A confession

Although my team have now played 5 times this season I have only seen them the once.

"Calls herself a supporter???!!!"

I know - it is shocking though I do have excuses. I didn't get back from holiday in time for our first match Our second league match was away at Brighton and we have to boycott them as it is over £20.00 to stand several miles away from the pitch. (Last time we were there our supporters had to ask their supporters to let us know if we scored. The pitch was so far away we would never have known otherwise). I was at a wedding that never was (see below) for our other home league match, and last night we played at Middlesborough but I had a better offer (from Reidski). The one match I did see was against my beloved's beloved Millwall in the Carling Cup which we won, but league wise, although reports of our play are quite positive, we still only have one point from a possible 9. We also lost in the cup last night, but according to these highlights we didn't disgrace ourselves against Premiership opposition. We are still seven league points ahead of Leeds though :-)

So last night's better offer included watching Celtic in Reidski's local. Before I knew him I had a sterotypical view of London as a big city where no one knew anyone. He has rather changed that opinion by appearing to know everyone in his area. I like the fact that he can walk into the pub and greet half a dozen people before he even gets as far as the bar.It was an exciting match, and was not settled until literally the last kick of the match when Spartak Moscow failed to convert their fifth penalty. The place erupted as though Celtic had just won the Champions League, as opposed to just scrapping through to the knock out stages of the competition. And I found myself getting snogged by a big lass called Sandra. Reidski would have rescued me, but as I say - she was a very big lass.

Anyway, I shall miss no more home matches. As for the away matches, we have Orient away on Saturday. They currently have 9 points from a possible 9. Do I want to ruin my weekend by going to watch us get stuffed by the league leaders I wonder? Reidski dearest, do you fancy a match this weekend? Don't invite Sandra though.

What do you do?

When there is a film coming up that you want to see, but it is an adaptation of a book you have always meant to read, do you try to read the book first, or do you see the film, and then maybe catch up with the book afterwards? I was talking about this with my second son J (yes, Yorkshire pudding in answer to your recent enquiry- short for Jeremy!) who is mad on films. I always like to read the book first. I had bought Atonement, but he was saying that Empire Magazine, which is his film bible, had said it was better to see this film if you had NOT read the book first. My immediate question to that was how on earth would a reviewer know that? Either they were coming from a perspective of one who had read the book first, or from that of someone who had not, so how could they know which would be preferable.

Well now I have read the book and I have read the review. What it actually says is -

If you’ve read the book, you know what’s coming. If you haven’t, count yourself lucky, and watch with your heart in your mouth as events build to a climax barely halfway through.

I am not going to give anything away in case anyone seeing this has intends either to read the book or see the film or both in which ever order, but having read it, and I can't get it out my head some four days since I finished it, I think I kind of wish I hadn't read it first. I was left shattered by the way McEwan concluded the book, (and being a dumb bitch I hadn't picked up on the various clues he had dropped in as the story progressed,) but how will the way the book ends be translated on screen? And how will I be able to bare watching it knowing what is likely to happen? And if the ending is not as it is in the book, is it inevitable that I will come away thoroughly pissed off that the film was not 'true to the book?' Or will I find the film as glorious as all the reviews are promising it is and be able to leave the memory of the book itself aside?

Yet I am still overwhelmed by what was one of the best (and sexiest) books I have read in years, and can't recommend it enough to anyone who hasn't already read it years ago. But as to whether you read it before or after you see the film, well as this lot would have said, "I'm sorry. I haven't a clue."

The wedding that never was

Reidski and I were off to a wedding in Cambridge this weekend. We booked a hotel room some time ago knowing Cambridge was likely to be pretty busy over the bank holiday weekend. The bride to be was the daughter of one of my friends. My friend was all set to be the most glamorous mother of the bride ever - and certainly would have been just that if the groom (not) to be had n't called the wedding off less than a fortnight ago.

I think that unless any of us have ever been on the receiving end of the news that the person we planned to marry was pulling out days before the event we had been planning for two years, we can't really appreciate how devastating such news must be. The wedding dress that will now not be worn by my friend's daughter lies on the bed in her spare room - it won't fit in any of her wardrobes, I guess it will be appearing in an E-Bay sale near you soon. Sad, and the platitude about 'better now than later' probably doesn't help the jilted bride right now.

So it feels a little callous to say that nevertheless, we have just had a great stay in Cambridge, even if we did not get to dance to 'The Birdie Song.' We had a lovely time wandering aimlessly round the city. I did however break out into a cold sweat at one point when reminded of the time I thought it would be a good idea to take a punt out on the river. I blame the third glass of chardonnay I unwisely had with my lunch.



It was about three years ago and I was in Cambridge with my sister, daughter, niece and second son. It was - as it was this weekend - a lovely sunny day, and as we all know, 'There is nothing as nice, as messing around on the river.' And punting looks quite easy when you stand on a bridge and watch the punters punting by. Ha bloody ha.

The wine had given me a feeling of invincibility and although my sister did tentatively suggest we might be wise hiring someone to do the punting bit for us, I was having none of it and was convinced I was a natural. I wasn't. We kind of limped along the river in a zig zaggy manner rather than the gliding in the straight line with me posing elegantly at the helm as I had kind of imagined. An Italian family who were pretty much along side us all the way were equally inept and we kept colliding, but it was all 'jolly good fun' - except for my son who was hiding face down in the bottom of the punt in a vain attempt to pretend he wasn't with us. It all went horribly 'Pete Tong' when a third punt moving at speed collided with the Italians, who collided heavily with us, and I fell heavily on my arse with sunglasses knocked askew, and my skirt up round my ears with my knickers on show to all and sundry. Dignified it was not. We rowed back. If only we had managed to be half as cool as this lot were -



Playing Funky Music White Boy, all the way down the river on Saturday evening drawing rapturous applause as they went - and at least one display of very embarrassing dancing. NO! It wasn't me on this occasion :-)

Read the last paragraph of

this article and try not to cry.


I have never seen a handgun in all my life. What the hell is going on when the police say they are looking for someone aged between 13 and 15?

Well

He failed French as he had already assured me had done, and he passed the others, though frankly not with much distinction. He is happy with them and he can go on to do A Level. I have managed to refrain from uttering the words "If only you had put in a bit of effort." That in its self was a bit of an effort for me.

For Joe who asked, in England kids take GSCE's at the end of their last year of compulsory education. Then if they go on to our sixth forms they do A/S Levels in the first year, and A Levels at the end of the second. I actually think it is awful that tehy have exam pressure in the first year of their sixth form. 'In my day' we didn't do A/S Level and the Lower Sixth was fun. Plus all these exams are bloody awful for me. Last year D did exams, this year they both did, next year they both will, the year after that J will, then I get one year's respite until H starts her three years of exams. Think of the parents I say!

Well

He failed French as he had already assured me had done, and he passed the others, though frankly not with much distinction. He is happy with them and he can go on to do A Level. I have managed to refrain from uttering the words "If only you had put in a bit of effort." That in its self was a bit of an effort for me.

For Joe who asked, in England kids take GSCE's at the end of their last year of compulsory education. Then if they go on to our sixth forms they do A/S Levels in the first year, and A Levels at the end of the second. I actually think it is awful that tehy have exam pressure in the first year of their sixth form. 'In my day' we didn't do A/S Level and the Lower Sixth was fun. Plus all these exams are bloody awful for me. Last year D did exams, this year they both did, next year they both will, the year after that J will, then I get one year's respite until H starts her three years of exams. Think of the parents I say!

If it's Thursday it must be results day

For the second week running I have woken up with a strong sense of foreboding.

Last week D got his A/S Level results. If I tell you that his father was planning to take him down the job centre last Thursday afternoon it may be noted hopes were not high.

In the event the best I can say about them is that they weren't as bad as feared and he will be going back to school, but not to do any more maths. He should never have been doing maths A Level in the first place, but that was the result of 5 years not working as hard as he should have done, and although he ended up with 10 GSCE's in B and C grades, his A Level options were narrowed as he hadn't excelled in anything. Basically one of his B grades was in Maths and so he went for that and failed quite spectacularly. He is still on to get the grades he needs to go to the colleges he is interested in, but he really does have to pull his finger right out to do it.

