Wonders of technology

Well, it will be if it actually works.

 

I only just found out that in theory at least I can send this e-mail to the blog so this is just by way of 'testing'.

 

I've got the local radio on, listening to the football. We are 1-0 up at the moment, but I know we won't win because we always lose at Cheltenham. In our last two seasons at their place we have managed to throw away leads in injury time both times!

 

Arggh! Breaking live news! I do not believe it - we have just been given a penalty for the first time this year. Pause to cross fingers.....

 

Bloody hell! We are two nil up.

 

But then again a couple of years ago we were 3-1 up and lost 4-3 in injury time so with 7 minutes to go I am still unable to relax.

 

 

Let's see where this goes if I press 'send'

......

WE HAVE DEFEATED OUR CHELTENHAM JINX!!!!!

It is now Wednesday morning and I am in reflective mood. Two things happened last night one of which was so rare it had never actually happened before (we won at Cheltenham) and the other has happened before but not in living memory (we got a penalty). In the meantime I was doing two things one of which had never happened before (using e-mail to blog) and the other of which has happened before but not in living memory (I cleaned the oven). Does this mean that in order to help my team overcome the jink we now have about playing at home that I am going to have to stay at my home, e-mailing the blog and cleaning the oven? Can I make such a sacrifice?
There is a bloke follows the Cobblers who has allegedly only missed four games in 30 years. He sits near me. Unfortunately for him he suffers from a weak bladder and makes regular trips to the gents.....and when he is gone we score. He has missed SO many goals on account of nature having called. Not that we are superstitious or any such nonsense (Oh no! In my own case it is simply coincidental that my scarf only ever gets washed after I see us lose. My scarf is extraordinarily clean right now.) but when it looks like we will never score in a week of Sundays the chant goes up - "Jeema (for that is what he is called, though I have no idea if it is actually his name), Jeema, go for a slash - Jeema". I have noticed it doesn't work on demand though. Obviously he has to be called by nature and not urged on by fellow supporters with delusions for the goal to be achieved as it where.

I am ridiculous. I do apologise.

Anyhow, off to London this evening to see if Reidski is speaking to me yet after Saturday's glorious victory. He should be quite happy by now though as apparently Celtic are going to win the European Cup. (As my essay and exam questions always used to end -Discuss.)

The Great Amersham Arms Disaster

Before The Match Of The Day we were going to watch Celtic play Rangers down the local. Now if I say this pub is a ciabatta free zone it will hopefully give you a rough idea of the sticky carpets, nicotine stained walls, and posters optimistically declaring it to be a Drugs Free Zone which is the Amersham Arms. It does however offer live Scottish football on The Big Screen and therefore on days when Celtic play it is crammed with ex-pats in their green and white hoops.

We were a bit late on Saturday having had an urgent appointment involving bacon and egg but arrived at the pub door dead on 12.30 but OHMIGOD!!! the football is not on. Instead of Celtic running rings around the Forces of Darkness * there is a pub full of men and apart from me, one woman (at least I think she was a woman)all staring forlonly at a TV screen displaying the message, 'Contact your engineer'. I can tell you that if there was such a thing as the power of collective thought that television would have started transmitting the football. You could see everyone was privately willing the football to appear, but to no avail. A very hot under the collar landlord was on the old mobile to said engineer, but no football was forthcoming. You could by now taste the despair in that pub. We could hear the clock ticking it was so quiet in there. Christ! Celtic could be three nil up by now - and we were all missing it.

The silence was broken by the sound of someone receiving a text message.

The match was being shown at a pub five minutes down the road.

REJOICE!(Unless you are the landlord of the Amersham Arms in which case DESPAIR!)

Never before have so many pints been downed so fast or a pub emptied quite so rapidly. If anyone was driving down the New Cross Road, London SE14, at about 12.45 last Saturday and wondered why on earth so many out of shape individuals were risking a heart attack by taking up jogging I can throw some light on that mystery.

Celtic won 2-0 so Reidski did not have an entirely disastrous day last Saturday. It was unexpectedly profitable for the Marquis of Granby too.


*copyright Reidski

He loves me not!

I’ve just found out I have been dumped! Reidski has ended it all - sob!

It wasn’t as if my team didn’t allow Millwall plenty of chances to score.…how many exactly did they need? And in the light of our recent form I could hardly have foreseen that in the 41st minute we would actually grasp our first scoring opportunity of the entire first half and take the lead now could I? This is a pretty accurate summing of a game Millwall never should have lost but did…HOORAY!

I got dressed in the morning in my ‘Life is all Cobblers’ tee-shirt. Reidski was stunned into silence when he saw me in it – I would like to be able to tell you he was stunned by how gorgeous I looked in it, but have to admit that might not have been the reason for the total shock that registered on his face. I kept it on of course because I am so hard. (Yeah right! I kept it on because no one could see it after I had put another tee-shirt on over the top of it).

It was so weird watching the game with the home fans. Basically, whatever they were saying out loud, I was thinking the exact opposite. When they jumped out of their seats because their side nearly scored it was with anticipated delight, whereas when I jumped out of my seat because their side nearly scored it was with anticipated dismay. Every time we nearly scored (which happened a lot more in the second half than it had done in the first) Reidski placed a restraining ‘remember where you are and don’t shout out’ hand on me. And when we actually did score I had sufficient time to compose myself as the ball was clearly going in. Actually as everyone around me was so busy going mad with rage at their own side, I’m not sure, even if I had leapt up in the air in celebration that anyone would have noticed. Still, it was probably better, all things considered not to put at risk life and limb at Millwall for the second time in a year ('Come on Luton' - arrggghhh!).

I’m not saying Millwall were bad – I didn’t need to say that because that was what everyone around me on Saturday was shouting loud and clear. I actually felt sorry for their players and ex-(since this morning) manager the abuse was so vicious. But hey, my team won – and it was BRILLIANT!!!!!


P.S. If the Cobblers had taken the same number of points at home as we have away we would be top of the league instead of just having moved up two places to 18th! I would say thank god we are away again tomorrow but it is at Cheltenham and we never ever get a point there so come Wednesday I shall be depressed again.

Except I nearly forgot – I AM depressed anyway – I’ve been dumped!

Woe is me.

Wishing you all a good weekend

As previously mentioned I am off to London to watch football this weekend. I just KNOW we are going to get hammered. Following the match I fully intend to GET hammered.

Please pray for me.

Radio kills my street cred stone dead.

I heard Terry Wogan on the radio this morning. He was describing a poster that had gone on sale over the web featuring his good self. They had shifted a grand total of 7 copies. He described them as selling like cold cakes. I laughed out loud.

Then he related a listener’s story of finding a long lost cousin via Friends Reunited after a gap of 35 years. The cousin was invited for tea and biscuits with her and her elderly parents. He had been 14 when they last saw him. Conversation did not exactly flow. When the cousin departed, no doubt intending to make him self long lost once again the listener’s 83 year old father took out his pipe and observed – “Bloody hell, our Clive has aged. I never would have known him.” Even better told in Terry’s wonderful Irish accent. I laughed some more. Then I got worried that laughing along to Radio 2 of a morning means I really AM getting old. I was going to say in my defence that I was listening to The Jam before I left for work but then I thought about how many years it is since they split up and decided not to mention that after all.

Digression – I LOVED (still love) The Jam. I saw them loads of times and in all sorts of venues. I even saw them play Skegness once which was more than a little unusual for Skegness. Skegness was more used to the likes of Val Doonican although I do remember that Geno Washington and the Ram Jam Band played the Fabulous Sands Showbar on a very regular basis. Maybe they lived locally? I never knew. I am placing a digression upon a digression here. To return to the original digression. I was in a pizza restaurant in Soho. There was a bloke sitting at the next table to me and I had that ‘I know you’ feeling, but I just could not place him. I stared and stared throughout the meal. It was only as he got up to leave, no doubt by that time thoroughly fed up with being stared at by the woman at the next table, that I realised it was in fact my absolute hero Paul Weller. I was embarrassed that I had been staring at him. If I had known it was him I would deliberately not have looked at him, even though I would have wanted to have been looking at him. I have always wondered how, in view if the fact that he was my absolute hero, I failed to put a name to the face of that bloke I thought I knew, but I am at heart a country girl who does not expect to be sitting next to her absolute hero in a pizza restaurant.

To return to radio issues. I don’t have a CD player in my car. I do have a tape player which would be fine it worked, only it doesn’t work. It is the radio or nothing for me whilst I am driving. Usually I have Radio 5 on, but today they have a severe case of Ryder Cupitis. I’m not really in to golf on the radio. (I’m not really into golf full stop). Anyway, that was how I came to be listening to Radio 2.

last bank holiday I was driving back from staying with Reidski and I had a London based station on - Radio XFM. They play mostly the indie-type music which would be my listening of choice. They were having some sort of run down of listeners Fifty Best Records Ever and it made for great listening. I got to Luton and number 17 when the reception cut out. Trendy radio is not permitted north of Luton. I got Radio 2 instead where they were also doing a rundown but in their case it was the Top Twenty Best Number One Albums Ever. One minute I was singing away* to the Charlatans, the next I was trying to pretend I do not know all the words plus the running order to Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumours’ although obviously I do. I can tell you that ‘Hotel California’ was in the top 5 as was 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' and ‘Thriller’. I didn’t hear the Number 1 Best Album Ever as voted for by Radio 2 listeners but am making an educated guess that it would have been ‘Sergeant Pepper’s’ seeing as how every other Beatles album had already had a mention.

