entry signs and charming the man at passport control (the tiaras clearly being the selling point) we went through security checkpoint and ran. Oh did we run!

Amsterdam airport is inconveniently spread out during such times of desperation. We ran past one man who asked, “You vant vater?” and a group of guys who yelled, “faster! Faster.” Now because we had spectators, the last thing I wanted to do was stop. So despite the stitch, the gasping for oxygen and seeing the reflection of my dishevelled self, I kept on running. My high school sports teacher would ever be so proud because if you truly knew me, you would know that running and me are not a match made in Heaven. So it is amazing just what lengths I am prepared to put myself through for the sake of vodka and Malibu.

Looking back I’m thankful I had Gill was with me because that girl has unbelievable perseverance. We saw the orange easyjet plane and ran to the nearest gate. There was a big no entry sign and where I would have admitted defeat and turned back, Gill ignored it and went down the stairs. Then we came to a security door with an activated alarm. Had we pushed through it and got onto the tarmac, well you can hear the alarms, picture the airport on lockdown and inevitably me and Gill getting arrested.

All we could do was wave our arms hoping to get someone’s attention. The pilot had a look of both anger and confusion. We made our case with the ground officer through the door. But suffice to say, after all our efforts at the final hurdle all we could do is stop and watch the plane fly off – with our alcohol. All of this drama and we had not even left the airport.

So apart from achy legs, what did I get from this experience? Now more than ever, I know that in the heat of the moment, if needs be, I can run. With a lot of help from my friend called adrenaline that is. I’ve run away from muggers in South Africa and I’ve run like crazy with all the hope that I can get to an aeroplane in time. On this occasion at the time I was proud that I did it but now, I think for the sake of alcohol? What a dumbass!

What happens in Amsterdam... will be retold for many years to come

36 hours in Amsterdam. That was all it took to have arguably the best hen weekend ever.

Call me OTT but Faye’s hen do is the stuff of legends and deserves a place in the mantra of how to bow out single life in style.

It’s taken me two days since coming home to finally make sense of all that happened in the Dutch capital city.

For reasons that will come clear, the retelling of what went down in Amsterdam will be split into several entries.

But here is a slight preview of what to expect.

There were the prostitutes who towards the end really did not like us, there was Gill almost becoming a temporary Red Light lady after almost falling through a boudoir window, there was a jilted groom-to-be who nevertheless went ahead with his stag do (more on him later), there were space cakes and there was running through Amsterdam airport almost setting off security alarms. But most significant and important of all, there was constant laughter and happiness.

I can’t name the best moment because there are just too many.

So as a little taster, presenting to you my personal Top 10 moments from 36 hours in Amsterdam with Mrs Dabek-to-be:

1. Realising at baggage claim that I left a bottle of Vodka and one Malibu underneath my seat on the easyjet plane. Cue manic run across Amsterdam airport with Gill in an attempt to retrieve them. More on this later.

2. I was the only one whose wig failed to fit. Not even a pack of Kirby grips and the Dabek sisters tugging the wig down from both ends could get it to fit around my large head.

3. Space brownie and Ray from Estonia. Effects of the chocolate treat truly kicked in when I was holding myself up against what I thought was a wall but turned out to be giant man. I literally pushed him into some girl who I suspect he was trying to chat up!

4. When in Amsterdam, it’d be too rude to not go and see a sex show. So there we were queuing at the Sex Palace paying two euros to go into these flea infested booths (I’ve got a bite on my hand!) to watch naked woman revolving past our window.

5. Rather inappropriately asking said jilted groom-to-be repeatedly what happened between him and his former fiancée (what’s a high journo to do?) …and then doing the really appropriate thing by snogging him at the end of the night.

6. Belting out New York, New York en route to the Red Light District. There is no Amsterdam equivalent so that’s the best we could come up with!

7. Downing red tequila with Gill in a desperate attempt to ignore the growing munchies I felt. I think I ate the lemon peel.

8. Explaining graphically to the group about penis fractures and how certain tumours in the base of the spine if left untreated can cause constant erection. I still have no idea why I brought this up (excuse the shameful pun).

9. Neon Leon who we insisted sit with us on the plane. Leon was off to Amsterdam to break up with his long term Australian boyfriend.

10. The sheer ridiculous sayings that came out of our mouths. To name but a few:

Gill and I wondering whether the pilot flew faster on the way to Amsterdam as despite departing 30 minutes later, we arrived on time.
Cue Michelle: (jokingly) “Maybe the pilot took a shortcut.”
Gill and I: (seriously) “Yeah maybe he did.”

Michelle after the effects of her joint: “I’ve forgotten I’ve got an 11-year-old son!”

Nicky Keane after seeing a boat sail past our hotel window: “Oh my God I thought we were moving!”

“I’m Ray. I’m from Estonia.”

“Everybody this is Ray the Stoner!”
(In my defence we were in a coffee shop and Ray had clearly been there for the good part of the day!)

“I’ve come back with more money than I brought with me. How does that work?” Jenna, maybe it's from you finding 50 EUROS on the floor!

“Debbie… I feel sorry for these girls.” Faye’s only comment about the naked woman gyrating behind the screen in front of us.

“I need to update my Facebook status!” Gill made sure to keep friends and family updated by the minute.

“I met a gorgeous man. He’s like Superman and Clark Kent.” Whatever works for you Jenna!

“The kiss was good until he started making sex noises at me.” Jenny Holmes bags herself a Canadian treat.

"One minute I was dancing and then I was lifted in the air. It was so good!" Seeing Nicky Rigby being hoisted in the air by random man provided one of many stitch-inducing laughs of the night.

“Does that moon look really orange to you? Do you think it could be caused by all the marijuana smoke in the air?” Again in my defence I am no scientist. Clearly I am Miss Ridiculous.