Thoughts

Well what a confusing day of mixed emotions. I have had a teacher undermine my authority and baby a student that had done wrong, and another teacher repeat instructions to a student that I had given only 5 minutes previously. Don't get me wrong, I love my job and it'll take more than today to put me off but seriously, at the risk of sounding old, I just want to say to those teachers, "I'm old enough to be your mother, and I probably have a better education and have lived in the REAL world much longer!"

I'm sorry, I know that on today of all days you might expect more of me and think about what is really important like the war and Remembrance Day, but I guess it all comes down to respect. I have asked students of all ages to stand in silence today, to show respect for those that have fought and are still fighting. I have explained how their loss was for our freedom, and that without going through those wars they wouldn't be getting the education they are today.

And so with a short and maybe not so sweet blog I would like to remind everone out there that respect is a two way thing, it doesn't matter how old you are or where you were educated, it's about understanding other people and thinking about their lives, what they may have to live with or what they've lived through. That doesn't always mean war.

 

The moral of the story...

Moral - of or relating to principles of right and wrong in behaviour

I thought I’d add the correct definition of this word before I started, just to help with my blog, not that I think you really need it....

Are having morals a good thing I wonder? It seems that recently some of my family and I are being tested on this matter, obviously not by someone on high but I suspect some evil person here on earth watching us, hoping that we’ll slip up and not do the right thing. 

Some weeks ago my brother went to withdraw some money from the hole in the wall and guess what? What can only be described as a miracle, or an idiot with no brain, there hanging out of the machine was a large amount of cash. My brother calmly, I’m assuming, though knowing him it was actually a case of jumping, whooping and running to the wine aisle in Sainsburys.... no, sorry, calmly took the money and went home. He was very honest about what had happened, in fact he even made it his status on Facebook, because his head told him it was easy money, run and keep quiet but his heart and morals told him, it isn’t yours you should hand it in to the bank. Are you asking yourself what you would do? I did, and it’s a real toughy. But of course he did the right thing and handed it back in at the bank, where it was rightfully claimed by the dizzy blonde that had left in the first place, and thankfully she did send him a small reward for his honesty.

Two days ago I received a most unusual e-mail, telling me that my remittance advice for my childcare vouchers had been posted and I could view my account at my leisure. The odd thing is, the company that I had this account with was closed 2 years ago when I stopped minding a particular monster child. Now as I actually get rather a lot of spam mail I decided to ignore it, but luckily didn’t delete it. Mr Grumpy came in yesterday and had been checking our account on line, as he does, and saw that rather a large amount of money had been paid in to our account by the afore mentioned company. Now the dilemma was ours, of course without any hesitation he decided we needed to call them and tell them of their mistake.... I was still thinking.

But he was right and I made the call telling them that I thought there must be an error, the young lady was lovely and polite but alas not too helpful. She said she has no way of finding out where the money has come from and whether I should have it or not. I know it’s not mine but I don’t see why I should do their job for them, so to keep a clear conscience and staying within my own code of ethics and morals, I shall put the money to one side just in case in 6 months they realise their error and come looking for the cash.

Not very exciting I’m afraid but I do hope it makes you think about what you would do. 

Festive Folly

So here we are again, that magical time of the year where every where around us people are counting down. It’s only this many weeks till the Christmas lights go on, only so many weeks till we break up for the Christmas holidays, and every news readers favourite, only silly number of shopping days till Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong, I love all the celebrations and festivities, mainly the food and booze, but most importantly seeing my boys opening their presents. Of course as they’ve got older it has got a little less interesting, as all they really want now is money for something that they’re saving for. I know that’s a good thing, easy for us, but when you don’t feel the magic of baby jesus, you kind of look for that something special from those around you.

We’re also lucky that we have the odd kind of children that actually enjoy getting clothes, I’m sure my eldest brother and sister in law will back me up on this one. I remember one Christmas when Master Musical opened a lovely T shirt they’d given him, I think it was adorned with Bugs Bunny, and he actually looked in awe and said “wow!” Not sarcastically either. It’s also the one day of the year that for that first hour of the day, we can almost guarantee that Master Grumpy does not live up to his name, but it is really only about an hour, after that there’s usually something for him to moan about.