Of course, everyone else's kids did brilliantly last week, and I have spent much time producing my 'sincere congratulations' responses. It reminded me of when D was a toddler and flatly refusing to learn to talk having worked out that all he had to do to get results was point to what he wanted and his devoted mum would provide. Meanwhile, every other child of comparable age appeared to be fluent in five different languages. And he was the last one to walk. Always was a lazy sod.

It didn't help either that we were subjected on TV and radio to the annual 'record results achieved at A Level' news. Not in this household they weren't! By contrast this morning there seems to be some kind of debate going on about 'How is it 40% of kids are leaving school at 16 without 5 good GSCE's?' I really should turn that radio off.

I kind of hoped that J, seeing D's GSCE results, would work really hard this past year to make sure he didn't end up in the same position. However........

J announced last night he would go into school to get the results about 11. ELEVEN????!!!! Because he doesn't want to get up in what in teenage speak is 'early'. Never mind how his poor mother will be suffering in the meantime. If I know what we are up against I can deal with it....it's the not knowing I find so difficult.


It is going to be a long day.

Tactfully put

I mean the post mortem conclusion.

Excellence for Our Customers - Name Badges

This is a copy of an email sent by our most senior manager to all staff of the organisation I work for this week. I have highlighted the bit I enjoyed most. I like to think of all these highly paid people sitting in meetings discussing at length what should go on name badges. Personally,I am sure I would never have managed to come up with the solution they did, and that is clearly why they are paid a six figure salary and I am not.

Excellence for Our Customers - Name Badges.


In ‘Our Plan for Putting the Customer First’ we have two specific standards around being identifiable to our customers. We agreed that we will ‘wear staff badges and show proof of our identity when appropriate’. We also agreed that we will ‘answer calls within five rings clearly stating our name and where we work’.



One of our services has recently been assessed against the Charter Mark Standard for Customer Service Excellence. During the assessment it became apparent that the requirement is for staff to be ‘uniquely identifiable’ rather than just identifiable as staff, so a badge that simply says ‘staff’ is not helpful. We have to be identifiable so that we can be accountable for the good things as much as anything else.



For some years we have had a variety of staff badges and having received the Charter Mark assessment it is now timely to review this practice.



The choice for staff name badges is now:

· first name only, i.e. ‘Ingrid’

· first name and surname, i.e. ‘Ingrid Mercer’

This preference has been agreed because it is the practice adopted by most public facing organisations and quite informal. We understand that people who deal with customers on a regular face to face basis may be concerned at sharing their full name and that is why the option to have first name only is available.



This is a further positive development in improving our customer service and putting the needs of the customer first. I therefore ask you to arrange for new badges to be provided for members of staff who require them.



I thank you once again for your support in improving customer service.

On Sunday

having got back from London on Saturday, I went to London. This time with the kids in tow and we stopped over at my friend A's house. A could very well be the nicest person in the entire world - and not just because she took 13 of us to Lapland for New Year, and is taking the same group to South Africa in October. But on Sunday she took us to the cinema in Lea Valley. Normally I would not have rushed to see a film the Daily Star gave 10 out of 10 to, but have to admit one would have to be very far up one's own arse indeed to fail to enjoy Hairspray. Mind you, from the trailer I saw, I won't be rushing to see Bratz - the Movie...there are limits beyond which I refuse to pass.

The next day we went to the zoo and saw the gorillas, and also saw a large python shed its skin which was fascinating in a 'Oh god how gross' kind of way. Then A took us all to a Spanish restaurant near Baker Street and I had one of those menu moments where you glance quickly through it, and basically have no idea what any of the dishes actually are, packed as they were with ingredients I had never heard of. Whatever - everything was delicious.

Back home again, and then out to Stamford to meet a friend who lives in Norway and who I had not seen for about five years. I knew she would be late. She is one of those people who is congenitally incapable of not being late, but her reason for being late this time was quite a good one. She rang as I arrived saying she was a bit delayed and was about 15 miles away*. "No problem" says I - but only because I have just seen another friend who didn't think she would be able to make it, waving to me. And how glad I am that Friend The Second did make it, or otherwise I would have sat for an hour in a bar on my own. Friend The First eventually arrives and there was a moment when FTS and I had to compose ourselves on account of the truly dreadful hairstyle FTF was sporting. Think blue rinse as once worn by old ladies, and replace the tight blue curls with tight red ones and you are on the right lines, although the true horror should best be left well alone.

So why was she late?

She HAD (apparently) been in plenty of time. But when driving through a village called Wainfleet - five miles out of Skegness - a backwater if ever there was one - she saw an old friend walking to work who had, according to FTF, a very nice hair cut. This reminded FTF that whilst in England she had intended to have her hair done and so she went to the hairdressers in this sleepy village...Yes, on her way to meet us, when she had something like 70 miles to drive, she went to have her hair done....at what appears to be, going by the evidence I have seen, The World's Worst Hairdressers. I will try not to be mortally offended by this. And she had it coloured as well as cut!!!!! This, for those men who may still be with me at this point does tend to take A Very Long Time. And when it even dawned on FTF that she really was going to be very late even by her standards, she left before they had finished it properly. Anyway, suffice to say it was a disastrous haircut, but FTF seemed really pleased with it, and FTS did manage to say "It's a nice colour" without blushing which was quite impressive. At least we now know how it is that FTF is always late for things.

* I suspect that line wasn't entirely true.

What a way to go

Not dignified.

Absolute bloody final post on the week away I promise

I mean - I am back at sodding work as of today and still haven't finsihed this. Yes, I know I could give it up as last week's news, but it makes a nice change to have something other than football to waffle on about.

So I give you in quick succession - Painswick, known as The Queen of the Cotswolds (I repeat - of The Cotswolds)which is just ridiculously pretty.

Upper Slaughter and Lower Slaughter...



Woodstock, and finally - which was quite good going for one day doncha think - Windsor.


Friday was spent sunbathing in Greenwich Park, and that was the ace week that was.

I know we all say this, but if only it wasn't for our unreliable climate, Britain is a wonderful place for a holiday. For such a small island we have so many beautiful and contrasting areas. Stunning coast, rolling hills, the endless flatness of the Fens, lakes and lochs, mountains and moors, and great towns and cities. Use of local stone making villages only a few miles apart look completely different. And we are also awfully nice folk who understand the importance of a nice cup of tea and a scone.
Enough already!

More on our travels

We left Cornwall and decided to head for Wells as a stop off point on our way to Gloucestershire. It seems such a peaceful place but appearances can of course be deceptive, and we were very polite indeed to the landlord and landlady at The Crown just in case they considered us to be undesirables. Actually, the success of Hot Fuzz which for everyone who has not got the first idea what I am on about was filmed in Wells, seems to have attracted lots of lovies to the town. We sat across from three elderly actresses whilst we had lunch and they had brandies. Wish I could remember what they had all been in but....

Then we went on to the hotel we had booked through Travel Zoo. I was a bit paranoid about this as it had 'Too Good To Be True' written all over it. This hotel, dinner bed and breakfast for £79.00....between us. On our way there I managed to convince myself it was going to turn out to mean £79.00 each, but it did not mean that. What it did mean was that we spent our last night away in the most luxurious hotel we had ever stayed in, complete with enormous corner bath (my personal highlight!) and the most wonderful meal with meat that presumably tasted like all meat used to taste before modern day mass farming methods. Thank you Travel Zoo (who were also the source of our hotel in Cornwall.

Funny how

it is possible for two people, who in many ways are very alike, can see the exact same thing and yet view it so very differently. This for example Now I thought the game against Millwall was an absolute classic in which two teams at the top of their game, demonstrated extraordinary footballing ability, but eventually the superior class of the winning side did overcome the heroic opposition, by two goals, the first one especially an absolute classic. But Reidski thought the game was shite! Also some kind of sour grapes about the ball never crossing the line for the first goal??? Didn't see that myself :-)

Anyway, not that I am sadly parochial or anything, but when Reidski texted me to say we had got Boro away in the next round, I thought he meant Peterborough. Turns out we are going to some fancy Premiership side on Teeside. A Glamour Tie or what!!!

I know

I have been known to slag off Skegness, the town I was forced by my cruel and unnatural parents to call home between the ages of 15 and 23, but I am still saddened by this news. The fire has destroyed, amongst many other places, the bar where I spent much of my leisure time back. It has wrecked a major sea front complex. Occuring as it has at the height of a season which because of the weather been very poor already for a town that is entirely reliant on summer holiday makers, it could not have happened at a worse time.

