An encounter with an alien life form (for both of us)

I went to Windsor yesterday, and will return to the subject of our visit to the castle but I am still reeling from a conversation I had whilst purchasing a newspaper in Eton.

I hadn't realised before just exactly how close Eton is to Windsor. Generations of royal pupils have had absolutely no excuse for not popping in to see their family - in fact they could probably wave to them on a daily basis from the top rooms of Eton to the top of the castle battlements. I digress. The point here is that mum and I walked over the bridge at Windsor to look at Eton College.

Eton is indeed another world; one of extraordinary privilege. This is reflected in every shop window by the items on sale (like socks for Lower Boating????), and by the fact that they clearly see nothing odd in the name of their primary school. Most obviously of course it is refelcted in the school with which Eton shares its name.

Messalina observed to me recently when we went on a guided walk round London Inns of Court that there must be a whole section of society that thinks that all of England looks the same. They go to Eton for school, progress to Oxford or Cambridge where the colleges look just like school, and then they go on to the Inns of Court which looks just like Oxbridge and there they stay until they die, blissfully unaware of any century after the 17th.

So mum and I take in this world in which we are complete outsiders. It is like being at a zoo seeing these exotic creatures in their strange school uniform,



whilst they presuambly look back and say "I say Miles old chap - is that a common person over there in that ghastly velcro tracksuit?" (For that is the kind of thing I wear.)


There is a Blackwall's bookshop directly opposite the main college building and I decided I wanted a newspaper. I picked one up from the rack outside and went in to pay. The paper was folded up and the very posh young chap behind the counter asked me what I had got. I told him it was the Guardian but I added in what I thought was a jovial and friendly manner "I did think that being in this environment I should have bought the Morning Star." "Oh" replies bloke, "What is the Morning Star?" At first I thought he was joking, but I looked at him and very quickly sussed he was completely in earnest. "Erh, it's a daily newspaper." I offered. "Is it?" he asked. "It's a Communist newspaper" I added for his further information. "Good heavens! I never knew there was such a thing," says posh (and ignorant) bloke. "Oh dear!" says I, and left with the words "Come the Revolution mate....."

I think we both found the other equally weird.

Great Family Day's Out

I have a few days off next week so what could possibly be nicer that taking my daughter and two of her friends to a theme park for the day?

I have such clear memories of my last but one trip to a theme park. Let’s call it Alton Towers for that is its name.

I don’t know which part I enjoyed least.

Was it

a) The happy hours spent in queues for rides manned by semi – house trained bullies. b) The joy for a non smoker of inhaling other people’s poisonous fumes, whilst in those endless queues.
c) The litter that was everywhere.
d) The rip off prices.
e) The filthy toilets.
f) The total lack of shelter when it rained.
g) The amusing way the rides tended to break down after one had been in a queue for the sodding thing for absolutely ages, and the total lack of apologies when this occurred – twice to us on that particular day.

or

h) The fact that they had the nerve to ask me to fill in a customer satisfaction survey on my way out.

Now Reidski would confirm that when really pissed off I do have a tendency to make my feelings known. In this instance Alton Towers were treated to what was eventually a four page letter of vitriolic complaints, ending with the assurance that I would NEVER return to experience the thrills of Alton Towers again.

They replied with a set of complementary tickets for the whole family, and as the kids found them before I had managed to burn them….yes, I had to go again.


So next week – can’t wait. I take the kids to Thorpe Park in this instance, which I am sure is every bit as wonderful as Alton Towers: by which I mean, it is probably hell on earth.



And then I sod off to Windsor Castle with my mum, and pick the kids up again later.

The sights

to be seen in the women's changing room at my gym are varied. We come in all shapes and sizes, and people can be quite imaginative when it comes to body piercings.

But my question this evening is this:

Why the bloody hell would any grown woman get a tattoo of Mickey Mouse on her arse?

Speaking as a social worker myself

For Fucking Hell's Sake.

It's

The Frocky Horror Show!.



Well worth scrolling down in order to fully appreciate the dress sense of the young ladies at Aintree.

In which I have my legs waxed.

So anyway, I am having my legs waxed. The woman applying the wax is a friend who lives and waxes in my village, and so we chat away. I ask if she has seen a mutual friend of ours called Jack recently. "Oh!" she says, "He has been really poorly recently!"