* I will only ever sing along to a car radio if I am on my own following my ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ incident. I was with Reidski – he was driving, when suddenly he stalled the car and stared open mouthed in my direction. I realised I had been singing along, very loudly, to Bon Jovi. I stopped and apologised for singing such a corny record. He replied it wasn’t what I had been singing that had caused him to nearly crash, but the way I had been singing it. As he so gently put it – ‘That was the worst rendition I have EVER heard.’ His impersonation of how exactly I was murdering that song has since become his party piece. What a good job I am not sensitive about these matters.

However - if you should read this before tomorrow Reidski - I am VERY sensitive when it comes to seeing my football team lose. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear......

Wednesday 20th September

Some dates stay ingrained in the mind.

On Wednesday 20th September one year I had an antenatal appointment at the hospital. They told me they were not going to let me go all the way to full term because I was carrying a big first baby. They said I would go in on 7th October to be induced. I was OK about this as my baby was actually due on 13th October which I knew to be Margaret Thatcher's birthday. I did not want a child of mine to have anything in common with That Woman.

Then that afternoon I had an antenatal class. These are dreadful sessions in which one is patronised and poked and prodded by well meaning elderly health visitors, and in which one then has to perform absurd exercises for use in labour, which are sod all use when one is actually in labour, only they don't tell you that bit at the time. I was wearing white trousers.

With pregnancy comes guide books. They make quite hideous reading. As if reading about labour was not quite bad enough thank you ("I have got to do that???!!") one also learns that one is threatened with such undignified ailments as piles, thrush and incontinence. So when I was doing the 'pushing' exercise - in my white trousers -I was not entirely surprised, but nevertheless mortified, to realise I was leaking 'down below'. Oh bloody marvellous - I have developed incontinence. In public.

I got home and went for a lie down. Sod, sod and sod again. Still I leaked. An hour or so later I actually 'investigated' a bit more closely. After eight months of pregnancy I had mastered the act of collecting a sample of wee ( it is SO alright for men) - and did so now, only - humm - "What a funny colour wee you have Jane". I feared something was amiss and rang the hospital and they said I had better come in so they could check me out. I rang my husband who was working late and told him I had to go to hospital. "OK" he said, "What do you want me to do about it?" "I want you to bloody well get back here and take me." "Oh!" Anyway, we go to hospital, me wondering what I was going to do about cooking tea, and hoping we would get back in time for what was promised to be a particularly exciting episode of Brookside.

Cut to examination room.

"Whaddya mean I can't go home cos my waters have gone and I am going to have a baby in the next 24 hours??????"

I missed Brookside.

I hadn't bought so much as a toothbrush with me let alone anything for a baby - a nappy for example. It was the least prepared for anything I had ever been in my life. It had never ever occured to me my baby could come early. But come early he did. And although this story feels like it was only five minutes ago, as of tomorrow my first born child is legally old enough to drive. And that is SERIOUSLY scary.

So how am I managing to blog tonight huh?

Am I in fact a fibber when I say my laptop is in for repairs?

Well I did think it was in for repairs.

It should have been in for repairs.

Only they didn't collect it.

The message said they would collect it tomorrow.

So slightly irritating that it now seems to be working perfectly well but will nevertheless still be going in for 'repairs'.

This computer only does it to annoy me.

My look alike

Apparently.

Now I saw this at Gert's place and she looked like loads of famous people including the very beautiful Catherine Deneuve. I have a go and I look like him, and only him. The kid who played Peter in the Chronicles of Narnia in case like me you go 'Who he?'.

People used to think I looked like Chrissy Hynde but that was back in the olden days when I was cool - if someone capable of losing their dress on the escalator in Oxford Circus Tube Station could ever be referred to as 'cool' as opposed to 'prat'.

Ho hum

Well my lap top is in for repairs. I expect no more. It is after all an entire three weeks since it came back from being repaired from the exact same problem which reoccured this morning.

I have also been battling with the idiots who decided that once a kid enters the 6th Form he/she shall not be permitted on the school bus without a pass costing £125 a term never mind that there are places available on the bus and he/she has the bus fare which they were happy to accept as long ago as erh, last term. This is particularly amusing when the alternative bus journey for said 6th Former would involve 1 bus trip of 9 miles, another of 15,and a third of 5 - with the reverse journey to be repeated after school rather than a journey there and back of ten miles total by means of the bus that takes them straight to the school gate. If you can introduce the policy in the middle of the day when said 6th Former is at school but is informed he/she will not be allowed on the bus home, so much the better if your aim is to really really piss parents off. What happened to the policy of trying to reduce the school run traffic? I am sorry to say my personal resistance to this policy along the lines of 'Sod them, they are not getting all that money off me. I will take him to school each morning' lasted exactly one day. I could not take the stress of getting my kids to school on time and the credit card has been further stretched to purchase the flaming bus pass.

And how lucky am I? Not ONLY do I get to watch my team get hammered by Millwall whilst sitting in the Millwall end on Saturday but I ALSO get to watch Celtic play Rangers first! Well, OK, I have to admit to being perfectly happy about the second part of that footballing deal but I don't want to give away the fact that I am not a totally miserable git.

But it is not all bad. Yesterday Reidski and I saw 'Volver' at last and it was every bit as good as it was said to be. Penelope Cruz is SO beautiful - but apart from that I enjoyed it. And my Lee Child book that I am reading is totally absorbing and as I don't have the distraction of the computer at home I should finish it tonight. I have read 9 Lee Child books in the past few months and am totally addicted to them. My whole family plus Reidski are now reading them too, even my dad who has not been known to read fiction since he was into Billy Bunter books. (Umm, I am assuming Billy Bunter was fictional?)

And it is no good. I can't think of anything else to moan about so I suppose I had better do what I am allegedly at the gym for - some exercise for body parts other than the two fingers I use for typing.


Apologies if I am slack with responding to any comments until the computer is back. I will do my best.

I wrote a bit a few weeks ago about my friends A and P spliting up. They have one daughter, a lovely girl who is nearly 12. She is very concerned about her mum. She asked her 'You 're not going to do anything stupid are you?' A was horrified that her daughter felt the need to ask such a question and said to her 'Darling, what on earth do you mean?' Her daughter replied 'Like start smoking.'

I regret to report that A has in fact returned to the evil weed after a gap of many years to help her through this crisis. It strikes me that when parents smoke these days it is often a mirror image of when kids did in the past - hiding down the garden or hanging out the window to smoke the thing, and then loads of polo mints to try and get rid of the smell afterwards.Certainly that is what A has resorted to.

On a sadder note A was telling her that her dad would always love her as he will always be her dad and that will never change where ever he lives. Her daughter said to her, 'But that's the point isn't it? He's not my dad.' She was born as a result of artifical insemination. Biologically P is not her father. A and P in accordance with current thinking told her this several years ago. I know we are all supposed to have 'the right' to know about our origins, but I do wonder if it is always so very great having that knowledge. Like the person in their 60's - parents long since dead- who is told he can't have a new birth certificate to replace the one he has lost as he is adopted, when it is the first he ever heard of it*. I also heard last week that as the new law says that anyone born through IVF has the right to know who their biological father is there has affected the supply of donors so drastically that there is currently just the one sperm donor in Scotland, and none at all in Northern Ireland.. Who exactly is going to be helped by this legislation?

* Individuals experience this every week of the year.

A rethink

I have been known to state that 'Life Is All Cobblers'. I am thinking of changing my philosophy to 'Life Is Not All Cobblers'. At least I bloody well hope it is not.


Last time I saw us win - April.

Number of points at home from a possible 15 - 1.

Number of goals we should have got today - 6 ( I kid you not).

Number of goals we did actually get - 1 - and that was scored after they had got 3.

Number of penalties we should have had today - 2.

Number of penalties they were given today in spite of not one single supporter or player for Tranmere appealing for it - 1.

Number of penalties given against us since we were last awarded one - 10.

Chances of us beating Millwall next week - nil.


Am off to slit my wrists. I may be gone sometime.

Not that I take these things to heart you understand.

I would kick my cat but if I am anything like our 'strikers' I would only miss.

Making an honest goat of her.

Far too many men love 'em and leave 'em, and I am sure these two will live happily ever after.

That's my man!

My eyes are drawn to the wiry striker. I watched as he took the ball on the inside past the defender creating the space where there seemed to be none. He was level with the goal, the angle for a shot seemed impossible but he curled it Beckham style into the back of the net.

He had the ball again, his back to goal. He flicked the ball up in the air and turned to hit it goalwards as it came down - back of the net again my son.

So it was all true. The guy can play! But as his captain said to me after the match -if I had arrived sooner I would have seen the dreadful misses he made too (not that I believe there were any of those). He also said Reidski (yes - like you hadn't guessed who it was!) is definitely their player of the season.

I should add that Reidski said to me that on no account was I to write anything about his storming performance last Wednesday night,but I don't think for a minute he meant that.....

he said I shouldn't mention the football either ;-)

That Ofsted inspection

I know I have a tendency to go on about how wonderful our village school is. The inspection report will say that it is an extremely good school and in many respects an 'outstanding' school. I am really proud of what the school has achieved, but that is because I know what it was like five years ago.