Thankfully, no one appears to have been killed.

Food, and the occasional lack of it

What I had not expected about Cornwall was the really great food we had every time we ate out. This is put down to the 'Rick Stein effect' as he has single handedly taken over Padstow and other Cornish places have to compete food wise or lose out.

We ate here in Newquay, where there was a huge surfing competition going on, and here which according to someone writing in the Observer is one of the top five beach cafes in the world, and must have the loveliest view of any restaurant anywhere, and also at this great pub. But where we did NOT eat was in the Cornish food capital of Padstow. This was not what you would call a deliberate omission.

On this particular day we had been down to St Ives (where we had had an 'Award Winning Cornish pastie'. Interestingly, everywhere in St Ives that sold pasties only sells 'Award Winning' ones, but anyway, it was very nice.) But that had been quite early and by 7ish we were very much looking forward to a trip to Padstow and
fish and chips from Mr Stein's establishment. Now, on the way back from St Ives I had mentioned that we probably should get some petrol but I was checking the petrol warning sign (yes - more bloody aggro from my car's warning signs - or lack of them, see below), and the 'petrol low' warning sign had not come on. We go to the car in the hotel car park. I switch on the engine and the warning sign which wasn't on before has switched to Nuclear Warning Mode, and just to emphasis there was a 'problem' it refused to move. We are out of petrol, and we are also just to make the situation all the more amusing, miles from anywhere.

I rang a cab firm and told my story of woe which resulted in a Cockney Cab Driver (lived in Newquay for 30 years but still very definitely a Londoner) coming to collect us to take us to a petrol station and to bring us back again. STUPIDLY, I had left a petrol carrying thingy behind at home so had to buy one first. So - on arrival at the BP garage some six miles away - no prizes for guessing they had sold out of?? I nearly cried. We continue with Cockney Cabbie for several more miles before the next petrol garage where the petrol can and the petrol is purchased and back he takes us with the total of 21 bloody quid on the clock. In fact he took some slight pity on us and charged us less than that, but still - a unexpected and total pain in the arse expense.

EVENTUALLY we get to Padstow, but what we both need is a drink first. And then we go in search of Rick Steins chippy, spurning as we do (subsequent results served us right) other, undoubtedly perfectly good chip shops, as when in Padstow surely one must do a Rick Stein. And it is a surprisingly big place. And it was dark. And when we finally found the place at 10.20 we found (oh how we laughed) that it had shut at 9.00. We go back to the other chippies not owned by TV Personality Chefs - and they had all shut too. As had all of Padstow by this time. We had a curry in Newquay at midnight that night with all the piss heads - but hey! THAT was very nice too. :-)

I am aware

of a tendency to do an unpaid tourist information job for places that I have visited in this place but here we go again....impossible not to rave about the places we have been to over the past week especially in view of the fact that instead of the threatened heavy rain, we got fabulous sunshine.

I give you Exhibit A ...



St Ives. We did 'do' the Tate, although we liked the Barbara Hepworth gallery more, but mainly it was the harbour, the beaches and the narrow winding roads which showed how the Guardian got it right when they named St Ives best seaside place in Britain 2007.

On a smaller scale Exhibit B...



Port Isaac. Beautiful unspoilt fishing village complete with an award winning pub.

More to follow....

Back home

Unfortunately.

I have been kept fully occupied since I got back from my wonderful week with Reidski in which Sun, Sea and Sex all featured. More details to follow - whether or not that includes any details on the sex depends upon how drunk I am at time of writing :-) (yes, anything to increase my stats!) - but before I shoot off to meet an old school friend who is over from her home in Norway for a few days - a picture of where we were staying for the first four days.



We were staying right on Watergate Bay, 4 miles out of Newquay, and it was stunningly beautiful.

*Deep sigh* cos we are not still there.

In which I am a bit of a bitch.

I know this couple in our village. He was a widower with two children when he met her. He was also the multi millionaire company boss – and she was the secretary. ‘True love’ ensued and they got married and had two more children, but her first love was alcohol, and on one of her trips to our local equivalent of The Priory she met a manic depressive who swept her off her feet (as manic depressives are wont to do) and out of her marriage. This would be about four years ago now after a marriage lasting 9 years.

She remained in the village where her soon to be ex-husband bought her a house worth about £600,000 – no mortgage. One child went to live with her and the manic depressive, the other elected to stay with her dad.

The settlement was what you might call generous. In addition to the house, and staggered payments of £100,000 a time, she receives £2,000 a month. She has not worked since she married her former husband. She spends her time and money shopping. It is therefore little wonder that when I last saw her she said how much she needed a holiday. I am not quite sure how I resisted asking her ‘From what?’ Anyway, she is now on the much needed holiday in Jamaica (Altogether now – “No, she went of her own accord!”)

I have to say I do sometimes feel very sorry for men. And I also feel that some women are money grabbing lazy sods.…I might of course feel very differently if I had married and divorced a multi millionaire.

Reidski and I are off on holiday tomorrow. If anyone really does need a holiday it is Reidski after the terrible time he has had these past few weeks. It has been difficult to look forward to it because the funeral of the third person to die who he was so close to was this morning.

We had planned to go to the Highlands of Scotland, but we are in fact going to Cornwall which is about as far away from where we had planned to go as could be managed on this island. I have a memory which I have tried and failed to wipe out of just how terrible driving to Cornwall is on a Saturday in August, but it will be worth it when we get there. IT WILL, IT WILL, IT WILL…says she desperately trying to also forget the weather forecast she has seen for the area predicting as it was heavy rain for both Sunday and Monday. (I bet there’s no sodding rain in Jamaica says she displaying just a touch of bitterness!)

We have four nights in Cornwall, (I had to correct a typo there having written ‘We have four night sin’ – Freudian slip or what?) and then one night in the Cotswolds before back to London for another two nights before real life intrudes again with me having to get back for (drum roll please)……..


Northampton Town verses Swindon. Yee Ha! The football season is back!!!!!

Before I sign off for the vacation though, something really nice.



I got this from my newest favourite blogger, Rilly Super, who for anyone who is seriously missing out by not reading her ‘Strife in the North’ is rilly, rilly hilarious. And any resemblance whatsoever to Wife in the North is purely coincidental. much as I do love a good piss take.

Many thanks Rilly, and I will spread the award onwards when I get back from not very foreign parts.

Warning Sign!!!

I drove down to see Reidksi last Friday. Down the M1 I went, enjoying the fact that there was not so much traffic as usual and no hold ups when "Oh shit!" A warning sign popped on. I had never seen such a sign before. It was a little icon showing a car with a spanner down the middle of it. my first reaction when ever a warning sign comes on in a car is to hope it goes away. Happily, having met Reidski and driving round London over the next 24 hours the warning sign did not come on again. Excellent. Except that as soon as I was back on the M1 headed home up it popped once again.

I decided it must be speed related. As Reidski and I are heading for Cornwall next week I knew I had to get this thing checked out. I rang my garage, described my warning sign, and the old guy who owns the local garage ummed and arrhhed,and directed me to a mate of his who is the proud owner of a diagnostic tool that was he explained the only thing that could accurately ascertain the source of my problem. (I didn't ask for further details on his tool, it hardly seemed polite.) Anyway, I find this guy in the middle of a forest (which made me even more anxious about this tool of his), but he produced his diagnostic tool and very high tec it was too. Like a little hand held computer with which he could diagnose the source of my engine trouble. He checked for this, he checked for that, he checked for the other but he didn't get any of that I can assure you, and then he asked me when I last put any oil in the car.

So it transpired that I was not in need of any high tec diagnostic tool, but I was in need of oil on account of there was not a drop to be found in my engine. I was like five minutes away from a £2,000 replacement engine job.

"Why" I demanded in my anxiety to divert attention away from the fact that I had been a very stupid cow "didn't the oil warning sign come on instead of that car and spanner one?" "Ahh" he replied "If the oil warning light comes on, it is too late - that would mean your engine is knackered."

Note to self - car engines need oil.

Mike Reid

I am sorry that Mike Reid has died. When my parents had a hotel in Skegness it was way before East Enders, he was still doing end of the pier comedy shows and he would stay at our place. He used to say he had never known a family with such good looking women as ours contained. As my dad pointed out though, Mike Reid was a comedian.

Get fit in ten minutes (or your money back????) One would hope so at those prices.