So, as it fast approaches I really am looking forward to the happy day being here, despite the worry of what to buy for who, ensuring Mr Grumpy gets all the cards written, wrapping all the presents and then off to Sainsburys for the shop of my life. Let’s not even mention getting up and starting cooking at some ridiculous hour on the big day, still, that’s helped along with a nice early morning sherry... 

Honestly, I do love it really, and those that know me really well know that I’ve already started to think about quoting my favourite saying of them all,
I’ve only got to go to bed and get up, go to bed and get up, go to bed and get up, go to bed and get up... you get the idea! It’s 51 by the way!

Halloween

Here it is then, Halloween, the one time of year when all of the rules seem to go out of the window. We spend the other 364 days of the year telling children not to take sweets from strangers, but tonight, so called normal and rational parents take their little people begging.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a tub of sweets ready to hand out to the little blighters and much to my regret some years ago took my youngest son trick or treating, purely because of peer pressure he had at school. I know, I’m weak. I don’t actually blame the children, they have no idea what it’s all about, other than free sweets, but I blame the parents. Do these same parents discuss god and prayers and church with their children? If they do then they should know better than to be out on this most un-religious of occasions, blimey, I actually sound quite religious don’t I? It’s the pagan in me. 

The point I want to make is this, the little children look lovely all dressed up, full of smiles and excited about what they can get in to their little plastic pumpkins. But just like Christmas, if we’re going to let our children celebrate it, teach them what it’s actually all about, not just it’s free goodies.

Oh and by the way, if you’ve left primary school and come knocking at my door, when you ask “trick or treat?” I’m likely to say trick and hope you’re prepared for the trick I inflict on you!

At this point I had finished and was ready to publish, but literally in the last 2 minutes have had the doorbell rung twice. I can’t believe the contrast in the children, the first 2 were amazingly polite and took one sweet each, I actually had to tell them to take more, they said their thank you’s and went on their way. As I came back to write about the smile these little people had put on my face there was a knock on the door, the bell is rather high... Again, 2 small people, this time was completely different, they thrust their hands in, grabbing as much as they could, and when I suggested they might want to leave some for the others that may appear, they actually said “NO!” It took all my willpower, which isn’t strong, to stop myself from snatching the sweets back and chucking my bucket of ice cold water over the pair of them. Maybe a bit much for a pair of 6 year olds...

Next year I might just shut the curtains.

Will Power

On my travels recently, I have been looking for the finishing touches for my recently decorated lounge and dining room. Now, I’m not really an overly fussy or house proud person, I leave that to Mr Grumpy, but equally I don’t want to live in a pig sty either. So off we went today in search of those little things that make the room look finished. I have one word, Dunelm. It’s the first time I’ve been in to the reasonably new store here in Peterborough, well, the first time with cash in my purse! Oh what joy, good job I have will power...

Our first mission was cushions, easy you’d think, and in fact it was, we straight away saw 2 cushions that were perfect, colour, size and even price. I clung on to them for dear life as they were the last 2 on display, it was quite difficult as I was also trying to juggle a new dog bed for my step-dog Harvey. We wandered deeper in to the shop in search of possibly some plain cushions to co-ordinate with our newly found bargains. Alas, none that would match but then something caught Mr G’s eye, I told him to stop eyeing up the young lady and stick with the task in hand. There they were, some bigger and even better cushions, I quickly thrust the original pair back in to his hands and sent him to replace them on the display, while I grabbed 3 of these huge, new beauties. No mean feat, considering the bundle of towels under my other arm. 

Deeper in to this Aladdin’s cave we ventured, just in case there might be something else to take our fancy, and yes, there it was, the most attractive and perfect picture for the dining room wall. We closely checked it over to ensure it was perfect and after picking everything else back up, including the new draught excluder, made our way back to the front of the shop.