Five years ago under another Head Teacher the academic standards were appalling and discipline was non-existent. My kids were all at the school. I became a governor and did some training in which I learnt what the children should be achieving - and then I saw what they WERE achieving at our school. It was a horrible moment, made worse because as the new girl on the governor block, I couldn't make any one else see that we were in trouble. Then,in one of those blessings carefully disguised, the previous Head went on long term sick, and was gently persuaded she should maybe put her own health before the 'needs' of the school.

If I never do anything worthwhile again in my life, I can look back and know that I played a pivotal part in the appointment we subsequently made for a new head. In the shortlisting the person who eventually got the job was not picked for interview as the powers that were said her application did not match the criteria. We did not appoint anyone from that first set of interviews. I vividly recall one candidate describing how he dealt with ill discipline by treating us to example of a child picking their nose - nice! I had been told about our present Head and how wonderful she was but I had n't met her. What I did do was ensure she knew why she hadn't got an interview on the previous occassion and made sure she knew she should PLEASE try again. This time she did get an interview and she was inspirational in that interview in the vision she had for our school.

Six weeks after she took up the job she was quickly offered we had an Ofsted inspection. We were at that time a failing school. However, such was the impact she was already having that we did not go into the dreaded 'special measures' but were given one last chance. Five years on we are 'outstandidng' and it is entirely due to the leadership and inspiration of this one woman who I admire more than anyone else I know.

Anyone who suggests I wanted her to get the job as I had been told she was a season ticket holder at the Cobblers is erh, astute. Yes, it was someone I knew at football who said how good she was. No, I had no idea how good she was at her job. But yes, how right they were, and it was a very lucky day for me when my friend at football stated talking about her friend the school teacher.

After we saw the inspector yesterday and he gave us the good news he said 'You can have a nice relaxing evening now'. The Head and I responded as one 'No we can't. We have a football match to go to.'



And as for the football -we drew one all. Can someone please remind me what it is like to watch your football team win a match as I haven't seen that happen since the end of April?

Good one Madrid.

At last some action on the subject of skeletal fashion models,
although apparently it is discriminating against those who gave us 'heroin chic'. Well, that is the kind of discrimination I find I can live with.

Unwelcome voice mail messages of my time

Received last Thursday. "Please ring school as soon as you get this. We have an Ofsted Inspection next Tuesday."

The new inspections designed for schools which are believed to be high achieving last just 24 hours. The clock started yesterday at 4.00pm when I went and met our inspector as chair of school governors. It felt like a job interview for which I was totally unprepared. I have no worries on the education and teaching side but if we get a bad report because the chair of governors is clearly a completely ill informed idiot I shall never forgive myself.

I shall be back in school at 3.45 this afternoon for the verdict.

In the meantime I shall be a bag of nerves.


***************************************
UPDATE:

Phew!

The new countdown clock is ticking

You would not have thought that after my last visit to The New Den, home of Millwall Football Club, that I would have been in any hurry to go again as long as I lived.

In March this year Reidski took me to see Millwall play Luton. I reproduce below what I wrote at the time on the other blog:


For overseas readers like Joe, some background info. Fans of Luton and Millwall 20ish years ago were involved in an infamous football riot. This has contributed to Millwall supporters having gained a very bad reputation for hooliganism that has taken years to try and shake off. I haven't seen SO many police as I did yesterday since the miner's strike. Anyway, we arrived at the match. Reidski confidently predicting the worst thumping for Millwall of the season and me saying they would win, although not at that moment aware that they had only managed two home wins all season.

There is another little fact I should mention as it may have played its part in the 'terrible moment'. Luton's leading goal scorer is one Stevie Howard. He used to play for the Cobblers,and as far as I am concerned, there is 'Only one Stevie Howard' and I love him. This did mean, that although I was whole heartedly intending to support Millwall, there was just a slight risk of conflict of interest.

And on to the match itself, with a poor first half and
Millwall actually in the lead, although you could tell that the Millwall supporters who I was right in the middle of, had zero confidence that this state of play would continue (there was a clue to this in the way they kept telling their own players they were a collective bunch of wankers)(nothing if not observent,me). Sure enough, second half and Luton get a goal back almost straight away. I decide to be more vocal in my support, seeing as no other sod was bothering where we were sat.

My one and only consolation was that when 'Come on Luton' slipped out of my stupid mouth, it had at least been proceeded by encouragement for 'The Lions'.

Yes, I shouted for Luton whilst in the middle of all those Millwall supporters. It was not a horrible and terrifying dream. I really did do it. I blame the drinks in the pub. And Stevie Howard. And me being a complete and utter brain dead idiot. I can not even type this without going a deep deep shade of red.

IT WAS HIDEOUS.

Obviously, the subject only comes up incessently. When I wrote the above I couldn't even bring myself to tell anyone else what was very possibly the worse part of it all. When I did this I was sitting next to Reidski's boss who is a fervant Millwall supporter in addition to having a somewhat abrassive nature according to his many enemies in the right wing press. Not by any stretch of the imagination, my finest moment. Apparently he spoke to a colleague on the phone that night about the match and described me as seeming 'Somewhat confused.' It is still SO embarrasing.

And I am going to go again. To sit in the Millwall end. And they are playing my team.

WHAT

AM

I

THINKING

OF?

I have promised Reidski I will sit quietly and will not give myself away as an ardent Cobblers supporter. I won't clap their lot obviously, but I see myself in role of 'woman who is only there to please her bloke and is bored to tears'. In reality of course I will be drawing blood in my hands as my nails dig into my skin to remind myself where EXACTLY I am. My own consoling thought is that if I am scared aboutthis - and oh yes, I am really scared about this, - Reidski will be more frightened still that I do 'A Luton' again. He really hasn't got over the last time anymore than I have.

TV scheduling

for Autumn is perfectly summed up here by Dark Blonde. Very funny stuff.

Nunhead Cemetery.

Reidski and I had a walk this morning in Nunhead Cemetery. I had never heard of this place until I met Reidski. It covers something like 50 acres of woodland in the middle of Lewisham and it is a stunning place. His lad has announced that he wants to spend Halloween locked up in this place. I confidentally predict he wouldn't last five minutes. It is spooky enough on a sunny September mornng with its cracked Gothic mausoleums and obilisks, and 225,000 dead bodies buried within it. Once inside the gates you forget you are actually somewhere in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world, the only noises being made by the birds or by the airplanes which cross London every minute.

Today we found a newer part which included the graves of Australian and New Zealander soliders. So sad that those young men ended up buried so far from home, and yet comforting that they are in such a beautiful place and buried alongside colleagues. We also saw the monument mentioned in the link above to the eight boy scouts who drowned off the Isle of Sheppey in 1912 when apparently the whole nation mourned what was known as the Leysdown Tragedy.

If anyone is 'into' Victorian cemeteries there is more information here on the Friends of Nunhead Cemetery site, but if anyone in South London is looking for somewhere different for a walk, it really is a very special place.

Lunch with my ex.

Reidski was working yesterday. I visited him at his very posh office and then met an ex boyfriend for lunch. I have mentioned this particular ex before. He was my first real love. I was 16. We had an 'on-off' relationship for a few years before he finally acknowledged that when I used to accuse him of being in love with his mate Steve, yes, in fact he had been in love with his mate Steve. I hadn't seen him for years but he was at Nigel's funeral back in May, and seeing him again was one good thing to come out of the sheer awfulness of Nigel's death.

In the intervening years he has become a regular visitor to Thailand having had several serious relationships with Thai men. He has learnt to speak and read Thai, and hopes to live there one day. Anyway, he has been promising his mum and step-dad that he would take them out there for a holiday and finally tickets have been purchased for November. At first his mother was beside herself with excitment. Ian - for my ex does have a name - set about making arrangements in order that she should have the holiday of a lifetime.One of his former partners has a posh beauty salon in Bangkok so he arranged for her to have a day long pampering session there, hair, nails, massage etc. He related to his mum his plans for her and at first she seemed as thrilled as ever. As the weeks passed by however the enthusaism, he couldn't help but notice, seemed to have been replaced with a distinct degree of caginess and reticence. At first he tried to tell himself he was imagining it but as time went on and the date of departure got closer he felt he had to ask her if there was a problem so last weekend he visited her especially to try and get to the bottom of the problem.

A typical mum at first she hotly denied there was a problem but when pressed she finally admitted that she had ordered some guide books in order to learn more about Thailand before they travelled. She had been more than a little perturbed to read the section about Thai Massage. His seventy three year old mother had been worrying for the past two months that her son had booked her a massage in Bangkok with added 'relief'.

blog stuff

Anxious wrote a very thought provoking piece on 1st Sept about what makes a popular blog. One of the things she highlighted was that often very widely read blogs have a particular theme and stick with it so readers know what to expect. She mentioned for example ex-pats (eg Petite Anglais) and sexually explicit blogs (like Girl With a One Track Mind), both read by literally thousands of people.