The future has just arrived at my gym. They have installed Power Plates and the good news is that we can all...


Get the perfect, healthy body for summer at the touch of a button, with the good vibrations of the award-winning Power Plate Next Generation. (I see at John Lewis you get a free one year’s guarantee thrown in with your purchase costing £6,995 – that’s good isn’t it? )

So it has come to this. We are all so busy, but all also so anxious to keep in shape – that for a mere 10 minutes, three times a week, we can have – ‘At the touch of a button’ the perfect healthy body we all crave. This is most definitely the invention for our times.

My grandmother didn’t need to work out to keep her muscles toned – wringing out the washing on a mangle would have seen to that on its own, never mind the hoeing and digging involved in growing all her own vegetables. Granddad's manual work kept him in shape. My mum didn’t need a gym to keep fit – like her parents before her she walked or cycled everywhere.

When I was a child I was always active – out all day over the fields and far away, or swimming, or competing in epic fifteen set matches of tennis played against the house wall, or playing French skipping with ropes out of elastic bands....it did probably help that children’s TV was only on for an hour a day. As a teenager though the rot set in as I was forced to take part in games lessons that I hated...gymnastics, hockey, athletics and worst of all - cross country running - rather than netball, dancing or rounders which I had always enjoyed. I started missing games lessons and by the time an aerobics class started up in my village I did not even possess a pair of trainers having done no exercise for something like 15 years.

Neighbours from both sides of my house were determined I was going to go with them to that first aerobics class. I didn’t even know what aerobics involved and had to be frog marched down to the village hall, but no one was more shocked than I was to find out that not only did I really enjoy it, but I was good at it too. It was totally undeserved, but it seemed I was fit and liked exercising. This led me to make a new discovery. Whilst I was not looking these things called leisure centres had sprung up, and people were paying good money to use gym facilities. Before long, I became one of them. These were obviously the answer to the increasing sedentary life style we had all been busy adopting – labour saving household devices, massive supermarkets which meant we no longer had to grow our own vegetables, desk bound jobs, and cars which took us everywhere, even when it would often be almost as quick to walk. So they had to invent cycling machines, treadmills, steppers etc to basically do for us what previous generations were doing naturally every day of their lives. Oh yes, and as we no longer carried heavy shopping bags any further than from the trolley to the car boot - they invented machines with weights attached for us.

Now though, it seems we are so pushed for time that we need to tone up faster, and we are so lazy we want to do it the easy way and yes, I will be trying the Power Plates for size with that promise of perfection at the touch of a button. It does actually say in the publicity material that "You don't even need to exert yourself." I do wonder though what other aspect of our lives is due for the invention of a machine to give us instant pleasurable results. Maybe the future as portrayed in Woody Allen's The Sleeper is not so far away after all, but do you know, I quite like my sex life as it is without the undoubted convenience of the orgasmatron.

Poor cow

Shambo I mean.

I feel a renewed admiration for Nicky Campbell this morning having just heard him on the radio managing to ask of a representative of the Hindu Forum "Is it possible that Shambo will be reincarnated as a human being sometime soon?" with what sounded like a genuinely kept straight 'voice', and for managing not to splutter Paxman like when the spokesperson assured we listeners that was "Perfectly possible."

Still think there was something rather touching though about the battle (if pacifists can 'do' battles) to save Shambo.

Anyone else remember

this prediction?

In which I was inconvenienced.

I like to think of myself as quite a tolerant sort. 'Each to their own' could have been a saying especially designed for me, but maybe, just maybe, one needs to add the rider - 'So long as they don't inconvenience me.'

For I am ashamed to admit I have developed a little obsession that grew exponentially on the five occasions in two days I found myself stuck in traffic jams nose to tail with these anti-social, inconsiderate menaces to society. I refer of course, to Land Rover Enthusiasts.

Now, pre this weekend (PTW for short) I would have said that if 50,000 Land Rover Enthusiasts wanted to club together and look at Land Rovers, then OK - bit tragic - but c'est le vie. HOW SO EVER, when they chose to assemble for this, which is accessible only by a narrow country road down which it is necessary for me to travel for numerous reasons, and when there are so many attempting to get through the ONE gate into the place and therefore succeeding in bringing gridlock for at least five miles in every direction then I get - ever so slightly - WOUND UP!!!!.

So obsessive have I become due to the length of time spent in too close proximity with Land Rovers due to the traffic jams I kept getting stuck in, that I looked at the link in an attempt to better understand this strange alien subject - The Land Rover Enthusiast.

What kind of a person is excited by wandering around a vast camp site looking at Land Rover after Land Rover?

According to the show web site: Land Rover shows should be all about Land Rovers, so at Billing 2007 you’ll find an arena packed with Land Rovers of all shapes and sizes. Well for a start off, you don't need to pay good money to see all those - I saw them for free - stuck in the same sodding traffic jams as all of the bloody things.


Many Land Rover fans had their first off-road experience at Billing, but no matter how experienced you are the Billing course is always a pleasure and a thrill. If you click the 'Off road' link there are pictures of Land Rovers driving into muddy water. This it transpires, is a major treat for Land Rover Enthusiasts - but I thought they all did that kind of thing all the time anyway because as every 4 wheel driver insists "But I live in the country - I NEED my gas guzzling carbon unfriendly 4 X 4." Surely it isn't really the case that most Land Rover owners live in - whisper it - the town???

But then i saw this, and ha ha, they are complaining the event was hit by the weather and two Land Rovers were damaged. I quote from a contributor called Big Drinks as I could not put it any better -

Bigdrinks
Jul 23 2006, 07:32 AM
So, Land Rovers are great, but dont take them out if it gets a bit wet & windy!

I'll leave the last words on the subject though to Reidski who heard more than enough complaints from me this weekend about Land Rover Enthusiasts for the hatred to rub off on him. He also saw the web site and sent the following to me....


“displays and demonstrations to appeal to Land Rover fans of all kinds.” – you fucking what? Surely, Land Rover “fans” come just in one kind – sad fucking wankers!

A most unusual sight this morning.

In two respects.
1) My sons were both awake on a Saturday at 7.00 am and
2) They were both reading.

Yes, this household has two copies of the new Harry Potter book.

Now I have issued very strict instructions that anyone who tells me who dies is going to have birthdays and Christmas's cancelled for the next several years. This has not discouraged them from calling to each other whenever I am in earshot "Oh no! Not Hermione!!" or "How will they ever manage to dig a grave big enough for Hagrid?"

But how do I avoid finding out before I read it myself?

I feel like Bob and Terry in the episode of the Likely Lads where they try to avoid hearing the score of England's football match with Bulgaria. Everyone but everyone will know soon. I even saw an old bloke of at least 80 in Tescos reading the last few pages. I dare not look at certain blogs until I have had a chance to read the book as they are sure to be talking about the outcomes by now, but it is odds on I will catch something on the tele or radio. I really can't go into hibernation for a few days (although with the weather as it is that is actually a very tempting prospect).

I read the first book in 1997. I keep seeing that hardback copies of that book are worth money now - though I somehow doubt if our much read copy is worth bugger all. It is just a shame that other children's books are n't worth money as believe me, in spite of my best efforts in which I regularly purchase recommended reads for children and young people, the vast majority of those remain resolutely in mint condition.

I remember that the first night after I had picked it up I had an ace dream in which I was a wizard. No wonder kids love them so much.

Four hundred million copies Harry Potter books sold worldwide before today. I guess it isn't just my family that love them then?

Yesterday

the man I love very much and those closest to him were due to go and celebrate the lives of the two people killed in a car accident on 7th July. 'Celebrate' because in spite of the dreadful loss of life, there was much to celebrate. Both of them were brilliant academics whose work both saved and created life. They had lived long and fulfilling lives. More than that to Reidski and his family they were the truest of friends - simply lovely people.

Only Reidksi and those closest to him did not make the celebration. Unbelievably, and with a cruelty of timing that defies belief, they have instead been plunged into mourning for someone far closer than the two they have just lost, killed yesterday in a terrible accident, witnessed by three of the guy's closest friends.

This man, in the prime of his life, married less than 6 weeks ago, and precious to so many is gone.

I am at a total and utter loss to find the words to express how dreadfully dreadfully sorry I am. It is tragedy on the scale that you think 'How do people ever start to come to terms with that?' I don't even know if it is the right thing to do to refer to it here, but how can I press on with my normal brand of trivia without acknowledging that actually this awful, in the truest sense of that word, thing has happened.