We safely deposited everything with a very nice but cigarette smelly man whilst we made the trek up the stairs, yes, it has 2 floors! It was like climbing the stairway of heaven.

I think we may have looked a little like children at Christmas, where should we start first? Well, me being a seasoned shopper told Mr Grumpy that logic is to start at one end and go up and down every aisle on one side then repeat and move back along the other side. Ah, rugs. I was glad we’d left all the other bits downstairs at this point as the new crockery, vacuum flask and sewing machine were a little awkward to carry. We studied the rugs in great depth and although we found one we liked, we decided we shouldn’t purchase anything on impulse so would go away and think about it and maybe return next week.  

I love my fully accessorised lounge and dining room, now, just need to find a space for all these other bits...

Not for the faint hearted

I’m sitting here, in the dark and quiet and feeling rather poetic. I have always loved poetry but don’t always get the time to properly look at or read anything new. I think it has something to do with the fact that I’m an incurable romantic.

I have often wondered where this side of me has come from, being the youngest of four children and the only girl has always meant that I’m more than a little tomboyish. At least I have been till maybe the last ten or so years. I finally found the body that I feel most comfortable in and seem able to dress a little more girly. But putting on a dress or skirt and exposing my bangers doesn’t make me a romantic. So I looked at my parents, is it them? Still married after 48 years, but when I listen to them bicker and argue I realise that the romance maybe does not stem from them.

I’ve had various different “loves of my life” since I was 15, most of whom were actually pretty awful and some that had no right to be mine, the consequences of these men? My heart got broken. So imagine my surprise when an actually half decent, semi-normal human being declared their love for me when I was twenty. This one has got to be a keeper, was my thought, and yes, he was and is. He is kind, loves me and his sons, works hard and is very honest, maybe too honest. But is he romantic? Well in some ways he is, the other day for instance when he ate the last of the bread and there was nothing for my dinner unless I went to the shops, he honestly felt awful, so to make up for it he bought me a Star bar. And last week when I got offered my new job, he actually took the time to buy me a lovely card telling me how proud of me he is. 

But he doesn’t want to walk on the beach in the cold, he doesn’t want to walk through the woods kicking up leaves and he’s not too keen on spur of the moment country drives. So now I’m thinking, am I too romantic, is he not romantic enough or am I just the outdoorsy type? Who knows, but for all his faults, I wouldn’t change him for the world. 

Friends Electric

After a hectic few days I have finally found a little spot in my day to write my blog. I know I’ve slipped of late but I’d rather write something that can be enjoyed than some old bo*****s you don’t really care about. Have I got your attention yet?

I feel inclined to write about friends at the moment, especially at a time when I’m trying to wean myself from Facebook. Like many people of my age, we remember when the first sort of site like this was Friends Reunited. I used that site to get back in touch with some of my primary school friends and we still keep in touch now. For quite some time I resisted Facebook, though I did use MySpace to satisfy my musical cravings, I really thought if I logged on to FB it would be the beginning of the end. I wasn’t far wrong. I find myself logging on every morning, and checking periodically throughout the day to check the status of my family and friends. Even though sometimes they’re totally random and quite obviously not true, Tom, that’s you should you be reading this. 

The other thing that I have found quite odd are the friend requests that I get from people that I wouldn’t pee on if they were on fire, let alone let them see my latest family pics or read my deepest thoughts. This actually applies more to family I think at the moment than friends, so it’s unlikely they’ll be reading this, but if they are, I haven’t added you because I don’t like you. Oh and don’t ask my Master Musical either, because he hates you as much as I do!

The other thing I find highly amusing is the number of friends some of my family and friends have. Really, does my sister in law that’s only been walking the earth for as long as I’ve owned these jeans I’m wearing, honestly have 435 friends? Maybe she does, maybe she’s much nicer than me, actually no maybe about it, she is. But as I look at some of my other friend’s friend’s lists, I have a little secret smile to myself, I know they don’t know some of those people. So it is with much pleasure I can honestly say there is only one person on my friends list I’ve never actually met, but we have chatted on many occasions and seem to click with our humour, more than that I won’t say.