Last night I went over to Rob's place where I saw this piece of news which I had previously missed. So not only Petite but now The Girl as well have been 'outed'in the press solely because of their respective blogs. Petite lost her job due to references, however oblique, to her employment. The Girl is now having to face family, friends and ex -colleagues (apparently she can't get more work in the same field due to the revelations) and say, what exactly? "Yes dad, the bit about masturbation onthe plane was true but I made up the story about me and the two lesbians." That is not a conversation I would ever want to have!

It seems clear that whilst having a popular blog can ultimately lead to that book deal it can cause a whole load of trouble along the way. I continue to be shocked that people are losing jobs over blogging. Even very minor blogs can cause grief for the writer but they can also yield unexpected and very positive results - in my case love and new friendships. But I am no longer relaxed about blogging as once I was. I scrutinise everything I write to ensure there is nothing that could be used against me by anyone I may inadvertently have upset. That may sound pretty paranoid but as some of you know, I do have my reasons for being cautious.

Is there any week quite as stressful

as the one in which the kids go back to school in September?

Inevitably it begins with the 'shock' discovery that project work given in July to complete over the summer holiday has not in fact been started upon. Parental inquests are conducted, teenage excuses are made, threats are issued and sulks commence (on both sides) before the last minute school work is begun.

Then there is that horrible moment when you realise each one of your three children needs new school shoes. You mention this fact to the children and they say "And we also need..." and reel off a list as long as the legs on your 6 foot 5 inch son for whom you need somehow to find new trousers that will not end six inches above his ankles.

You weigh up the options. Is it worse to make more than one shopping trip by taking them seperately or to risk taking them all together? I now have the definitive answer to that one...taking them all together is worse. I know that because that was the option I went with.

I took them to the shopping mecca that is Milton Keynes. Within half an hour the two boys are sorted. They both go with the first pair of shoes they try on, and thanks to Gap recognising that some men do grow to the dizzy heights my two boys have reached, we also have trousers that fit well. My daughter needs shoes and a school bag. It still distresses me to recall that it was two and a half hours before she had even seen a pair of shoes she would contemplate trying on. By this time I would happily have paid good money for the least suitable pair of shoes for school Milton Keynes could throw at us just so she had something to put on her feet but it wasn't even that we were having inter-generational disagreements about 'suitability'. She simply did not like any of the shoes we saw. You may try to imagine how pissed off my sons, both trailing after us, were by this time, but you probably couldn't come close to the sheer degree of Pissed Offness from which they were suffering. And then at last... thank god...a pair were identified and purchased at speed. The fact that they were at least one size too big did not deter me...in-soles could be bought elsewhere and it was definitely worth it. Now if only by that time we had seen a bag she liked all would have been well but obviously she had seen no such thing. It is hard to believe, unless you have witnessed it, just how many bags in Milton Keynes are unworthy of my daughter's consideration.

So when essential school items are eventually bought you start worrying about how they will ever be able to get up on school mornings bearing in mind just how late they are all going to bed, never mind how late they are getting up in the 'morning' so you embark on a totally useless nagging programme. "You really must get an early night or you will NEVER get up for school in 5/4/3/2/1 (delete as appropriate) days time."

The Night Before First Day Back arrives and with it the parental demands that they get everything together in preparation for the next day so that we don't have to panic in the morning. You would think, what with this being my 13th first day of the school year as parent of a school child, that I would long since have grown out of imagining this might actually work in practice. Let's think. School ties? Check. P.E. kits? Check. Pens, pencils etc? Check. No, I admit the idea that my daughter, having taken off the bra she scarcely needs the night before would be unable to find it (or the other one she possesses either) a mere eight hours later, had not occurred to me but inevitably that was the crisis that hit this household with the force of a hurricane yesterday morning. In vain did I suggest that if she kept her school sweatshirt on, no one but no one would be any the wiser. Eventually I found the damn thing wrapped up in a tee shirt disgarded from the previous days wear, but not before I had given them all the "Why oh why oh why can't you lot get organised before leaving the house like I always do?" Where do they get it from?

There is absolutely no need for my children to learn that when I arrived at work yesterday I realised I had left my very essential work diary sitting on our kitchen table, or that in spite of remembering I was going to the gym straight from work I had not actually managed to pack my trainers with the rest of my gym kit.

Peter Rabbit

We are rather sad because my neice's beloved pet rabbit has died.

We are even sadder because on the second visit to the vet with said rabbit the vet said that when rabbit's get sick they tend to curl up and die quietly rather than fight back against the illness as (according to him) dog's and cat's do. And THEN the vet having told my sister it was basically hopeless charged her £90.00 for the medication he had provided. We are not entirely sure why he could not have mentioned it was hopeless on visit one which was made a mere twelve hours previously.

Peter died four hours after the second trip to the vet. We suspect it may have been from a heart attack when he heard how much the vet's bill came to.

Cookery Corner with a particular emphasis on Sun Blushed Tomatoes

If it wasn't for people googling 'sun blushed tomatoes' I seriously doubt if anyone would ever see this blog. It seems that not a day goes past without some poor soul ending up here in a fruitless (tomatoes are of course a fruit as I seem to recall from biology lessons back in the dark ages) search for a recipe that utilises sun blushed tomatoes. Those poor souls presumably feel somewhat cheated of a few valuable seconds of their life so I have decided to share that fabby recipe containing as it does 'sun blushed tomatoes'. Anyone who has the audacity to suggest this means I have nothing else to talk about today is of course correct. The addded benefit of doing this is that as there are clearly so many people searching for recipes containing sun blushed tomatoes that I might get my stats up to resemble something vaguely respectable...I am a blog whore ;-)


So I give you....Mediterranean Puy Lentil Salad

To serve 4:

250g Puy Lentils
2 tblsp olive oil
1 yellow pepper
240g SUN BLUSHED TOMATOES
200g feta cheese crumbled
fresh parsley
extra olive oil and balsamic vinegar to serve.

Cook lentils according to instructions on packet.
Meanwhile gently cook the chopped peppers in the oil for 2 minutes, add the SUN BLUSHED TOMATOES and cook for a further minute. Remove from heat.
Strain the lentils when cooked and add to yellow pepper mixture, stir in well, add feta cheese, season to taste and top with shredded parsley.
Before serving drizzle with extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar.



And it really is tasty, tasty, it's very tasty.

And also, if I don't become the number one hit for sun blushed tomatoes on google after that lot it will not be for want of trying!

And another thing - I love starting sentences with the word 'And' having always been told at school 'one must not do that'.

The donkey story that could have ended a beautiful relationship

Anyone who visits Reidski's blog knows that he enjoys sharing quirky news stories. Most days I will receive a series of bizarre and/or funny stories, interspersed with more ordinary exchanges of the 'I will meet you at Euston' or 'Work is driving me mad' variety. From time to time I see a story first that I think he might like and yesterday I saw the donkey story (see below).

All I did was click on his name at the top of my in box, pasted the web address and pressed 'send'. And that was the moment I realised I hadn't actually read that particular e-mail from him yet, but what I saw - too late to cancel my e-mail - was something about how he had just discovered he owed a huge sum of money in unpaid council tax accumulated since he moved five months ago and that the council had declared they were sending in the baliffs. He was clearly, from my speed reading as my e-mail disappeared en-route to his desk, completely distraught.

So this meant that when he would have been expecting, if not a phone call from his loving girlfriend offering love and sympathy, then at the very least an e-mail saying how sorry I was, what he actually recieved was a story about a prize winning donkey. How considerate am I???



I am fortunate that after the initial shock my response must have caused, he decided it was very funny. And he got the tax problem sorted out too.

Congratulations to Bruno.

Good news from my former home town

The Swinging Sixties

as experienced in a village somewhere in Northants.

Yesterday was our village day and there was a photographic exhibition in the church with photos dating back to the late 19th Century. I was SO happy to see that the picture of me dancing at the village millenium party has been saved for the nation. But I loved this photo of the youth club in the 60's with the contrast between for example the guy bottom right of the picture and the guy in the top row with a pipe, next to the one with the bow tie. Where the woman in the hat - top row fourth from the left - fitted in one can only speculate. I can imagine her attempting single handedly to ensure that the nasty Swinging Sixties would not breach the parish boundary. On the other hand, I guess she could have been a 'right go-er' and I quite like that idea too :-)

They look like the cast of Heartbeat.

Everything changes

For over 25 years I have been securely established as a member of a very close and supportive circle of friends. We number a core group of eight of us who although scattered around the country meet regularly. All the children we have had between us have always been included in our get togethers and over the years we all got closer to siblings of our immediate circle too.

At the very centre of this group has always been A and P. They have been together since they were 16. They are both out going, generous and fun loving people. P went away to uni in Staffordshire where he obtained a decidedly average 3rd class degree in geology. A studied closer to home, but afterwards they moved in together and subsequently married. A has been the driving force who ensured we all saw each other regularly. Somewhere along the line P of the very average degree who beyond a very good humour had little exceptional to separate him from other men of his age, apart from his 6 foot 5 height, became phenomenally successful. Working for investment banks he earnt salaries I can’t even start to guess at. They enjoyed the money they had at their disposal but they were generous with it, for example during a period when they lived in the States sending me a ticket so I could visit them for a week, or taking all of our group including children to West End shows, concerts or international football and rugby matches. We spent every New Year with them, this year as last linking hands and singing Auld Lang Syne together with the certainty that these friendships were cast in stone and indestructible.