We have all to ensure the people we love always know how much we love them, how special they are to us. One day, inexplicably and with no warning anyone can be snatched away from us. I know I hugged my children twice as tightly before they left for school this morning.

I accept.

I have been handed an award by Yorkshire Pudding. It seems I am a mature blogger.

Along with other recipients of this award like Muddy Boots and Mopsawho like me are pretending to themselves that they are just mere slip of girls I haven't known quite what to make of this.

I looked up 'Mature' on Google and the number one on their list is Mature Sex Pics, Free Porn. For a fleeting moment I had a glimmer of hope that therefore 'mature' equals sexy but a rather foolish click on that link soon removed that illusion. "Chubby granny fucked hard"????? Oh my god!!!! (Must remember to remove history and clear cookies before work.)

So I tried Wikipedia and they tell me "Mature can refer to the following meanings;

* Sexual maturity
* Mature is a character in the King of Fighters video game series.
* Mature 17+, a rating in the ESRB rating system"


This makes me think I must be totally past it rather than just mature as I had never heard of King of Fighters video game series, and I didn't know ESRB ratings existed, but presumably no self respecting 11 year old game player would be seen dead playing a computer game that did not have a Mature 17+ rating. But I see that 'Sexual' has come into again except that makes little sense either as who in their right mind would mistake a hormonally challenged teenager for a mature individual?

YP says to be mature you need to start every other sentence with the words '"When I was young" but I have actually deliberately blocked that line as the last thing I want to think about when talking to my kids is what I was actually up to at their age. Please god they don't behave that way too which leads neatly on to YP's stipulation that we mature bloggers pray every day. Does blaspheming count? Ah yes, and the third stipulation to qualify for this award so that we drink alcohol in moderation and to that I can firmly agree that I personify that rule for mature bloggers.

Except for last Saturday night.
Oh, and Friday.
Don't mention the Friday before that at Reidski's.
Thinking about it last night when he came up to see me was a bit on the excessive side. As was the previous Thursday.

Apart from all that I think it is totally true that I drink in moderation and therefore can accept in all good conscience, the award for Mature Blogger with a few spontaneous words....

"“ My dear colleagues, I thank you very much for this tribute to my work. I think that Reidski, and I have done the best work of our lives and I think this is in part due to our director, Yorkshire Pudding. [Audience applause.]

And I also think it's in part because we believed and we believe in what we were expressing--two out of millions who gave their lives and were prepared to sacrifice everything in the fight against fascist and racist Nazi Germany.

And I salute you, and I pay tribute to you, and I think you should be very proud that in the last few weeks you've stood firm, and you have refused to be intimidated by the threats of a small bunch of Zionist hoodlums [gasps from the audience, followed by a smattering of boos and clapping] whose behavior is an insult to the stature of Jews all over the world and their great and heroic record of struggle against fascism and oppression.

And I salute that record and I salute all of you for having stood firm and dealt a final blow against that period when Nixon and McCarthy launched a worldwide witch-hunt against those who tried to express in their lives and their work the truth that they believe in [some boos and hissing]. I salute you and I thank you and I pledge to you that I will continue to fight against anti-Semitism and fascism.
"

Whaddaya mean 'Too Much'????

And now I am off to buy my tickets for the new Harry Potter film.

Parental Advisory.

Thanks to Rob I know now that my blog comes with a warning to parents. This is apparently down to my mentioning hell on three occasions and killing on one.

-

.

Reidski gets the highest warning with an R. That it seeems is the risk you take when you post links to a large pussy* so fans such as myself of Mr Tiddles who used to live in the ladies loo at Paddington Station should be cautious with their descriptions.

* Though to be fair - prodigious use of the word 'Fuck' may also have contributed to his Adult Only rating.

Will people please stop

throwing themselves in the direction of my car.

Last week Reidski and I were in my car headed for Waterloo Bridge and at the IMAX roundabout. It had - not for the first time in recent weeks - been raining. There were road signs up and Reidski read one out loud - "Anti - skid work." Now literally just as those words left his mouth a motorcyclist came round the roundabout presumably fully intending to drive past us in the opposite direction, but what he did instead was skid, come off his bike, and his bike slid to a halt no more than three inches from my car. I was frozen for a moment with fear and horror. I just did not dare look and had to gather all my courage to get out the car whilst trying to remember back to my St John's Ambulance training course. Thankfully however, once he had had the bike picked up off of him the guy was fine. His legacy for me though has been that I am terrified everytime a motor cyclist comes close to me. That was bad enough.

On Tuesday I was driving into the railway carpark. I was just turning in and there was a white van in the other lane right next to me. From behind that van emerged a woman who walked right into the front of my car. Here my memory kind of plays tricks. I am certain I did actually hit her as I felt it. I don't know how fast I was going - not very thank god - but I know I slammed my brakes on to come to a stop. There was then a totally embarrassing scene in which she practically begged on bended (broken maybe?) knee for my forgiveness, whilst all I could manage was an incoherent ramble along the lines of "OHMIGODTHANKCHRISTYOUAREALRIGHT." She was saying her mother had just died and she was 'miles away', just not thinking what she was doing, totally her fault etc etc, and could she buy me a coffee? "Coffee??!!!???" Bloody hell, I needed a double brandy at the very least and was on the verge of starting smoking for the first time in my life (No, I wasn't quite that bad!) So by the end of this scene it was me who was having to assure her that I was perfectly alright thank you, although she was the one who had leaped in front of my car. I should probably add that she insisted she was not hurt at all.

So now I am terrified of pedestrians too.

Nothing close to either of these two incidents has ever happened to me before in all the years I have been driving. Yes, I know I wrote my own car off earlier this year but that was (much as I hate to admit it) totally my fault. But now I have become a bag of driving nerves.


If my son passes the driving test he makes his second attempt at later today my driving nerves will be totally shredded, but to look on the bright side, at least it will mean I will stop worrying about myself.

Just suppose

you are a parent of 10 year old child with 2 years left to go in primary school. Your child is guaranteed a trip on a residential week either in the current academic year or the following year. Your child MAY be fortunate enough to get a place on both trips, but due to numbers of children involved, they are guaranteed one visit.

So as the parent of this imaginary child, you are told that places are restricted for visit number one. The very strict system for ensuring that every applicant has an absolutely equal chance of being selected is fully explained. And you are asked to accept that if you make an application for your child to go on the first trip, your child may not be successful, but will therefore be guaranteed a place on the trip the following year.

You proceed to apply for a place for your child, but hers is not one of the 44 numbers drawn from a hat.

Do you either a) Explain to your daughter that you are very sorry she will miss out this time and not go to Wales, but "Don't worry darling, you have a trip to the Isle of Wight to look forward to next year" or b) Attempt to have the entire trip cancelled because "If my child can't go, neither can anyone else's."

One selfish git, a parent at another school in the local cluster of village schools with which I am involved has attempted to go for option b. As a chair of governor's of one of the other schools who participate in the residential (the provision of which by us OFSTED has described as 'outstanding') I have been up to my eyes recently trying to save these trips in the face of his legal challenge to the fairness and equity of our residential trips.

Last night at the last in a series of meetings which have dragged on through most of the past nine months his complaint was finally and categorically dismissed.

I can only sit back and wonder just exactly how spolit the child of this particular parent must be. Her father should bear in mind the warning from Mr Dahl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory of what can happen when we spoil our children....

Verruca Salt

She is from England. She is capricious, spoilt, stubborn, demanding, selfish and narrow-minded. She looks like a doll. Her parents give in to her every whim. She always wants more: she is never pleased. She is insolent and rude. She manipulates people in order to obtain what she wants. She is a hypocrite. She thinks she is superior to other people. She despises the others. She is scornful. In the room where the squirrels shell nuts, she absolutely wants a trained squirrel. She is desperate to get her hands on a squirrel. They attack her and consider she is a bad nut, so they push her in the garbage. She lands on thre
e weeks’ worth of rubbish.

I am somewhat put out to know that a teacher at the school my kids go to (for that I am very sorry to say is what this parent does for a living) freely admits to caring about no children but his own.

Busy afternoon

Getting everything including all the appliances off the floor and out of my kitchen and then because I hadn't done enough - pulling the vinyl floor up too. Even more amusing was when having got fridge/freezer, dishwasher and tumble dryer outside, I then had to get them back IN side as yet more torrential rain fell, because - great laugh this next bit - first thing tomorrow I will have to put them outside again.