I should add while I’m being honest, that I have asked Kevin McCloud to add me, and even though I’ve sent him hundreds of messages and lots of naughty pics, I’m still waiting for a reply.... oh Kevin, please add me!

Autumn

Here it is then, autumn has arrived with a bang, leaves are turning and falling, it’s raining and it’s the weekend when we change the clocks. 

I’ve never really understood the issue with clocks going back or forwards, I just accept it and go about my normal day, as you do. Well, some of us do. Mr Grumpy like to have a good old moan about it, his body clock gets all out of kilter apparently. If you ask me it’s already out, whenever we’re going somewhere and need to be there by a certain time, he always makes us late. In fact it’s got so bad now that when we last went out with the rest of my clan, my youngest brother and sister in law even got there before us! If you know the lovely Mr and Mrs B Jnr, you’ll know how amazing that is.

Back to the clocks, as I said, not an issue for me, apart from Mr Grumpy has to go around and change all of the clocks in the house at about 8pm on the Saturday evening, this can get very confusing when juggling wine, TV remote and the Radio Times... I’ll be fine tonight as he won’t be here, dammit, I hope he doesn’t change them before he goes to work at 5pm! I also have a problem with this whole extra hour we’re supposed to have in bed, is it only me then that still wakes up at exactly the same time as every other day? I can’t make my body go back to sleep if it’s had its allotted amount already

I’ve just read this back and I think I may have to change my opinion, maybe I do have a problem with the clocks going back. Oh well, enjoy your extra hour in bed and if you see me on Facebook at 2am, just remind me what the real time is. 

Hospital

So, here I am with my head in my hands, well, not literally otherwise I’d be finding it very difficult to type, but you know what I mean. 

Master Grumpy had his follow up appointment at the hospital today with a Doctor that must be very important because he calls himself Mr. Actually he was a very nice gentleman, quite jovial and very friendly and I quite liked him, until he looked at the x-ray and proclaimed that it was in fact a full break of the scaphoid and Master Grumpy would be getting a plaster for the next 5 weeks. I had the sudden urge for alcohol and it took all of the nurse’s strength to stop me from sucking on the wipes they use for cleaning down surfaces. How am I going to manage? He’s already doing cartwheels (see line 1) thinking he’s going to escape some work at school, and all I can think of is how am I going to keep him occupied for the half term break???

So after yet another McDonalds for him and a quick trip to good old Sainsburys for me, I was really proud of myself for managing to come away with no wine in my trolley.... does the whisky count? I thought I’d just pop in to Next as I hadn’t been for some time, not to make a purchase you understand, just a little light window shopping and touching of things to help ease my stresses. I actually felt the smile spread across my face at the thought of my new salary increase and the fact that soon I would be able to do more than peruse. 

Feeling all better I skipped back to the car, new boots in hand, how did they get there? Just to find Master Grumpy and Master Musical having a good old brotherly fight. When will it all end? Should I dip back in to Sainsburys and buy booze? Maybe more touching and feeling in Next? Oh no, that nice young man didn’t like it last time... no, I guess this is just how it’s going to be for the next 5 weeks.

Roll on Friday = red wine and next month’s pay day = shopping! Anyone have room for a small one?

Brains

This morning I am trying to make up for last night and write what the rose wine wouldn’t allow me to do. To be honest, my mind was a little congested yesterday after my morning at college and then a very hectic trip to Sainsburys.

This week we had a talk from a paediatric occupational therapist on brain based learning, hang on, am I in the right room? I’m a teaching assistant, I’m not training to be a psychiatrist! And as a parent I know all the tricks in the book when it comes to trying to get out of doing work! So for 3 hours I sat in a room full of women, being talked at by someone that is obviously clever and passionate about her job but quite frankly, was pretty boring. About an hour and a half in to the monotone, the lecturer asked us to fill in a little multiple choice questionnaire, which of course we all dutifully did. We were then asked if we’d got mainly A’s, B’s or C’s, this then told her what type of learners we are, visual, auditory or kinaesthetic. If she’s so clever, surely she should have done this at the start so that she could adjust her presentation accordingly? As it turned out, I was the only one in the room that was allegedly an auditory learner, really, then why was she boring the pants off me? We were taught about the triune brain, the reptilian brain, the neo-cortex, the left and right hemispheres and even the limbic system. Are you still awake? I think I’ve made my point. 