Yesterday I visited A. P has left her because he has fallen madly in love with another woman. P it seems has declared he and A have nothing in common. Further, she irritated him by making him ring his parents and by continually writing lists (A is nothing if not organised). A is left wondering if she ever knew the man she has been with for thirty years. For the rest of us it is like suddenly learning that night is in fact day. Of all the couples I know they seemed the ones with the charmed existence. I went to see her yesterday without any idea what I could possibly say but knowing being there with her was more important than any platitudes I might come out with.

One might suppose that dealing with this would be enough for any one day but in addition to P having upped and left I firstly learnt that another amongst the eight of us has been diagnosed with a very serious eye condition which is currently threatening her sight, and because clearly that is not enough bad luck to be going on with, the same woman has just learnt her brother (and friend of us all) has the same cancer which killed their mother.

So this other friend also came round. She regaled us with hilarious impersonations of the staff involved in her treatment at Moorfield Eye Hospital until the two of us were weeping with laughter. Then A told us that what was keeping her going was the knowledge that P who got irritated by being reminded he needed to speak to his parents on the phone had been forced to move in with them and was being irritated by them 24/7 and we laughed some more. And then we got a phone call telling us that another of our core group had just given birth aged 46 to a much longed for baby girl and so we celebrated.

Life’s rich tapestry.

New Age Nonsense

I am sceptical when it comes to claims for alternative medicines. I am happy for those who seem to have found natural cures for ailments, but as for me, if I have a headache I take paracetomol. And as for feng shui- well, don't get me started! So a couple of months ago when we were having a fund raising day at work for breast cancer I had not bothered to sign up for the offered reflexology sessions. However, on the morning concerned the fund raising organiser was panicing because she did not have enough people committed to the reflexology and as it was a) or a good cause and b)I figured it would be very relaxing having my feet massaged, I went along and had a 15 minute session.

Two months later I am still in a state of disbelief about what transpired. Firstly she immediately told me I have a problem in my right shoulder. I was absolutely amazed. I DO have a problem with my right shoulder...sort of anyway. I was completely unaware that I had one but my friend who I work out with at the gym is a physio and she spotted I have limited flexibility in my shoulder. Apart from her the only other person who has spotted the problem is my pilates teacher who is very 'hands on' and has identified this 'shoulder problem'. To say I was astonished when withing seconds of picking up my foot this reflexologist could tell me that is the biggest understatement I have ever made....and I am not generally given to under statements! I have been extremely lucky to date with my health only having had minor problems but in the space of that 15 minutes she spotted everything I have ever had...eg was able to tell me exactly where I hurt my back - seven years ago for god's sake, and she knew I had had pleurisy - that was nearly 15 years ago.


I told this story to my friend the physio. She told me that a student reflexologist was practising on her foot and was obviously worried about something. After letting her suffer for a few minutes she said to the student "It's OK...you can't find it because I haven't got one." And then she let me compare my foot to hers. Where I have a lump on my ankle she has a dip following the complete removal of her womb a few years ago. Weird huh?

Anyway, what all this is leading up to is that when this woman told me I needed to be drinking at least two litres of water a day I took her word for it and am now religiously consuming two litres of water a day. I feel so much better for it as well. I notice for example that I no longer get tired in the middle of the afternoon and it has occured to me that in the same way that kids at school are now encouraged to drink water all day to aid their concentration, it also works for me. But there is just the one problem so I was wondering....does any one know of any alternative medicine to stop me needing a wee every flaming half hour?

But last night....

I met Reidski and we had intended to go and see Volver.

First we ate at what has to be the best value and tastiest Italian in the West End and admired the waiter's holiday snaps of him with a camel....far better if I leave further details to the imagination!

But oh dear, the film was fully booked so what to do? Reidski decided he was going to take me to another beautiful pub which was just round the corner but we walked in to what he said was the wrong room...not the one with the amazing decor.However, he went to the order some drinks with the intention of taking me through to the other bar just as soon as I got back form a much needed trip to the loo.

Now I want to emphasis that I really was only gone two minutes at the most but by the time I got back he was already 'bessie mates' with the landlord plus half of the regulars, and had been coerced into a darts game. He confided in me that it must be 15 years since he had played darts in a pub and I feared he faced humiliation. I watched him as he scored 100 with his first three arrows.

You know when past half remembered conversations suddenly drift back? Well I found myself wondering what exactly it was he had told me along the lines of 'nearly playing darts for Scotland' before he left there and came to England. Anyway, it was pretty soon apparent that he was not going to be exactly humiliated; the jaws of the other blokes were falling rapidly. Reidski is in fact a brilliant darts player. He won the first game with his partner with embarrassing ease.

When we had planned our night out I have to say that the idea that I would come down for an evening of darts was not in my top ten of suggested activities so I was not completely overjoyed to be told I had a partner...poor Tom must have wondered what he had done to deserve me...and that I was playing next. Not only had I not played darts in a pub for well over 15 years, but when I last did I didn't exactly get close to an international call up - might have been upsetting had I not known perfectly well how absolutely crap I am at darts. But as someone not unaccustomed to showing myself up in public I took a big sigh and started playing darts.

And we carried on playing darts...all night. OK - I can't recommend this pub highly enough. I did get to see the amazing decor as the landlord gave us a guided tour later but that isn't why it is so good.It is one of the friendliest places I have ever been in. We had a simply fantastic night there and I can't wait to go back again.

As to my dart playing, well, I am still fairly useless, however......


Reidski only lost two games all night, one to a double 19 and one to a double 4 and modesty does not forbid me from telling you that I got them both. Who says miracles never happen!

So Jane, did you have a good night yesterday?

I was so looking forward to my first home match of the season and seeing people I hadn’t seen since May. I had heard good things about how we were playing and although we lost at QPR last week we looked promising there too.

So, I park in my usual place (ie the place I have parked for the past ten seasons) (yes, where I parked IS important!) and go to the match.

It would not be accurate to describe the match as incident free. Before half time we had taken the lead, seen them equalise with a penalty that was not , on examination of television replays, a penalty, and watched in amazement and mirth as one of their players got sent off for attacking one of his own team mates. We just KNEW that we were going to be ‘all over them’ second half.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Second half we were simply useless and conceded a soft goal to them, missed umpteen golden opportunities to score ourselves, and in injury time sod me if the referee did not give them yet ANOTHER penalty which was never a penalty in a hundred years. Even the player who dived for it will surely be embarrassed when he sees that replayed? So anyway, we lose a game we should have won easily 3-1. I was not happy. I return to my car, parked as anyone who is still awake reading this will recall in the same place that I have parked for the past ten seasons.

I have a parking ticket informing me I owe the private parking Nazi’s £100, but if I pay up within 21 days ONLY £50.

Now I very rarely lose my temper. The last time was when the cat did not wet my bed about two years ago when I did in fact - having only very recently purchased a brand new mattress - go completely berserk when I saw the patch on my bed which I identified as cat wee. Had I managed to catch the cat on that occasion the cat would have been toast. It was lucky all round that I did not catch the cat that time. Especially so because having failed to catch the cat I flew back into my room to strip the bedding off and then noticed two pertinent points. 1) The bed was not wet. 2) My bedroom light cast a shadow on to my bed which from a distance resembled a wet patch. I digress.

When I saw that parking ticket I went completely mental with rage. Had I got hold of the parking attendant responsible I would have been facing a murder charge this morning. I went running round the car park looking for a sign saying that there were now charges for parking there. It took me a good five minutes to find one and when I did it was like the ones newspaper sellers have…only with smaller writing. I was so mad I am ashamed to admit I actually kicked the thing over. I was swearing and shouting and generally acting like a complete moron…but I really was ‘awfully cross’.

So D and I finally get in the car with me swearing blind that I will go to hell before I pay that fine and the local radio is on. There is an interview with the leader of our Borough Council who is announcing that a decision about the much needed expansion of our football ground, a decision we were promised in 2004 will actually not be made until 2009. TWO THOUSAND AND NINE. Back in the 1980’s our club nearly went under and some of us supporters got together to campaign to try and save the club (though why we bothered given displays like yesterday’s god alone knows.) We set up the first Supporters Trust which has since been copied by many other clubs threatened with closure. I suppose that partly explains my emotional attachment to the club. Move forward 15 years or so and we have a chairman who is actually putting money into our club but if he does not get the expansion plans approved we seriously fear he will walk away because it is costing him a fortune at the moment and he needs to see some return on his investment. So suddenly hearing this w****r saying no decision for a further three years when I was already incandescent with rage…well, I think D was afraid I was going to have a coronary. I was screaming my head off at the flaming radio and using swear words I didn’t know I knew…like that would make any difference???

By now I just wanted to get home and have a stiff drink. So needless to say, the council in their wisdom had decided to do road works near the stadium which meant they closed the road I needed to drive down, created massive traffic jams, and gave us all a ridiculously long and convoluted diversion.

So did I have a good night last night?

I’ve had better.

**********************************

I have just been to ‘see about’ that parking ticket. After I put my case in an entirely reasonable way – ‘See here you complete bastard….’* it was cancelled.

* No not really. I tried the ‘I will burst into tears if you do not cancel this ticket and embarrass you’ approach. It worked.