So I do the appropriate amount of 'Oh dears!' and enquire as to what was the cause of his illness, and she explains and says he is now on the mend but that he will unfortunately not be able to take part in the Parish Marathon.

"Blimey!" thinks I. "I know I don't get out and about in the village so much these days, but I didn't even realise there was going to be a Parish Marathon." However, I don't want to admit to the level of my ignorance so I go along with the conversation and say what a shame it is that he will miss the marathon. "Yes" continues my friend as she slaps on the wax, "And there were so many people coming along to watch him. Some were driving, some were going on the train and others were flying." "Flying to watch Jack in the marathon?" I ask whilst wondering where the bloody hell they were intending to fly to. We don't exactly live near any major airport - although we are handily placed for the M1. "Oh yes," says she as she whips a load of leg hair off my right calf and I cry out in agony. "But they have all decided to go anyway and will make a weekend of it." "Well", says I - now struggling to prolong the conversation about the Parish Marathon - "I hope they can find enough to entertain themselves over an entire weekend, marathon apart." "Oh" she says, "I'm sure they will. I have never been to Paris myself, but I'm sure there is plenty to keep them occupied for a couple of days."

I nod wisely and say I expect there probably is.

"Bikini line?" she asks.

"Pass" says I.

What would you do?

You are passing some time on the beach with your kids. You hear them scream. You run to each other. They insist they have just found a head in "that bag over there".

One would surely be inclined to think they were imagining things or making it up. It was after all April 1st.


So may be you tell them to not be so silly and go back to building the sandcastle?

But they insist...plus they are presumably throwing up all over the place.

Do you risk a peek? You wouldn't want to but could you risk calling the police without checking first?

So glad I wasn't the parent concerned. (And how many sleepless nights are they going to have with those little girls from now on?)

I am also grateful that when Reidski and I were on the beach on Tuesday the only dead body we found belonged to a dogfish. (The poor thing.)

Footnote:

Det Ch Insp McMillan ....said the case was still not being treated as murder.

Suicide by wrapping own head in plastic bag and then cutting it off with the slight disadvantage of having already cut off own hands then?

North Yorkshire coast.

Yesterday was pretty much perfect.

We went up the coast from Scarborough to Staithes which was once a very important fishing port, and is now incredibly popular with artists for a rather obvious reason - it is seriously pretty.




We were really lucky with the weather as it was clear, sunny, and erh - bracing.

We then made our way back down the coast to Whitby. Here we had a drink and the much anticipated haddock and chips at the Magpie Cafe which exceeded expectations. We also paid homage to Captain Cook and climbed the 199 steps up to the abbey. We were sorry though to have missed
the Goth Weekend.



Then we carried on to Robin Hood's Bay before going back to our hotel in Scarborough.

Our hotel was very odd. It was in many ways a typical seaside hotel. It had a claim to fame as Wilfred Owen had stayed there recuperating from injuries he sustained during the war - just a shame he got himself fit enough to go back to the front from there. Downstairs it looked like it was entirely unchanged since the 1950's, but our room was lovely and newly refurbished. We also had a wonderful sea view. Our three course dinner which we had the first evening took all of 45 minutes from walking through the door to leaving - yes, I am sure it was all cooked to order! We were asked for our sweet order at the same time as we ordered our starters and main courses. I think the kitchen staff were after watching Coronation Street without the inconvenience of having to cook for residents at the same time. We did n't bother eating there the second night - not that it would have been humanly possible after the fish and chips anyway. We gave the tea dance a miss as well.

We were the youngest people there except for the obvious junkie daughter of a harassed looking mother who would seem to have successfully found the least likely place to score drugs in all of the UK to take her daughter.

Although I suppose that tea dance could have been a very clever front for drug dealing? One can never quite tell with those elderly Yorkshire folk.

Road trip

In which Reidski and Jane boldly venture North.

I saw a hotel deal for a place in Scarborough offering dinner, bed and breakfast for 2 at £45 a night. That is £45 for two. That seems cheap. In fact it seems so very cheap that one wonders just exactly how basic this hotel will be. I will report back.