I love my job and really want to progress to whatever level is possible, but really, do I need to know about the actual physical workings of a brain? Somebody somewhere else gets paid a hell of a lot more money than me to diagnose these young people with whatever they think it is that may be wrong with them, it’s my job to help them through school on a daily basis and make sure they can read and write. When the lovely Ryan asked me the other day in a technology lesson how old I am, I didn’t need to start wondering which side of his brain was he thinking with, I just had to think quickly of a number, which happened to be 12. Imran then piped up “You can’t be 12 Miss” “Why?” I asked. Quite correctly he said “Because you wouldn’t be allowed to teach us if you’re only 12, you must be older than that, about 25” he guessed. “Well done, you’re spot on I said” Nothing wrong with his brain, maybe his eyes need testing but that’s not for me to be the judge of.

So, I’ll keep going to college and hope that I pass the course, blimey, that would be embarrassing if I didn’t wouldn’t it? But most importantly I shall continue to use my real life experiences and what the students teach me to enable me to keep doing what I love most.

Windy walk

Today my actual rambling recommenced, yes, I managed to get my bum in gear and after too many days off walked and ran the 5 mile route with the lovely Ms Womble. At this point I have to say I feel she had an unfair advantage, she was aided by horrendous flatulence, lovely. Now as I sit here thinking about the other little gems I need to share with, Mr Grumpy is letting one rip in the kitchen. 

What is it about farting? Why do some people do loud ones and others just little whispering whistles? Why do some smell and yet others are fragrance free? Most importantly, what is it about farting that reduces some grown adults in to fits of laughter and tears? And why are there so many ways of describing it? Farting, trumping, letting off, wind, blowing off, let one drop, dropped one, I’m sure there are more but that’ll do. 

I’m not sure why I feel the need to share this subject with you this evening but share it I will. At what point do we feel comfortable about farting in front of certain people? Are there people that you’ll never do it in front of or people that you’ve never heard do it? Anyone that knows my father will have heard him fart, and I mean anyone. I bet the butcher’s even heard him, he sees nothing wrong with leaning over, lifting his butt cheek and letting one rip, who cares if you’re in the middle of a restaurant? The funny thing is the reaction of those around him, if we’re at home, at the table or even chatting in the lounge, I know that my mother will immediately say “Wilfred!” in a very accusing tone. Mr Grumpy will immediately dissolve into fits of laughter and I will peg my nose. Oh how amusing that my mother acts all disapproving, but of course we know that she farts too. I remember going to have a third look around a potential new home and taking my mother with me. We walked in through the front door and straight away she let one go, “oh excuse me!” she said, like it was her virgin fart and she had no idea where it’d come from. It was only when we tried to leave that we realised we’d need respirators to make our way through the smog that still hung in the air, thanks goodness it was a vacant possession!

I know it’s natural and of course it’s better out than in, I have real worries about my mother-in-law, I’ve never heard her break wind in the 20 years I’ve known her, I’m sure she’s going to pop any day now... 

So why is it then that it’s such an amusing bodily function? There’s even an advert on T.V at the moment for gas engineers, and what are they using to promote gas engineers do you think? Of course, it’s a load of bean eating, farting cowboys around the camp fire. Well, I most certainly won’t be hiring one of them if I have a gas leak, for a start we have enough farts in this house without adding to them and there’s nowhere outside for them to tie up their horse.

Just so you know, I will fart anywhere I want and more importantly when I need, so please don’t think me rude and don’t feel special that I’m comfortable in your company that I’ll let one go. It’s wind and when you gotta go, you gotta go! Happy trumping!