The Weekend

Reidski’s interesting approach to introducing me to his son for the first time…. “This is Jane. She is the one responsible for splitting our family up.” Like I wasn’t nervous enough about this particular meeting?? I guess after that it could only get better, and his son is great. He told his dad later that he was glad he was going out with me because I was so nice. Excellent! That’s him fooled into a false sense of security leaving me safe to adopt my ‘wicked step-mother role.’ Cue evil laughter….A –Ha- Ha -Haaaaa!*

So anyway, apart from that traumatic encounter of the first kind we had one of those excellent and laid back weekends with good company- Mr and Mrs TNR and others, good food, good wine, and erh, some other good stuff of a personal nature, details of which have no place on a family blog.

We also listened to a lot of music. Reidski has a great vinyl collection and thanks to Jim’s diplomatic suggestion that we four took turns at choosing a track to play we got to hear a very diverse selection of music in the evenings without arguments about who was dominating the turn table. Well, just the one argument as to whether R having selected a Dead Kennedy record lasting just 60 seconds was therefore entitled to play the next track straight afterwards. Answer: ‘No of course not- rules are rules.’

He took me to the most beautiful and amazingpub yesterday which is thoroughly recommended to anyone who finds them self in London EC4. I got very excited because I read it was on the same site that the Papal Court formally dissolved the marriage of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon. I was very ‘in to the Tudors’ back in the olden days when I was intelligent. If it wasn’t for that one decision by the Papal Court I would never have written the dissertation I wrote when I was at university… which thinking about it would have spared me a helluva lot of time which could more usefully have been employed by my social life. All that research and writing on the Tudor Rebellions…and it only ever got read by one person - my tutor**. Reminds me somewhat of this blog!


* I shouldn’t joke about that really because to be honest I was absolutely thrilled to bits he said what he did to his dad.

**Who gave me 79% for it. One flaming percent off a first. You would have thought he could have somehow scrapped up one more tiny little percent for me. Not that that still causes me distress after 25 years of course but I’m going home to kick the cat now.

And then I am going to the football. Look out for me on Sky Sports as we are on the tele tonight. No doubt you will all be staying in especially to watch Northampton Town play Bristol City in Coca Cola League One?

You won’t???

Nowt so strange as folk ;-)

To London

for my bank holiday.

Jim and his wife are down to stay with Reidski, and a boozy weekend beckons. Hope you all have a relaxing traffic jam free few days...and no rain for those of us mad enough to risk a holiday under canvas .

Action to take if you are directly involved

in an international sporting row, but only if you are completely and utterly without shame.


Saturday. I got up this morning and my hair was all over the place. I suddenly knew I should have called this 'Bad Hair Day' but also knew that one of the tabloids will inevitably have beaten me to it...sigh.

A Nightmare One Christmas Pt II

... We had spent a few days in London with mates and when I eventually
checked my phone for messages there was one from my next door neighbour
saying he thought he should warn me that two kids had been up my house
asking about their cat. To say that that was unwelcome news is the
understatement of the year. I had a dreadful journey home in heavy
traffic with my eldest giving me the 'I told you something like this
would happen' line over and again, and the other two fussing away at me
about what was I going to do now? Like I knew???!!!! It seemed I had
two options and both involved causing huge distress to a child and ruining
one child's belief in Father Christmas into the bargain.

On arrival back in our village my first stop was the village shop for
some milk. Where my sign asking for a good home for a young ginger cat
had been there was now a sign saying 'Lost, one young ginger cat.'
Bizarrely next to that sign was another sign saying 'Lost, one young
ginger cat.'

The explanation for the two signs as I found out later was as follows.
Marmalades owner had placed the sign in the shop window but as she was
by now living elsewhere - Cornwall - she had asked her friend in the
village to be the contact person should anyone find Marmalade. This
friend, Caroline lived two doors away from Linda (hope you can keep up
with all this). Some children saw the sign and then saw a young ginger
cat, picked it up and took it along to Caroline. Caroline took in the
cat. Meanwhile, a couple who lived near the shop realised their young
ginger cat was missing and therefore placed a sign to that effect in
the by now somewhat crowded shop window.

Later that same day Caroline put Ginger Cat 2 outside to do what cats
must do. Shortly afterwards Linda arrived home from work and was
surprised to see 'Chivers' outside her front door as she had thought
she had left him inside and took him in. Come feeding time she was doubly
surprised to find not one but two young ginger cats at her feet.
Mystery solved when Caroline came to her door asking if she had by any chance
seen a young ginger cat.

Returning to my role in this cat fiasco, I asked Sue at the shop about
the two signs and so when Linda told me about the two ginger cats I was
at least able to sort out the return of Ginger Cat 2 to its rightful
owner. I warned Linda about the search for Marmalade.

Caroline told me where Marmalades owner was staying so that was my next
stop. This is where I am ashamed to say I told a tale of half truths
about how Marmalade just couldn't settle and how he had disappeared,
but how I felt really quite sure (for 'quite sure' read 'certain') someone
must have taken him in and feed him because we had had no reports of
'road incidents involving young ginger cats'. She was pretty cool about
it and said 'To tell you the truth, I am not too bothered as he always
was a bit of a pain in the arse, and I have promised the kids a dog.'
This made me feel slightly better.

The story finally concluded with one further episode. There was a knock
at Linda's door and she opened it to see the older of the two kids who
had brought Marmalade to my house in the first place. He wanted to play
with her son. As Linda is calling her lad Chivers picks that moment to
stroll down the stairs in full view of the boy at the door. 'Oh' he
says, 'We had a cat looked just like him but he got lost.' 'Oh dear'
said Linda who by now has decided that although as a general rule she
doesn't like cats she does in fact like this cat very much indeed,
'What a shame'.

And I saw Chivers this morning. The sight of him brought me out in a
cold sweat.

A Nightmare One Christmas

Apologies for this as it harks back to three Christmas's ago, but I just saw a Certain Ginger Cat and the nightmare came flooding back. It is quite a long story so bare with me.

To set the scene, in the October I had come back with a very cute tabby kitten who from my observations was being tortured in her previous home so I rescued her. My kids were all totally besotted with her. We had another cat, George, but he was (still is) big and tough, and doesn't take too kindly to 'this pampering nonsense' but little Sophie just loved all that and the kids all loved her.

About a week before Christmas two kids come to my door who I knew slightly. Their parents had a certain amount of local fame having appeared on The Trisha programme talking about the horror of crack addiction, which was followed two days later by a drugs raid on their home. Who says the police don't have their ear to the ground ehh?
So anyway, the youngest says to me that they are goinga way over Christmas for a few days and desperately needed someone to look after their beloved kitten whilst they were away. At which point any sane person would have said 'Away to F**k with you' (as indeed I later learnt many sane people had already said when asked the very same favour) but I looked at this piteous child and said 'Well, if you really can't find anyone else - I will have him, but please keep looking.' They promised to do this and I forgot about it.

The NEXT day I am at work and H rings me. It is a very upset and angry H demanding that I come home AT ONCE and get rid of 'That horrible cat'. 'What horrible cat?' asks a distracted mother, but it soon becomes apparent that Christmas has come early for the owners of Marmalade (for that is his name), they have delivered Marmalade along with all his worldly belongings into my house and gone off on 'holiday' themselves. And the answer to why is he horrible is that he has immediately set about world domination by beating up our beloved Sophie.

I go home and it is like entering a war zone. The kids are furious with me for inflicting this monster on their lovely sweet kitten and there is the sound of hissing and meowing for help in the distance. I decide 'I Am Not Having This' and chuck out Marmalade figuring he can find his own way back to his house which was only a couple of hundred yards away to my right*, and I would leave food out for him. Cats are of course notorious for their homing instinct. Unluckily for me, after a mere three hours or so in my house, Marmalade's homing instinct was informing him he now lived at my house. Cue pathetic and insistent crying at my kitchen window which eventually lead to his readmittance into the house. Which was when the fighting recommenced.

That first evening consisted of Marmalade being evicted and readmitted at regular intervals and me deciding I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I thought that there was No Way I could put up with this over Christmas and resolved to try and find another temporary cat sitter for him the next morning. That night I did put him out but he sat outside the front door and made such a terrible noise I was afraid for the neighbours (the neighbours int he next village two miles away) so it was after a sleepless night that I went to the village shop to implement my get rid of this bloody cat plan.

NOT GOOD. The woman who owns the local shop in whose window I planned to place a card saying 'Please look after this cat for one week only, thank you' lives in the same street as Marmalade's owners. I told her the story. She looked at me with a cross between pity for the inflicted, and disbelieve at the depths of my stupidity. 'You do know' she said, 'that they are not coming back?' She had watched them move all their furniture out the day before. The card that went in the shop window was altered to read, 'Good home for life wanted for young ginger cat.'

Days ticked by towards Christmas and no one had come forward for the cat. I had rung the rehoming service who could help, but not till after Christmas. I was becoming resigned to a Christmas from hell as the bullying of our Sophie had continued without respite. (George meanwhile had moved in next door for a few days in protest but the kids weren't too bothered about that.)But then on Christmas Eve, about 6.00 in the evening, a Christmas miracle occured. A woman called Linda rang me. Linda lives about 200 yards to my left**. She said she was feeling really bad because all her daughter aged 7 wanted in her Christmas List to Santa was a kitten. Linda admitted to hating cats but..... I felt her weakening. I pulled out all the sales spiel I could about what a truly marvellous cat Marmalade was and three hours later Marmalade, henceforth to be known as Chivers, moved once again with all his worldly belongings to be the much loved cat of Linda's daughter.