Following the 'nearly burning the house down incident' the insurers are coughing up for a new kitchen floor but the snag is that the house holder has to clear the kitchen floor first. Bad enough for me, but how do elderly or frail people manage?

It had been a great weekend up until today. Reidski and I had a night in on Friday and ended up on You Tube for hours. Can not believe how much is on there. At one stage - fairly late in the evening - we started taking turns to play something from the first half of the 60's, then the 2nd half and so on through to the present day. Well I can tell you that we had 'These boots were made for walking' and 'Down Town' for early 60's, I know 'Virginia Plain' featured at some point, as did 'The Long and Winding Road' and 'The Story of the Blues'which for reasons related here still brings Reidski out in a cold sweat, but the truth is we got so pissed I can't remember much more at all, except that by the time we were supposed to be onto the 21st Century my brain had left the building and I couldn't think of a single solitary 21st Century sound to play. Oh dear, I was so drunk. But I do remember we had a great laugh.

The yesterday we went to see the Prologue of the Tour de France - us and a million or so other people. I loved it, and not just for the sight of the cyclists legs. This year I know I shall be trying to put doping scandals to the back of my mind and just enjoy the achievement of these phenomenal athletes. Christ I was knackered just walking round some of the prologue route yesterday - and they are off to race round France FFS.

I had to come back home late last night because I was helping at a country fair early this morning, but I really wish I had stayed because first thing today Reidksi got some truly terrible news about an accident which has killed two very special people, one of whom he only saw last Saturday. I never knew either of them but have heard so much about them I almost felt that I did. The kind of people who not only changed the world through their respective brilliant careers, but also did good, kind and generous things for others.

Yesterday we were on a bus and we went past the site where the bus was blown up exactly two years before. That made me think at the time about the arbitrariness of the fine line between being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It only takes one moment and unimaginable horror can and does happen. Too dreadful for more words I'm afraid.

trashcan sinatras - obscurity knocks

Unfortunately this song title turned out to be very appropriate - but listening to this amongst many many of their other superb tracks, why did the Trashcan Sinatras never become massively successful?

A rather unsatisfactory ten minute period in my life.

Listening to the horrific noise my washing machine was making, even I was no longer able to ignore the fact that it needed 'attention'. I rang up my usual man who takes care of these things. He and I have history going back over many years and involving assorted fridge-freezers, cookers, dishwashers as well as the washing machine - always something about to go wrong in my experience.

His son came and took it away saying something about 'bearings'. This gave me a moment of hope as they were done in December and I had a 12 month guarantee on them. It was a nice moment and I made the most of it. The moment was soon dashed.

My phone rang. It was my man. NOT the bearings. Not the motor. Not anything else that my man had ever seen in 43 years of fixing washing machines either. It turns out that the concrete I was only subliminally aware was underneath every washing machine drum had come off. My man seemed quite surprised. I was quite distraught. From visions of getting it fixed for free to the reality of paying out for a new washing machine. Bugger.

Following this conversation I wandered into the kitchen at work feeling depressed and broke. There was one chocolate brownie in there. It kind of had my name on it. I tried to ignore it but it was calling out to me. I had a tiny bit off the edge to satisfy my craving. This only served to intensive my craving. I decided that in view of my washing machine angst I deserved to finish off the chocolate brownie. I made a cup of tea to accompany the chocolate brownie which I had successfully convinced myself I should have. I picked up the chocolate brownie, and promptly dropped the bloody thing on a quite exceptionally dirty floor. Me and the chocolate brownie was not to be. Bugger again.

With a bit of sight seeing thrown in

Joe made a fair point after my previous post - but yes, we did manage to see some of Edinburgh in between pub visits.

Saturday was spent at Meadowbank Stadium, me watching a game of football and erh, Reidski pretty much watching a game of football stuck as he was in the role of lone striker whilst a group of semi-professional footballers ran rings around his side's 'defence', several of whom had to keep coming off for a fag. Loyalty forbids that I mention the final score. In the evening we had a meal on Grassmarket with amongst others also in Edinburgh when we were, Messalina- on the 5th floor of a hotel overlooking the castle.

Sunday started with the two of us getting absolutely drenched and then got better. We went to the National Museum. Then we saw Greyfriars Bobby (so sweet!), and walked up to the castle along part of the Royal Mile, obviously fitting in some of those pubs along the way and seeing beautiful streets like this one.



On Monday we managed the Scottish Parliament, Calton Hill, this cemetery -

.

We went in Jenners, then walked through Rose Street, saw some of the New Town and found out we couldn't get into what looked like green parks but turned out to be private gardens for residents only. Then we had a bit of a walk along the waters of Leith. How about here for a nice spot to eat?



That night we went out with Messalina for a great pizza here.

Tuesday we checked out Arthur's Seat (no smutty remarks from the back please), and had another last wander round the bridges and Princes Gardens before reluctantly taking our leave of Edinburgh.

Looking back - no wonder we were knackered!

A Bit of a Pub Crawl

I am fussy about pubs. I grew up in them as my parents were publicans. They need to be cared for, offer well kept ales and I prefer them if they are not hell bent on serving food at the expense of local drinkers. No matter how beautiful they may be, if the landlords are not welcoming then it is a Crap Pub. My parents had a pub in the village where I live for 15 years until they retired. It was then the absolute hub of village life. My dad had the knack of remembering everyone's name and favourite drink after just one visit. My mum looked after everyone like they were family. Since they left in a period of not much more than 7 years there have been no fewer than six different sets of landlords come and go; four of them just awful; why the hell people who do not appear to like other people wind up running a pub is one of the mysteries of my life. Two of them were good but had to leave because as soon as they started to get successful the brewery who owns the pub got greedy and priced them out with outrageous rent demands. Whilst the four awful landlords were there it was a Crap Pub, and during the reign of the other two it was a Great Pub. We are fairly hopeful the latest arrival will be a success. He does at least smile when one goes in the place which is nice but apparently more difficult to accomplish than one might suppose.

Anyway, stop waffling on Jane. Thing is, when I go anywhere new I like to do a bit of research first on my favourite subject - good pubs - and I went to Edinburgh armed with a list of pubs I would really like to visit, and the Girl Jane Done Good, with the able and willing assistance of Reidski, and managed to get to the following pubs in the space of three days (actually two as the first day there was taken up with pre-planned social events).

If you only click on one link make it the one for the beautiful Cafe Royal, but none of the pubs visited disappointed. Many more reasons to love Edinburgh!

The Cafe Royal.

The Guildford Arms.

The Abbotsford

Bannermansbar.

Bow Bar.

Doric Bar.

Halfway House.

The Jolly Judge.

The Mitre.

Kay's Bar.

The Oxford (Failed to spot Rebus but I am sure every bloke round the bar was a policeman.)

How's this

for a stupid e-mail message I have just received from my anti virus people?


Congratulations!

You have successfully changed the password for your Norton Account. If you did not change your password, please contact Symantec Customer Service for additional assistance.

On the eve of the day some of us have been waiting for

An interesting article about what we can expect if we follow the Scottish example.

And with apologies to Marc (see promise made in comments but about to be broken) I couldn't resist publishing a link to this if only for this piece -

Dave Wild spends seven or eight hours a day in the pub. He's family, the ex-husband of landlady Linda. But that all stops when his beloved cigs are banned. "In 1974 I first came to this pub. I'm the ex-landlord and I'll stop coming [after the ban]," he says. "I smoke 100 to 120 cigs a day. The ban will kill us.

No comment necessary !

WARNING

If you are just idly playing with the idea of starting a blog of your own - DON'T DO IT!

If you are in fact already knee deep in blogging there are some very reputable therapists around who may be able to help you kick this destructive habit.

Cos if you aren't very careful, three years down the line not only may you be under constant pressure to come up with something to write about because your public (all three of them) demands it, but you could also find yourself linked for life to a mad person who keeps going on about either a rubbish football team like they are important or something, or places in Edinburgh where a sodding fictional detective has supposedly been.

Unlucky Reidski dearest! And I for one am so glad you started a blog - otherwise I may never have got a shag again ;-)

It looked for a while

as if Reidksi and I would be stuck for ever in Edinburgh. On arrival at Waverley Train station for our train home the signs said 'Do not travel unless absolutely necessary.' Well I for one couldn't think of a better city to get stranded in. We loved Edinburgh.