Cleaning

Today I’m tired and more than a little irksome, and if this laptop turns itself off for no good reason while I’m in the middle of writing, it will feel pain.

I’ve been trying to think why I feel this way today. On the whole it was a pretty easy and quite enjoyable day. The sun was shining, I was only in school for one lesson and didn’t have to listen to Master Grumpy moaning as I’d deposited him safely at school. I had a lovely chat with a friend, via the internet, that I hadn’t spoken to in a while and even managed to get some rather dull household chores completed. Ah, maybe that’s it, jobs around the house. I know they have to be done, or do they? I already live with someone that has an OCD when it comes to cleaning, surely I don’t want to end up the same way? I don’t want to live in a pigsty but equally it’s not like the Queen’s likely to pop in tomorrow, and even if she was I’m afraid I still don’t think I’d feel the urge to sweep the dust from under the table.

Which brings me on to the floor under my table, not literally you understand, but about the fact that I have wooden flooring throughout the downstairs of my home. What a fantastic idea when I was looking after the small offspring of other people. Any little piddles or poohs could be quickly and easily cleaned up with no fear of staining the carpet. There was one boy in particular who only ever used to come round after school, and while he enjoyed his drink and snack, he somehow always managed to knock his squash over. Not a problem, well, it wouldn’t have been had he told me before I heard it dripping from the table on to the floor. Oh, the good old days.

And so now that I no longer care for the little people I do sometimes wonder whether I would like to return to the warmth of carpet. This dilemma is made harder because with the wooden floor I can see the dust and have to sweep it up, with a carpet I wouldn’t see it and may be tempted to leave it an extra day before I vacuum. Would I find myself ankle deep in carpet bugs before the week was out? The bonus may be that there’d be no need for slippers, bugs and carpet, mmmm, nice.

I guess the reality of it all is that while I live with this OCD crazed cleaner, it isn’t really an issue, apart from the fact that when he’s working and I’m here I have to do a little I suppose. So we’re back at the beginning, the cleaning makes me miserable. Don’t suggest hiring a cleaner, too expensive, maybe I’ll just start wearing my sunglasses in doors, whatever happens, if you ever pop in be certain I will always do that funny thing that we all seem to do when we want to hide something, point it out....

“Oh don’t look at the dust under the table, haven’t swept up today!”

Casualty

What a day! Remember my broken mirror? Well the bad luck keeps on coming.

Yesterday Master Grumpy decided to spend the afternoon at the skate park with his friends, skateboarding. He assured me he’d be careful and would like to be collected in 7 hours... aah, some freedom, all I have to do is check in with him every half hour to make sure he’s ok and not mugging old ladies. So imagine my surprise when after just 3 hours he calls and asks to be collected as he’s hurt his wrist. Now, being the mother of 2 proper boys has meant that over the years you sort of learn when something is serious or not. You’d think. I assured him it was just a sprain and he’d be fine, pumped him with paracetamol and thought no more of it.

Until this morning when he woke earlier than usual complaining of pain in his hand, of course I assured him, once again, it would be fine, strapped it up and told him to get off to football and quit moaning. By the time he’d had his shower and I’d finished dressing him, I finally conceded that there may be a problem, so off we went to casualty. 

Here’s where the fun begins, it’s a bloggers dream! Let’s face it, you know you’re going to be in there for hours, three and a half to be precise, and you also know you’re going to be surrounded by misery and mayhem. Just to make it more interesting, today was the Great Eastern Run, so as well as all the usual bumps, lumps and bleeds, we had people trying to run a marathon after training by running to the shops for booze and ciggies for the last two weeks. It was lovely. We booked in and I immediately scanned the room for the worst injury, another teenager holding their arm, an old man hobbling, a boy with an egg protruding from his head, mmm, bit boring, no blood, apart from the large splatter on the ceiling, would love to know how that got there. At this point I thought that I might have to make up stories for tonight’s blog, apart from the two Polish chaps that seemed unable to peel their eyes from my chest that is, when a large black lady came and sat next to me. Thankfully, she chose to speak to the people on my left and we were spared, but what a story. She had a large dressing on her foot and when the other woman asked what she’d done, boy did she have a story! I think she may have exaggerated a little as I could see no evidence of blood but apparently she’d been using a very sharp knife to peel hard skin from her foot, when she’d slipped and gouged straight in to the flesh on her ankle! I nearly choked on my milky way! I actually did try and crane my neck for a better view but her foot was slightly obscured by her flowing skirt.

