Bumpity bump bump bump.

I dunno what the hell it is about certain times of the year that brings out veritable hordes of pregnant women, but spring is one such time (wonders: what the hell was going on 9 months-ish ago?! And where do they hang out the rest of the time?) I can hardly move in work for pregnant chicks; I'm terrified there might be something in the water. Perfect excuse to not get anywhere near those 2 litres a day, ha?

While some of my work colleagues are only kilt helping compile lists of baby names ("Irish, but not too mad-sounding" seems to be a resounding theme - no Fuinneogs need apply, then), with one woman in particular insisting that she be summoned belly-side at the first sign of a kick ("I just love that feeling!" - sorry love, unless you the baby daddy that's just weird, yo), I'm wishing for simpler times when the hot topics of conversation were gorgeous shoes and new make-up trends, not tearing (yes, yes seriously) and creche fees.

I may have to slit my wrists with a rusty spoon if this goes on much longer, and it will - the girl in my office who's up the proverbial duff has another 8 weeks until her maternity leave starts.

Even The Wire, boxsets of which Himself is currently bet into, has a pregnant storyline. Escaping into the blogosphere's not providing much respite either - Nicole at Making It Lovely is busy baking too, and a recent commentor on her site advised that, at 37 weeks gone, she should really get cracking on a bellymask. Which is, as you'll see if you've the stomach (ho ho) to follow that link, pretty much what it says on the tin: a cast of the preggers female form.

Jesus H.

Where did I put me spoon?!

GAH.

Last week, I decided to order the limited edition graphic print pictured above from a crowd called village in New York. I think I'd espied it somewhere like an issue of Living Etc once upon a time and fallen madly in love with it - the juxtaposition of a no-nonsense font with the froth and frill of the colourway and the sentiment really appealed to me. It captured something of the zeitgeist of my yoof, when teenagers across the globe couldn't string a single sentance together without including the "like" filler. The Irish were no exception, and to this day it's a habit that is, like, nearly impossible for us to break. One of Joe O'Connor's recent radio diary entries dealt with this very issue.

So when a bit of birthday money came my way I said sure feck it anyway, I might as well get the thing, and decided to bite the bullet, placing my order last Wednesday.

I arrived into work this morning to see a cardboard shipping tube standing upright on my desk and was overcome with giddy excitement... until I opened it and noticed two wee holes in the outer wrapping paper. Eek. Carefully unrolling the print, nearly turning my head away and squinting out under the corner of my specs for fear that I might be about to see the unthinkable, my fears were realised. There were two corresponding holes in my print.

When I looked again at the outer cardboard tube, I spotted a dirty great big staple looking quietly out of place between the red "FRAGILE! HANDLE WITH CARE!" stickers dotted across the package, and then it hit me: the post room guys here have these in-house delivery dockets that they staple to goods received until they can get a signature for the items. Including $100 limited edition prints obviously marked "BE F*CKING CAREFUL WITH THIS!", apparantly.

FFS.

Ever heard of a little thing called Sellotape, lads?!

Well, the print is ruined as far as I'm concerned. The holes are really, really obvious, in the plain light pink, and no, there is no disguising them. I will see them every single time I look at the stupid thing, regardless of how it's framed or where it's hung.

So. Like. Cross.

Pedantic Pat.

One of my absolute favourite songs at the moment is Irish group Bell X1's The Great Defector, which you can have a listen to coutesy of the YouTube vidjo at the head of this post. I love hearing it in the mornings because it always makes me smile and it features some really great lyrics, best of which I think is the line "You're the chocolate at the end of my Cornetto".

Best. Compliment. Ever.

Unfortunately, because I like to really listen to lyrics (and then madden Himself by knowing the words to every song that comes on the radio, with the exception of one or two Scissor Sister numbers which will be the death of me), I can't just let go and really enjoy the choon fully. And that's because the next line of the song is "I love the way your underwired bra / Always sets off that x-ray machine".

Now, I'm a girl. I wear bras. Most of the bras I wear, be they sexy or comfy or covered in lace or polka dots, have underwire. I'm pretty sure that I've never encountered an x-ray machine while wearing my underwired over the shoulder boulder holder. Ah no wait, I have - in the dentist and the orthodontist. But it didn't beep, emit a warning tone, explode, or give any indication that it was being set off.

Strange soda.

The next few lines run:
"Comin’ into land and
Now I love the colour of it all
Blue lights on the runway
I love the colour of it all"

Very airport-y. And airports do have x-ray machines, sure enough. But then you wouldn't be breezing through one of those on your way to Lanzarote with your underwired bra on.

Eh, is it metal detectors you're thinking of, lads..?

Sadly, I messed up possibly the only chance I'll ever have to quiz Bell X1 about this. They were on The Tubridy Show on Radio a hAon this morning for a chat and to perform The Great Defector, so nearly spluttering with excitement I whipped out the mobile and texted in. "Ryan", sez I, "can you ask the lads about some of those lyrics - how would an underwired bra set off an x-ray machine..?" Like an absolute fool, I neglected to mention my metal detector hypothesis in my hurry to get the message off, so when the question was put to the band one of them knowingly replied "Oh, I've seen it happen many a time."

GAH!

Well now I'll just have to go see them on their upcoming tour, try and get backstage, and force them to explain themselves, won't I.

Tomorrow: people who dont' know how to punctuate or spel...

For your reading pleasure

Looks like I'll be well and truly tied up with month-end accounts shizz for at least the early part of this week, so I thought I'd point you in the direction of two of my current favourite blogs. They're the preserve of talented arty crafty ladies documenting the transformation of their houses into super pretty homes - I find them massively inspiring and a browse through their photos is a great way of psyching myself up for a day's painting!

Making It Lovely is the blog of Nicole in Chicago (loooooove Chicago! Best city eva, yo), who also runs online shop Pink Loves Brown, design service Smart & Lovely, and does an incredible line in room and outfit mock-ups. Oh, and has managed to incorporate a library into her 1920s bungalow.

I kid you not.

Meanwhile, over at Ish & Chi, lovely Australian Viv blogs about her home improvements as well as fashion, food, interiors and her latest Etsy finds, encourages my wallpaper habit, and sells her original artwork through her Etsy shop.

Lovely, lovely blogs, and well worth a nose!