Anyway, I'm not too bothered about eating at the hotel as I am fully intending to stuff my belly full of fish right here.

The last time I was in Scarborough I ended up at the hospital watching my then three year old daughter have her eyelid stictched up following an accident on an astro glide. She still has the scar and I blame myself as I knew at the time I should have been demanding the best stitcher up of eyes that Yorkshire had to offer.

The time before that I was in Scarborough half of the hotel garden disappeared over the cliff and into the sea during an over night storm. A year or so later the entire hotel followed it.

I am due a disaster free trip to Scarborough.

Back Wednesday if Dracula doesn't get me first.

Odd Pub Guide

Reidski came up to see me last night and I thought we would go some where 'different'. Well where we ended up was different alright.

My bible - The Good Pub Guide - doesn't extol the virtues of very many Northamptonshire pubs but this one is always in it, yet I had never been there. It is - and I can say this now having driven to it twice last night - far from the madding crowds, and getting to it was rather a challenge but find it we did. However arriving as we did at 6.15 we found it well and truly shut. A check back at the bible revealed it would not be open till 7. We were now several miles of winding, narrow gated country roads away from any other pub, but where there is a significant need for a pint...well, obviously we did find another pub, but we decided we would go back to the Kings Arms as the food recommendations sounded brilliant. Back round the winding, narrow gated country roads we went and result! The pub is now open - and quite packed in the bar. In we go. The place does that thing as happens in American Werewolf in London where our heroes enter the country pub and it goes completely quiet as all eyes fall upon the strangers at the door.

There then followed a quite remarkably difficult scene at the bar in which our attempts to order some wine ended up with me having a gin and tonic and Reidski having a pint. This incident was partly explained by the local behind the bar having difficulty understanding a Scottish accent, and partly by as we later realised, the fact that the old boy serving us was clearly a customer, and not a bar man. Not a bar man by any stretch of the imagination. All of this scene was carried out in full hearing of, as well as for the amusement of, everyone else in the pub.

The bar itself was decorated as though we were sitting in the front room of a 19th century cottage. Chintz was us. And it would obviously have been out of place to add signs to this front room decor like 'Toilets', although it would be everso helpful if they could see fit to put such a sign up in future. I think there was one other woman in there, but it was a bit difficult to be absolutely certain about the gender of the person concerned. Anyway, much as I fought against it, it became inevitable that I was going to have to go in search of the ladies and that meant I had to make my way through a sea of men, and worse, ask them where the toilets were hidden. I would like to say that not every man in that pub knew I was going for a wee - but I can't. They were all so helpful; they all but escorted me to the door of the ladies loo. And on my way back to my seat, they parted in the manner of the Red Sea when Moses was on the job. Inconspicous I was not.

And what of the mouthwatering sounding food as highly recommended? Well, we don't exactly know. There was no one eating. There was no smells of cooking. There were no menus - although there were pamphlets about the cheese they sell over the counter. (I have never known a pub that sold cheese before but I am sure it is very good cheese.) And yes, we are both adults, and I am sure we really could have asked about eating, but we are both also very susceptible to being embarrassed in public,and neither of us had the nerve to enquire as to the availabilty or otherwise of any pub grub.

We ended up in a Chef and Brewer.

Which really just serves us right for being such wimps.

Which is madder?

Either:

To spend a bank holiday Monday travelling from Northampton by coach all the way to Carlisle for a football match (which we lost) and back again?

Or:

To eat a deep fried Cadbury's cream egg at a chip shop in Penrith?

My eldest did both of those things yesterday.


He looked pretty sick when he finally got home which could be put down to either of these things.

I have been

at a bit of a loss as to what to write about this past week. I usually enjoy writing about the ridiculous, but in a week when we learnt that Heather Mills requires £39,000 a year for wine when she doesn't even drink, I feel that the art of describing the ridiculous has been somewhat surpassed.