So sadly, the excitement I’d hoped for was pretty non-existent, the Polish men still stared at my boobs, the child who’d had her fingers slammed in the door by her mother still cried and Master Grumpy managed to wangle a McDonalds out of me for not realising he had a broken scaphoid in his hand and will be in plaster for the next two weeks. As I said, seven years bad luck? Bring it on, we’re ready! 

Nostalgia

This week, thoughts nostalgic have popped in to my head, primarily brought on by one of my many, terrible tragedies that have occurred that I am still recovering from. 

As a child I was raised on a farm surrounded by animals, rabbits, cats, dogs and pigs. I loved them all and sadly probably took them a little for granted, I just assumed they’d always be there. The dogs we had were Pointers, some people refer to them as English but this isn’t actually correct, unlike the English Setter, Shandy, that belonged to my brother, Pointers are just that, Pointers. My father liked to breed them and so we had a mix of colours, liver and white, lemon and white, orange and white and most famously of them all, black and white. I say famously because one of the dogs that stood out most in my mind was Brett, or as his pedigree name stated Blakeshay Avant Tout, which roughly translated I believe means Blakeshay First of All. I could go on about him but I think I’ll save that for another time, the point I want to make is the love of the breed of dog it instilled in me, right up to this very day. So when my parents offered to buy me a Pointer puppy after the sad demise of my Labrador, I of course wanted a black and white one, just like Brett. As it happened that was where the likeness ended, he was rubbish in the show ring, flakier than the chocolate bar and spent more time with the Quack than my mother!

Of course, he got old and the sad day came where he went to the big dog playground in the sky. That Christmas, my parents thought that a soppy looking caricature figurine of a Pointer would be a good present. Of course I loved it, well, when I got to look at it properly through the tears and mascara gummed eyes! Over the last 4 or so years, I have taken great care of this much treasured possession, moving it whenever small clumsy children were about, or a bouncy Harvey, even worse, a bouncy Mr Grumpy! 

Imagine then, if you can, my distress this week when my very large lounge mirror, fell from the wall and smashed on to the rug in front of the fire. Not content with just smashing and making a mess, it broke my beloved Pointer, in fact the only thing left standing without a mark was the bloody £4.99 figurine I got from Sainsburys, and I mean it hadn't budged an inch, not even standing slightly wonkily! I don’t mind admitting I cried, I’m not really sure why, I mean yes I loved it and the nostalgia of the meaning behind it, but it’s not like it was worth millions, I hope! But I do know that they’re impossible to find anywhere on the internet even if I thought about replacing it.

And so this then got me thinking about my jewellery, I don’t have loads, but I do have in safe keeping the Baxter and Bridgefoot jewellery, in order for it to carry on being passed down the line to the females of the paternal side of my family. I also have my Nan’s wedding ring from my mother’s side of the family, the Starrs, not sure who I’d give that to... I digress. I like to think that I keep all these precious things safe, but heaven forbid, what happens if there’s a fire or if I’m burgled? They can never be replaced, so what would have been the point? Would I be better dishing them out to people now to relieve myself of the worry? Or should I sell them and enjoy the cash, let’s face it, someone’s more than likely to do that at some point in the future!

So here I am then, who decided things should be bequeathed? I’m guessing it was someone who didn’t want to run the risk of losing everything that meant something special to them, you can be certain it was someone that had too much money.

I’ll leave you with the wise words of wisdom from my dear father regarding what will be left when he’s gone.....