So wrapped up were we in the fabulous city that we failed to register the fact that most of Yorkshire (which our train was supposed to pass through) was cut off by the terrible floods. In the end we got a train to Carlisle and went down the west coast instead of the east, and did get home that night, though with regrets that we weren't still in Edinburgh.

By Monday afternoon we were looking at houses in estate agents windows, and Reidski, who has many times been heard to say how much he hates Scotland, was wondering about his chances of getting a relocation package. We particularly liked the classy shops. Jenners had nothing on this.




I suppose we did get a slight clue that the weather down south hadn't been too rosy. About lunchtime on Monday we saw a bedraggled group of people who we at first took to be jakies, but then upon registering the rucksacks, the coach they had just climbed down out of, and the fact that they were covered head to foot in mud, we asked them how Glastonbury had been. "Worth it!" was the answer.

Loads more on this to follow, complete with a comprehensive guide to Pubs What We Did Visit. But to sign off for now, a photo of the middle of Scotland's capital city.





Wow or what?

9 days and still counting

When I started the countdown clock there were 173 days to go and now there are only 9. But Reidski and I can't wait that long for a drink in a smoke free pub and are therefore off on Saturday to a civilised country for a few days.

And I pure cannae wait by the way. As I believe the natives say.

I just know I am going to get right on his nerves having 'Rebus came here' moments every five minutes- especially when I drag him in this pub so sorry in advance dearest!

John asks a good question

here. Check out his link to 'Sex in Christ'. So very funny. Whether intentionally or not I can't make up my mind.

A sad but true fact

is that inevitably there comes a time in life when you find yourself moaning that 'things were so much better when I was a lass.' So here, to try and sound like 21st Century Woman is something that was so much worse when I was a lass.....

Going to the Dentist.

Now those four little words were absolutely guaranteed to strike terror into my younger self to such a degree that my mum stopped actually telling me about any dental appointment until the last possible minute. I suffered at the dentist as a child. I can still hear the hideous drill, remember how vile having fillings was, recall how awful having an x-ray was with chunks of plate stuck in my mouth that were too big for my cheeks, and how sick I was after having the gas to knock me out before they took four of my teeth from my overcrowded mouth. Even as a young adult the horror of having two wisdom teeth extracted at the dentist and the bottom tooth having to be drilled into little pieces to get the bloody thing out whilst the radio played 'Didn't we have a lovely day the day we went to Bangor?' will be with me till my dying day.

I forgot until this morning that we all have to go to the dentist today. I told the kids. My sub conscious memories prepared me for a hysterical reaction. "Yeah - fine." they say.

It occurs to me that the three of them have absolutely no idea that going to the dentist can equal pain. D and H have had 1 filling each and didn't feel a thing. J has had a worse time having to have 4 teeth out and a brace to straighten out his teeth, but he chose to go through all that and now has perfect teeth. He doesn't associate the dentist with pain either as any discomfort he experienced was at home when his teeth were shifting around.

So I don't have to worry at all about my kids going to the dentist. One day I am sure that I too will get over the residual fear.





There is a post script to this. When we were waiting at the dentist's reception a woman came through the door and her phone rang. Her ring tone was the theme to Psycho. Everyone cracked up laughing.

Blair Rock Project

Radio 5 have got a thing going this week to find the best record to illustrate the Blair years. They have narrowed it down to 10 all released during the past ten years and they are:

BITTERSWEET SYMPHONY - The Verve
ANGELS - Robbie Williams
I PREDICT A RIOT - Kaiser Chiefs
I BET YOU LOOK GOOD ON THE DANCEFLOOR - Arctic Monkeys
FIX YOU - Coldplay
YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL - James Blunt
BABYLON - David Gray
STOP CRYING YOUR HEART OUT - Oasis
TAKE ME OUT- Franz Ferdinand
CAN'T STAND ME NOW - The Libertines

I can see where most of them are coming from but the connection to 'I bet you look good on the dancefloor' escapes me as does 'You're Beautiful' but that is surely in the wrong competition and should be up for the Worst Record of the Blair years.

Anyway, our vote counts....which makes a nice change. Details can be found here.


But even 'You're Beautiful' would not stand a chance in the Worst Record of the Past Ten Years Competition. Nothing could possibly hold a candle to this piece of vomit inducing sentimental crap. Not in the last ten years, nor indeed EVER!

I lied

The number of matches I saw Reidski play yesterday in his tournament did not in the event depend upon how much rain fell, but upon how bad the traffic was on the M1 through Bedfordshire. The traffic through Bedfordshire was fucking awful and I saw precisely none of his six matches. But I was there to see him collect the wooden spoon on behalf of his team. I was so proud :-)

I was also there at the bar to hear a staff member ask another if a wallet had been handed in. It hadn't. It never occured to me that the missing wallet could have belonged to Reidski, but clearly my recent run of luck has started to rub off on him and he had indeed had his wallet pinched. He took that so much better than I took having my bag pinched that I feel ashamed of my own reaction to that particular set back.

The tournament was in Barking. Through lack of attention on the way back into London I took us on the wrong road. I'm not saying the road we took was rough but we did fear we had strayed into Warrior's territory. Jesus H Christ.

Having escaped with our lives from North Woolwich we needed a drink and stopped off in Whitechapel as illustrated.



It has changed a wee bit since that photo was taken. Here, just down the road from The Blind Beggar we witnessed turf wars. Various gangs all trying to flog illegal DVD's and trying to scare off the opposition gangs. Crime? Whitechapel? How unusual.

London never fails to dazzle me with its contrasts.

After a lovely evening in with curry and watching Jerry Maguire. (Altogether now -"Show me the money!") we had a walk in Primrose Hill with what appeared to be all of London's assembled middle classes. A couple with matching cycles and bike helmets over took us talking loudly with the guy braying "Yah! But what DO you imagine the peasants in the fields of Thailand think of that daaaahling?" Reidski - "That you're a total arse?"

And then me back north the slow way - this time it was Hertfordshire that was motorway hell.

And I am missing him already.

I'm on my own

It doesn't happen very often.

Both the boys are out at the cinema. A mate of theirs is driving them into town and back, but I am trying not to worry about that. My daughter is away on a sleepover. Had I known everyone was going to be out I would have gone down to see Reidski, but I have to wait till tomorrow to see him. He's playing in a 5 a side football tournament tomorrow - how many matches I see will be entirely dependent upon just how bad the rain is during the afternoon. Yes, I know - fair weather girl friend. Next weekend he is playing at a real football stadium - and I will be there in Edinburgh to witness that. Should be a great few days up there and we are hoping to have a pint or three with the Scottish Patient who is totally oblivious to the fact that Reidski and I owe our relationship to him. We met in the comments box on his blog. Now I ask you - can you get any more romantic than that?!

Anyway, back to the solitude that is my lot for this evening*.


It is bloody marvellous!

1) Have had the laptop all to myself without any 'Are you going to be much longer?' hassle.

2) Have not had to argue with my daughter over whether or not Big Brother is rubbish (she thinks it is) (no - she doesn't really.) .

3) Practise the belly dancing I learnt last night when I went out to a Moroccan restaurant without fear of ridicule.

4) Can play whatever music I want. Currently playing this



and trying to decide which track I love most, but the answer seems to be which ever one is playing at any given moment. 'Made of Stone' right now - sensational.

If only I wasn't actually feeling very guilty knowing that I am passing on the perfect opportunity to paint my recently damaged kitchen ceiling this evening wouldn't be at all bad.

And now I am off to read with some reluctance. Not that I don't love the book I am reading it is just that when I have finished it I will have read all nine Henning Mankell books about the Swedish detective Karl Wallender and I don't know how I am going to cope without another one of then to get stuck into. (Reidski thinks he is pish, and yes, I admit the idea that a portly detective in deepest Scandinavia could have without even knowing it have saved Nelson Mandela from assassination was a little far fetched, but that didn't stop it being a real page turner of a story (White Lioness.))

* Until about 11.00pm when 5 teenage boys will descend upon the house, take over the lounge, and eventually crash out at about 4.00 in the morning.

Sitting here crying

because I just read this. Incredibly moving.



Found via Pixie.

A not so positive outcome

as this one was.