There was of course our very own Rob Styles incident last Friday night. Football fans amongst you will know that this referee excelled himself in this match involving amongst very many strange incidents a bizarre penalty he awarded for Chelsea against Liverpool. The more devoted football fans may also know about his controversial refereeing of this match a fortnight ago between Watford and Stoke City. You probably won't however have heard that he doesn't just confine his inept refereeing performances to the higher leagues. In our match against Nottingham Forest he sent one of their players off after 20 minutes with scarcely any justification whatsoever. He did however atone for his error towards Forest by awarding a penalty against our goal keeper for the sin of getting the ball and having Nathan Tyson fall over him. Not even the Forest fans thought it was a penalty, but Mr Styles has his own version of footballing regulations. Fortunately for you all though, as Reidski hates people who have a go at referees, I do not intend to mention this at all. No, not at all.

I can however report that Reidski and I went to this exhibition to see some of the First Emperor's Terracotta Army.

Lots to be amazed about. Not least was that aged 13 in 246 BC this kid became King and promptly declared himself First Divine Emperor or the Qin, China, The World, The Universe and got grown men to go out and risk their lives for him conquering the rest of China, The World, and The Universe without at any point any one saying "Get lost squirt - and have you finished your homework yet?"

I knew of course about the army of soldiers, but I didn't know about the administrators, the musicians, the acrobats, the birds and animals, and everything else the Emperor would need to ensure he conquered the after life as effectively as he conquered every place on this earth. (I didn't see any women though. Maybe sex was considered an unnecessary distraction to manly pursuits?)

What is really rather mind blowing is the fact that they have opened 600 pits thus far but are unlikely to open the Emperor's actual tomb for many many more years. It is rumoured to contain rivers of mercury replicating the rivers of China (indeed, readings taken of the soil there show extremely high readings of mercury), and pearls in the sky to replicate the stars in the universe. They hope to maybe one day have the technology to see inside the tomb without actually disturbing it. Whatever happens there, it won't be in any of our life times.

And on that cheery thought - Laters!!!

A True Story

over on my other place.

Congratulations

to the police in Hemel Hempstead for this rescue.

"All in all, not a bad day off" according to He Who Was Rescued.

Special Offer

Hurry, hurry. Get your half price chocolate Easter bunny now.

As opposed to buying your chocolate Easter bunny at any other time of the year when they will no longer be on special offer.

A little piece

for you at my other place.

It concerns death.

But I thought it was funny.

I am very disappointed.

My hopes were raised when I read in the latest circular to all staff that our very own parking service was shortlisted for no less than TWO categories in the prestigious national British Parking Awards 2008.

My reading went on to inform me that The British Parking Awards are recognised as the leading showcase for innovation, excellence and achievement in the UK parking sector – but you probably all knew that already?

So it was with baited breath that I logged on to The British Parking Awards website> to read how the awards (attended by a packed house of nearly five hundred parking professionals over lunch at the Dorchester Hotel on Friday) went.

Alas, I have to tell you my employers came away empty handed.

However, I am sure you will all join me in congratulating Haringey Borough Council for their triumph in the
Enforcement Team of the Year Award (sponsored by The Enforcers*)

And this looks like the sort of car park one would wish to visit…

The Best New Car Park Award was won by:

Ocean Car Park, Southampton.

The Ocean Car Park provides 776 spaces for the new Ocean Village Marina. The designers wanted to create a car park where the architecture aided the subconscious understanding of the first time user. It has iconic spiral ramps and there are daylight sensors to control lighting and rainwater is harvested to irrigate landscaping.

(We are talking about a car park here aren’t we? Ed.)

Well done indeed to all the worthy winners, most of whom are too deeply dull to mention. (OK. ALL of whom are probably too dull to mention, but I mentioned two of them anyway.)



Another slight disappointment from the same staff circular. Towcester Recycling Centre HAS won an award – but my hopes for national recognition for Towcester Recycling Centre were shattered when on further investigation it turns out they were only up against the other recycling centres in the county.

Still, many thanks to my employers who obviously feel we need to know this stuff.

(You need n’t thank me for taking the time to share it with you. Hey! It is my pleasure!)

• Sounds like a ‘70’s cop series.

Parisian highlights

What a beautiful museum the D'Orsay is. The building itself (a former railway terminal) is stunning, but the stuff in it must have been good because the art illiterates that are also known as Reidski and Jane could hardly tear themselves away from the place.