And so it came to pass that the little girl awoke on Christmas morning to find her wishes had been answered and she had the kitten of her dreams. And they all lived happily ever after.....

Until ten days after Christmas when Marmalade's original owners turned up on my doorstep to fetch him back to his new home in Cornwall.


To be continued..........well I did warn you this one was a bit of a saga!

* Important local detail.
**Another important local detail.

I hope these oranguatans have more luck with internet dating than my poor sister is having.

Footballing and other results

On Tuesday I finally got to my first Cobblers match of the season. We played at Queens Park Rangers in whatever the League Cup is called this season and a match report can be found here but assuming no one out there but me could ever be bothered to read it I will summarise thus : First half crap. Second half exciting and we pulled two great goals back but conceded in the final minute. Final score – lost 3-2. Reidski came with me and gave a reasonably convincing display of ‘quite enjoying it really’.

We went to a good bar first, but somebody please tell me, what kind of a name is The Defector’s Weld for a pub? It must be one of them there trendy London names like. Me being a simply country lass finds the Red Lion rather adventurous as far as pub names go -red being such a racy kind of colour don’t you think?

I was sat with a lad of about 18 on my train home last night. He asked me where the train stopped. When I said Northampton he said, ‘Oh, I want to go to Crewe.’ Well maybe he did want to go to Crewe but I had to tell him his chances of getting to Crewe last night were slim going on non-existent. Then I spent the rest of the journey worrying about whether I should offer him our sofa for the night, but I didn’t because how could I be certain he wasn’t an armed and desperate criminal? I am becoming way too cautious in my advancing age and am left feeling quite guilty about the poor kid.


My own lad of very nearly 17 gets his GSCE results today. My mind keeps drifting back to the exam period but no matter how hard I try, I can not seem to conjure up any memories of him actually revising. I just hope he has at least got C grades which to my old fashioned mind will mean he passed the things. He came back from his first exam – a Maths paper -and announced it to have been ‘Easy’. He then told me he had finished it in 45 minutes but it was a 90 minute exam. Whilst I would love to say that that would be because he is a Maths genius, the realist in me has to worry that he was slap dash, didn’t take proper care over reading the questions, and very probably couldn’t be bothered to double check his answers.

I won’t know until late this morning. Until then, ignorance is likely to be bliss, although hearing half hourly news reports about how GSCE results are likely to be higher again this year is not exactly helping my peace of mind.

Later.....

Well he passed them. I don't think we shall be troubled by photographers from the local press who at these times seem inexplicably to be more interested in pretty girls who got straight A grades but he got 4 B's and 6 C's so I am relieved. I shall have to start referring to 'My son with the ten GSCE's' at any opportunity and learn to swiftly change the subject when questioned about grades.

Helpful tips for the rabbit owners amongst us

as sent to me by Reidski...the fount of all bunny knowledge.

I think I need more practice judging by the extent of the injuries I sustained trying this trick on Houdini* this morning.

* So called because she can escape from anywhere.

Ooops

My sister has been on one of the internet dating sites with somewhat mixed results, but she has just showed me what can only be described as a disaster.

She has received an e-mail through the site from my friend P's (as mentioned just yesterday) second ( of three so far) husband. He MUST know it is her because her photo is on the damn thing. He lives in the next village to us. And what is rather creepy is that he was at the same village b.b.q. as us only yesterday and was chatting away to her. Why on earth didn't he say something given that the e-mail was sent on Saturday?

Of course it wouldn't be a total disaster if she fancied him.

But she doesn't fancy him so it is officially a TOTAL disaster.

No true supporter should be without

a Smeg fridge in your club's colours.

I do believe that the Cobbler's 'Super Store' is missing a great sales opportunity by not selling these. Strangely however, when I tried to suggest to the shop manageress that she might care to order a few in claret and white - well- Honestly! If I was a more sensitive soul, her howls of derision may have caused me some distress. Granted two of them would take up ALL the floor space in the store but a club such as ours needs to show more ambition in the marketing department or how will we ever compete with the Barcelona's of this world?



Oh god- sorry, I do get rather carried away at times but even I can't quite believe I just managed to type that last sentence with a straight face.

Scary stuff

I DID go on a water rollercoaster when I was away. That was offically fun and not scary at all.

I did NOT go on the eight looped roller coaster at Port Aventura - not because I was a wimp but because I never actually got as far as Port Aventura. We were on the platform at Barca railway station en route to Port Aventura and the train was actually pulling in when J announced he felt really really sick and could someone (me) please take him back to the hotel. So that was what I had to do. That was OK I thought. I could do some shopping later, and a bit of sun bathing in the park, but no. The shops round where we were staying were all closed that day and the early sun which had been so promising buggered off and was replaced by heavy rain. That day on holiday I mainly read books. (J was fine after about an hour by the way.)

But these scary rides are as nothing to what I have had to face on my return home.

Truly terrifying.

Spine chilling.

Makes me skin crawl on sight.


It is in fact that time of the year again when the damn great big house spiders move in - uninvited and en masse - to my home and I really really really HATE them.

I know I am going on a bit this morning

Even more than usual but my flaming laptop...possibly the worst purchase I have ever made...is playing up again.

I have lost count of the number of times it has had to go in for repairs of one nature or another. Yesterday it took something like nine hours to condescend to operate. When we switch it on we just get a rolling and unreadable screen until eventually it decides it will settle down, but even then it won't let us use the DVD drive, and it has also decided unilaterally that it will change its font size to about 50. Even I wouldn't need my contact lenses in to read what I am currently typing..it is ridiculously big print.

Anyway, to get to the point, it is going in AGAIN for further repairs on Tuesday so it won't be so easy to write anything till it gets back so here I am waffling for England whilst I can before yet again having to rely on my sister's good nature for further blogging. Life was mush easier before I ever bought the laptop, but the very sad truth is that I am struggling to remember what on earth I used to do before I had it.
Possibly I had a life????

What rich people worry about on holiday

My friend P who married the millionaire (previously mentioned in this bit if you can be bothered though I wouldn't really recommend it) was on holiday in her villa in France whilst we were in Catalonia. She sent me a text from there which read - "Hi, hope you are having a nice holiday. I thought I should tell you that I don't think I will be able to take part in the village quiz this year because I am afraid I may not be able to fulfill my commitments."

I don't know where to begin with how weird that text was. For one thing why on earth was she thinking about our poxy village quiz when she was on flaming holiday? It doesn't even start till November! And as for fulfilling commitments..it means a maximum of five Friday evenings over five months. She doesn't even have a job so how can anyone be that busy? And if she doesn't want to do it, why not tell me when she saw me, it is hardly urgent. Mad.

Truly the strangest text message I have had since one expressing a wish to lick one of my female relations. (I will leave you to work that one out for yourselves ;-) )

News from the home front

did eventually reach us on the Thursday regarding the terrorist alert.

Looking back, the level of security at Luton airport was the highest I have ever seen it with one in five bags being searched and checked for traces of explosives so I think they knew something 'was a foot'or should I say something was'a drinking bottle'.

Anyway, it was all very disconcerting - a whole week or worrying about the big issue....Would we or would we not be allowed to take duty free wines and spirits back with us?

In the event Barcalona airport seemed surprisingly relaxed and we could take hand luggage, phones, I-Pods and- phew- duty free spirits on board with us (although travellers to the USA could not). However, this did not mean I escaped being involved in an International Incident at the airport.

My daughter is 12 and thus just qualiifes for a child's air ticket. When we checked in the woman asked her how old she was and when she said 12 to my surprise she gave us priority boarding passes. I came to wish she hadn't bothered. Priority boarding was announced and lots of families pressed forward. I was letting those with little ones and babies go first, but when they had all boarded I went to the front only to get a right telling off from a Spanish woman whose English was far far better than my Spanish (hard to believe I know). I did weakly protest that we had got priority boarding but she replied that so had her family, and we were all in the same boat, except she meant same plane, and they were ahead of us. An awkward and embarrased silence settled on my family and hers save for the outraged mutterings coming from my 16 year old. Then the Easy Jet rep asked if there was anyone else with priority boarding and the other family handed in their boarding passes. The Easy Jet rep looked at her passes and shook his head. Seems she did NOT have priority boarding. I gave in ours and we were nodded through. Victory was mine. But I am such a wimp. I just hate scenes of any nature,and the public nature of that one was horrendous, especially as it was impossible to silence my sons triumphant reaction as we boarded ahead of her and hers.

Going back to the terrorist alert. I read in the paper when I got back that the pilots are complaining that they are not allowed to have their contact lense liquid in the cockpit with them. Well thank God I didn't know that when I was flying. I can just about cope with the thought that a passenger might have some toothpaste about their person and be 'not afraid to use it', but the thought that the pilot may be unable to see properly as he can't put his lens in...well that would really worry me.

It's following me

the rain I mean.

Taken from my bedroom window.


I HAVE DOWNLOADED A VIDEO!!!!

I AM SO PROUD!!!!