Once upon a time there was a little girl and when she was 3 years old she remembers her mummy had a baby boy, but her wicked daddy made her mummy give the baby away.

The little girl grew up but she never forgot the baby brother she never knew. She never got married and never had a family of her own. She was lonely. She vowed to find the brother who was taken away from her. For many many years she sought him here, she sought him there but to no avail. She did not even know his name and could find out nothing. Where could he have gone?

When she was 78 years old there was a change in the law. As an avid watcher of daytime television she learnt of this change in the law and she picked up the phone to a lady called Jane for the first of very many times. When she spoke to this lady called Jane, Jane was unable to get off the phone and had to abandon all hopes of getting anything else done for the rest of the day. The little girl now aged 78 had become a very determined and formidable old lady, who can also manipulate the lady called Jane by bursting into tears at any point when it looked as if Jane was about to get off the phone to her. Jane promised to do all she possibly could to see if the 'baby brother' could be found. She searched and searched for any information and found out his name. Eureka! It would have been a little bit easier if his surname had not been the most common one in Great Britain but Jane pressed on.

It took over twelve months, and what seemed like much longer than that in contact with the world's most difficult elderly lady but Jane found the lady's 'baby brother' aged 75 for her. She made an old lady very happy....for about 2 days which was as long as it took for the same very difficult old lady to announce to me of the brother she had looked for all of her adult life "I can not stand him!"

We are (nearly) the Champions

Reading have narrowly pipped Northampton Town to the Premiership championship.

Obviously I am totally gutted by this narrow defeat for my side. I blame the woman who sits in front of me in a very dodgy claret shell suit. No doubt the fashion police made a note of that.

Liverpool finished a woeful one point off relegation to the Conference League. I would offer them some fashion tips but looking at this picture I have decided they are beyond help.

I want to play!

Wait a minute, wait a minute. You ain't heard Just Jane yet!

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

From Reidski who got it from Andrew Brown

Schadenfreude

is a great word.

And I think the following tale illustrates it rather well.

My oldest friend - by which I mean the friend I have been friends with for the longest and not the oldest person amongst my friends - (since we were six in fact) is in the same line of work as me but where as I am pretty much rock bottom in the pecking order, she after 30 years working in our area is now practically at the very top. Whilst this does mean she earns shed loads of money I do not envy her and would not want her job no matter how much it paid. This is one example why.

I was out with her last Friday night and I had to tell her off for not being careful enough with her handbag. Since the incident previously related here I am particularly vigilant when it comes to handbags in bars. Anyway, seeing how extremely careless she was we asked her if she had had her bag stolen before and the answer was not surprisingly yes - many times. The last time was fairly recent. The powers that be had reached a particularly nasty decision that a residential home for the elderly was going to be closed. My friend who profoundly disagreed with this decision was nevertheless the poor sod who had to go and give this decision to the elderly people who would be forced to leave their home. She drove over there totally preoccupied with what on earth she could possibly say to soften the blow (answer - nothing). She arrived and went straight in not realising, as she was so focused on what she had to do, that she had left her handbag in full view of passers by on her front seat.

She spoke to the assembled residents. It was as awful as you may imagine and there was lots of anger and many tears. My friend meanwhile had to stand her ground and defend the indefensible.

Then the door opened and in came a staff member who in front of everyone said to my friend "I'm so sorry. Your car window has been smashed in and someone was seen running away with your handbag."

And everyone in that room over the age of 65 cheered.

My current breakfast cereal of choice

is Kellogg's Special K with peach and apricot. The dried pieces of fruit give a really tasty boost to what would otherwise be, quite frankly, a rather dull breakfast of 'Crunchy Rice and Wheat Flakes'. This morning though I have been most displeased. "Where?" I ask myself crossly as I rummage deep into the cereal packet "are the peach and apricot pieces?" It is NOT good enough. If I buy a packet of Special K with peach and apricot then the least Kellogg's could do is to ensure I have a reasonable proportion of peach and apricot pieces within that packet. I could not find a single piece of either fruit. "Mr Kellogg will be hearing from me" I inwardly declared. On second thoughts however, as I have just noticed that I had in fact bought a packet of Kellogg's Special K sans peach and apricot, maybe I will just eat up what I have got in front of me and maintain a dignified silence on this distressing incident.


High time I brought you another historical 'fact' I think.

NUMBER 5 IN AN OCCASIONAL SERIES OF JANE'S HISTORICAL 'FACTS'

Kellogg's Corn Flakes were invented by a Dr. Kellogg in hopes that they would reduce masturbation. See here for further enlightenment.

Never a dull moment - though if you only read the start of this you may disagree....

OK - stay with me on this tale. A certain amount of scene setting is required.

Yesterday our village school was closed for a teaching training day so my mum came over to look after my niece whilst my sister was at work. For the benefit of anyone who has inexplicably not been playing very close attention to this site, my sister lives just up the road from me. Furthermore, my sons are having exams at the moment which means they are not always at school, and yesterday they were at home 'revising', by which of course I mean surfing the internet and emptying the contents of my fridge.

Now my sister does not have a washing line line for reasons only understood by her, but something to do with washing on a line making the place look untidy. Anyway, there were some wet towels in the house and mum had been considering taking them up to mine to put on my line and get dry, but she kept putting it off as a friend of my niece's was expected to come round to play. It got to about 2.00. The little friend had not yet turned up so mum decided she would take the washing up to mine. This is all very interesting isn't it? You wanted to read a story about how my mum put some wet towels on my washing line. But wait - it gets EVEN more exciting because whilst she was in my back garden she heard the phone ring. Yes I know - how thrilling - my mum heard my phone rang - what ever is going to happen next I hear you ask (that is to say, in the depth of my fevered imagination I hear you). OK - let me tell you what happened next. What happened next was she waited to see if anyone in the house answered it ..."Ring, ring, ring, ring"...but needless to say no one did because obviously my sons were far too busy 'revising' (chatting to mates on MSN)so she came in the back door to get it. After all - it might have been important.

Only she never did answer the phone.

Instead, my heroic and 72 year old mother found herself fire fighting as a basket of clothes - somewhat foolishly left on the ceramic cooker top - was ablaze. As she came in the door she was faced with the vision of flames rising to the ceiling. By means of much screaming and throwing of water around she managed with the belated assistance of more junior family members to extinguish the fire.

Well - the clothes are obviously ruined - and my kitchen floor isn't too good either as burning clothes got dropped on to it. The kitchen walls and ceiling are black as opposed to a usual bright yellow.

To be positive however, I still have a house, and no one was hurt.

It could so easily have been so very very much worse if my mum had not come in by sheer chance at the exact moment she did.

Whoever it was that rang our house at that time - I owe them.

And what with various thefts and car accidents all previously recorded in these parts
I am about to make my FIFTH insurance claim in 12 months - I will be blacklisted by insurance companies at this rate.

So that is my week so far - how are yours?

Gloom

The sun is hot already and the sky is a deep blue and I don't have to go to work. Positively My Most Favourite Kind of Day unless...........

I am faced with the prospect of taking the kids to see their 'other' family, AKA my in-laws.

Here is my advice to anyone ever considering getting married. When meeting the prospective in-laws ask your self "Are these people devout/deluded Roman Catholics?"

If the answer is "Yes" run a country mile, and NEVER go back.

I swear that the uptight lack of real warmth and inability to communicate with anyone who does not share their faith can all be explained by their religious beliefs.

Example - one of their daughters got pregnant before she was married...her dad refused to see his first grandchild who was the result of said pregnancy for over 18 months.

Another example - another sister has been married for 20 years. No one in the family knows what she and her husband do for a living because 'she doesn't like talking about it,' so therefore no one asks (although god knows I have tried to find out in my time).

Another example - a brother and his wife put each spoon away in the bowl of the spoon below it in the drawer to form a perfect pile of spoons. Naturally they do not have spoons that don't match. (OK, so this may not be down to religion but it is bloody madness isn't it?!?)

Most recent example - another sister (yes, true Catholics) has had major mental breakdown. But she doesn't want to see a doctor and so no one has insisted she see one - even though she is the mother of four kids who need a fully functioning mum. I have been warned off mentioning it at all following my rather strong expression of concern.

I have run out of excuses not to take the kids over to see them. Painting the bannister's has already been used (I kid you not, although it wasn't one of mine).So here goes.


*Grits teeth and starts to practice false smiles.*