At one point as we drifted along past various priceless works of art Reidski said to me; "I know that one through a board game we used to play as kids". "I had that game too!" I shrieked, much to the annoyance of the more refined art appreciators. We remembered it was called Masterpiece, and we both agreed that any art education we had was gained via that one board game. (And it seems it is still available.)Impossible to choose a favourite painting from there, but when I go away I always have to bring a fridge magnet back (how sad am I?) and this was on the fridge magnet I bought there so I guess it was one of my top 10.



We spent some time wandering around the islands. I had never been on the Ile St Louis before, but it was lovely; so atmospheric, and entirely untouched by hen party's or stag weekends. We also had a lovely crepe there (Yes Cookie - I did say a crepe!)(At the Sarrasin et le Froment.)

The other area we went to which was new to me was Le Marais where my normally legendary sense of direction (for once I am not kidding here - I have a great sense of direction) completely deserted me, and I don't think Reidski will object to me telling you that given his not exactly quite so sharp sense of direction, that meant we were in the words of that superb record (I am kidding here OK??) "Lost in France." But not for too long.

Reidski has already mentioned our 'Not so great' meal. Note to selves in future - We have a guide book that suggests great places to eat so use the damn thing. Because when we did we had wonderful food but when we did not we had tourist trap (rhymes with 'crap'. Coincidence? I think not) average, and you don't want average food in France.

And to end, I really don't want to repeat word for word what Reidski has already said about our trip to Paris, but this cemetery which is close to where we were staying in Montmartre was wonderful.And amongst very many moving tributes and monuments there the one that reduced me to tears was one we saw dedicated to the children of a Jewish family who were taken away by the Nazis.

Strange to think that within our parents life time, France was an occupied country.

Bonjour

Yes, we are back. Now Reidski has already written about much of our trip so I will refer you to him here for part of the story.

Like he says, we both saw much that was new to both of us last week. We also both had an entirely alien - but very welcome - experience whilst travelling there and back. We got an up grade!!!

Now granted, we were on a train to France, so this may not have quite the same impact as say an up grade when travelling Trans Atlantic to the States, however it was a very pleasant surprise indeed when the nice lady attendant asked us if we would like a drink and then suggested "Champagne?" Well - it would have been rude not to - but both of us were half expecting to get charged for it only we weren't. Nor were we charged for our second glass of champagne - or our lovely meal - or the wine we had with that. We also travelled back same class, although that train left a bit early for alcohol consumption - yes, even too early for us. We have no idea why it happened, but it was only later when looking round at the assorted fur coats and Chanel handbags that I realised that someone somewhere must have made some kind of a mistake by admitting a woman in a red berghaus walking jacket* into that particular carriage. I can only conclude it must have been Reidski's posh accent when he was making the booking wot done it.

Anyway, Eurostar is unbelievable. Two and a half hours from St Pancras (St Pancras International as we must now call it) to Paris. Wow.

* I may have been the scruffiest woman in Paris, but I was very glad of my wind proof jacket. Christ it was cold in that city last week.



I would go on a bit more but my internet connection keeps recovering from 'serious errors' so I am going to quit whilst I am still a few inches ahead. Does anyone ever actually understand what those errors are?

I lead a glamorous life

This thought occurred to me yesterday as I was on my hands and knees in the bathroom cleaning the floor, and wondering why exactly it was that I was doing this on what was ostensibly my doubly special day...birthday AND Mother's Day.

But later, when I had finished cooking a big dinner for all my family, and I found myself drinking rose verve cliquot champagne I decided life wasn't so bad after all. We were not only celebrating the two occasions already mentioned, but were wondering how on earth my mum and dad had succeeded in staying married for 50 years? It was their Golden Wedding Anniversary at the weekend too, and the mystery of how they made that milestone is one of the big questions of our time. As my friend of many years past said of my teenage years when I was with her on Saturday evening - the many many rows between my parents were memorable.

I could now attempt to make this blog a bit more interesting and make out I was mentally scarred by all those years of living in the middle of a battle field - only I wasn't.

And now I have a week off work and tomorrow Reidski and I will be in the very glamorous city of Paris. Our first night there will be spent in an Irish bar watching Celtic. Yes, I really do lead such a glamorous life!

Now to go and see if I can bribe the local garage into giving me a valid MOT certificate.