We won....

at last!

(Gillingham 0 - Northampton 1. Sorry Cookie!)

''Faus pax's' ''

I am not too gifted in the linguistic department.

Worst example of this holiday was my attempt to explain about a traffic jam which started at a place called Platja d'Ajo, when I to the bemusement quickly followed by amusement of my friends called it Plat de Jour. Errh, wrong. But not as badly wrong as my request in France for that well known dessert, Tarte aux Pomme de Terre at which even my daughter then aged only 7 cracked up.

Remembering that still makes me blush.

London today

I'm going to see Reidski for the first time in a fortnight.

It was strange visiting places in Catalonia where I know he went last summer, and reading books there that he had lent me. On the subject of which, has anyone read 'We need to talk about Kevin?' by Lionel Shrivner? I ask this question as I need to know if it is just me who is extraordinarily dumb and did not see the quite glaringly obvious (on reflection) conclusion coming? Anyway, a great book. I also read loads of Lee Child books which are my latest obsession and 'A Homage to Catalonia' which was depressing when you knew how the Civil War was destined to end.

Last year when Reidski went away for three weeks I missed him even though I had never met him. This year when I went away I just missed him. Life takes unexpected turns sometimes doesn't it?

Hope he hasn't gone off me in my absence.

P.S. I don't think he had. We had a really special day.

Proof that the sun did shine some of the time

Just a pity that picture was taken the morning we left the villa for Barcelona.


Whatever makes you think I am a little put out about the weather we had on holiday?

OK, no more moaning, and a few more pictures....




The coast where we stayed the first week.



Place called Pals




A nearby village





Bit of Gaudi for ya






But how annoying to get killed by a tram before so much as a single tower of your masterpiece was complete.




Most important place in Barcelona





Men wearing the national dress of the area

OK, I overstated that.

But it did rain a helluva lot more than I had expected of the southern Med in August. We had some beautiful hot and sunny days, but there was a lot of cloud, and when it rained, god almighty. I don't know....I go to Glasgow and it is scorching hot. I get on an open topped bus for a touristy tour of Barcelona and I get wet and cold. At least I am able to reassure people alarmed by recent newspaper reports that in a few years countries like Spain will be too hot for holidays!

Anyway, who cares about the weather. Catalonia was fantastic and I shall no doubt go on about it at some tiresome length.

Letter to the Catalan Tourist Board

Dear Senors,

Did I miss the part in the tourist guides where it says that between 6th August and 16th August the weather in Catalonia will be mainly torrential rain?

Jane.

Can't fail to mention that

the football season starts today for me and mine.

And I am going to miss at least the first four matches including as already moaned about here the match against Nottingham Forest. What a bugger. I can't go today as I have too mush to do to justify spending most of the day travelling back and forth from Crewe. (Note to self - so stop blogging and get on with jobs, you know you will regret it at 11.00 tonight when there are still loads of unfinished tasks. Reply to self - I operate best under pressure.) I then miss two home matches and the one away at Cookie's Gillingham because of a clash with an off spring's birthday. I am just such a part time supporter.

Since our promotion we have lost and gained a manager, signed four players of whom I know nothing except that Jimmy Quinn played in this horrific match when England managed to lose to Northern Ireland, and said goodbye to our two best players, Martin Smith and Josh Low. I don't have any high expectations for the coming season but know that as soon as I do finally get to a match this season I will be just as pathetically fanatical in my support of whoever our players are as ever. COME ON YOU COBBLERS!

Vacation, vacation.

From Sunday I will mostly be lounging around in the sun for a week building up my courage for this horror and also my strength for a few days sightseeing in Barcelona.

I am going with friends and family to Llafranc on the Catalonian coast near Girona for a week in what looks like a seriously luxurious villa. This is due to the generosity and wealth of my friends, either that or it because of their ardent wish not to spend another holiday with us on a campsite! They are paying by far the highest proportion of the bill for the week. I felt quite bad about that until a couple of months ago my friend received a pay rise which was higher than my annual salary, and since then I have been able to live with myself.

Having said that the last time we were on a campsite with them it was at what has to be the loveliest campsite in Europe: here. That was in 2004. In 2003 Reidski was on holiday at that exact same campsite. And last year Reidski was on Catalonia coast near Girona, and spent time in Llafranc. Both these two coincidences are just that, coincidences, but quite big ones.

For years I have been promising myself that I would visit Barcelona. I was so thrilled when I booked it. Is it so very awful that I am actually finding it hard to look forward to my holiday because I am going to miss Reidski so much whilst I am away? But I know that I am going to have a wonderful time and have something nice to look forward to when I get back....him! Please excuse appalling lapse into soppiness.



I wrote the above before going to see R yesterday. Whilst telling me he would miss me he also said that after the year I have had I need this holiday and he is glad I am going. Something pretty vile did happen to me earlier this year which I have never written about, nor will I ever write about, but thankfully that is all in the past now where it can bloody well remain. It is strange looking back on it that something so major has been put right to the recesses of my memory and when it gets mentioned it is like recalling a bad dream I had because of how hard it is to believe what happened really did happen. Sorry to be so cryptic to those of you who haven't a clue what I am on about. So anyway, thanks to what he said I AM now able to look forward to my holiday and yes, I shall make the most of my R&R in the Catalonia sun, and even go on that horrible looking ride at Porta Adventura...although I feel just the once will be enough for this lifetime.

Ouch!

The dangers of swimming naked

So anyway

We went to a party in London on the Friday we left Scotland. Well after all, we had only been travelling for the nine hours in scorching heat so we were well up for a wild night out.

Imagine my delight when with something in the region of fifteen minutes in which to get ready he casually mentions one of his ex girlfriends might be at the party. And he didn't think that was anything to worry about!!???!!I hate book like Men - Mars, Women - Venus,but as he looked at me clearly genuinely astonished that I was thrown into a massive panic along the lines of 'I look awful'I had to acknowledge there just might be something in it.

Oh What A Night, early August, two thousand and six

We met Martin and John and John's lovely other half last night. I was a bit concerned by the arrangements
made with the aim of meeting up with them which I can best describe as 'bloke casual'. By this I mean Reidski suggesting we meet at the first pub we arrive at north of the venue - not that he knows any pub in the area let alone what they might be called or what they could be like - and no exchange of mobile numbers for use in the event of ending up in different places. I was more concerned when the first pub had just the four fire engines outside it having apparently just burnt down and the next one was so far away from the venue it was practically in Hertfordshire. Happily as it transpired there was a perfectly good bar downstairs from the venue itself and John and Martin had the good sense to be in there. And what great company they all were. And they knew EVERYONE in the audience for the band that had brought them to London which considering they live in Ireland and the Far North was really very impressive.

As to The Band - well, now I know why they have travelled to London to see them play twice in two nights. Absolutely brilliant stuff.

Incidentally, I spotted a couple of celebrities there last night. This guy was trying to appear incognito but I know him. He is the guy who keeps bumping in to me in the street and asking me in a strong American accent if I can tell him what the time is. And I am fairly sure that this guy is a porn star.

Thanks for a fantastic night John, Martin and M. And here's hoping the Mekons will be back in London again soon to ensure that you all are too.

Scenery and stuff

How great must it be to live in a vibrant exciting city but to have countryside like this half an hour's drive from your home?

We went up to Loch Lomond. The photo is taken from the grounds of the hotel where we had lunch. I can't remember having eaten in a more beautiful place. I hadn't realised just how big this Loch is...the largest freshwater lake (loch) in Britain. Nor did I realise before going there with a native that I couldn't pronounce 'Loch' which when said correctly sounds like the speaker has a cough.

To anyone who has never been to the Highlands of Scotland it is impossible to describe the grandeur of the hills and lochs. I remember on my first visit there thinking the scenery could not possibly be any more beautiful, only to come round a bend and see that it just HAD become more beautiful. Course, when it is misty you would never know. I did a hillwalk once when the person who had done the walk before kept saying 'If we could see anything now the views are stunning.' We could see sod all...in fact I didn't even realise we had a fifth hill to climb before this bloody great shape loomed out of the murky fog and rain. That particular person was lucky not to have 'fallen' over a ridge en route. I digress.

We decided to drive further. I was vaguely aware I should put some petrol in but couldn't bring myself to buy from the local garage selling what must have been liquid gold at £1.05 for a litre of unleaded. I expect it would have been £1.05.9 but they hadn't got a space on their board for the 0.9 pence. Why do they charge that 0.9 pence by the way? And will we be overcharged by 0.1 pence a litre when the prices go above a pound if they can't advertise the 0.9 pence? These are the kind of questions that keep me awake at night. ANYWAY - being atight fisted git came back to haunt me and later caused a fair amount of stress of the 'Oh my god, we are going to run out of petrol in the middle of bloody nowhere' variety. I tell you what, I thought the scenery around Loch Lomond was beautiful, but the loveliest sight I saw that day was the ESSO garage we came across in the nick of time.

We came back towards Glasgow alongside the shores of Loch Long which blogger is refusing to let me download but is worth a look at for example here as it is simply stunning.

Our last night in Glasgow was spent having a few more drinks in the city and a great Indian meal before returning to the world's hottest hotel room. By which I mean that we were on the 11th floor, heat rises,and the window would only open three inches. Great views though.