“You’ll get nothing when I die, I’m not leaving anything for anyone to fight over, anyway, I’d rather we spend it and enjoy it together while I’m alive”

Know what dad? We agree! 

Signs

Well, after a short break away I’m going to try and return, “Return?” I hear you cry, “Have you been away?” I have been away, but only mentally not physically. The thing is, I’ve had a pretty crap sort of week, I won’t go in to details because I’m sure as soon as I do you’ll be queuing up to tell me how your week was much worse.

With my week and misfortunes in mind, I have been thinking about luck, fate and God. We all know that God doesn’t exist, don’t we? So surely that makes the equation easier.... or does it? I like to think that I believe in fate, or maybe luck? I don’t know, I just think it’s going to happen and there’s bugger all we can do about it. I’ve asked for signs before on the off chance that someone may be listening but alas, nothing. Well, apart from the time I pondered to myself, “Why don’t you ever see birds that have died of natural causes?” Know what I mean? You might see the occasional bird that’s been hit by a car or mauled by a cat, but you never see a bird fall from the sky with heart attack or brain haemorrhage. Or so I thought.... not many days after having had this thought, I was in my garden hanging out some washing and as I was about to return indoors a small sparrow hopped around the corner of the house and flopped outside my back door. I cautiously approached, expecting it to fly at any time, but it didn’t. It just sat there, no blood, no broken wings, not even a fractured feather. I offered it water, then bread, either it was a bloody fussy sparrow or it was seriously ill. As I sat thinking of what to do next, guess what happened? It keeled over and died. Would you believe it? After all I’d tried to do for it!!! Of course it wasn’t a sign, well other than a sign of an ungrateful sparrow! 

So after my crappy week of things going wrong, I have decided that none of what’s happened is a sign, well, maybe it is, it’s a sign of ungratefulness, me offering to help, offering to do something better, only to have it thrown back in my face. And hopefully the broken mirror won't result in 7 years bad luck and if it does I have only one thing to say.......  jog on!!!!

Career Paths

Another day, another dollar, or in my case, a few more pounds. It has finally dawned on me that most of my life has actually been about sales. I started out in the medical field in the armed forces, but I’m guessing that at the tender age of 15 I must have sold myself, which is why the RAF took a risk and employed me. I loved my role in the Air Force and really appreciated the training they gave me, but sadly medicine was not the role in life for me.
Upon leaving the RAF, I found myself working for various different companies, but ultimately ended up in sales. Ironically I was selling medical supplies.

 
Now, I was never a great believer in having a vocation and I’m still not sure I do, but, I am being drawn in to the world of education... I hated school, though maybe it was more about being bullied, thanks Geraldine Pearce, than it was about school itself. Most of my teachers were amazing, hope he’s reading tonight, Ben, but others were Mr Giles, RIP, Mr Haines, RIP, Mrs Purllant, and oh my goodness, what was Hartley Hare’s real name???? Sorry Sir.
So here I am as a grown woman with two teenage sons, both are very bright and have very different interests, but guess what I think they’re going to end up doing as their realistic career??? One will be a Geography teacher, the other a primary or PE teacher. What have I done? Where has this teaching urge come from? Know what? I should ask myself the same question, because after just working with my lovely SEN kids for such a short space of time, I find myself wanting to defy all odds, go further in to extra education and think that maybe one day I’ll be good enough to teach! I don't have a great deal of confidence in myself though maybe I should.

I have some amazing friends who also happen to be teachers, you know who you are, but most of all my sister in law Jill inspires me the most, I won’t embarrass her on here with the reason why, and no Drew, it’s not just about the degree. Thanks for your support and help and who knows, we might just make a difference!

Shopping

My head’s in a bit of a mess today, nothing new there then, but when I feel like this there’s generally only one answer, shopping. I guess at this point you’re thinking typical woman off out spending money on clothes and shoes that she doesn’t really need, but then you’d be wrong. The kind of shopping that helps sort my confused little brain out usually occurs in Sainsburys, my supermarket of choice. Over the years I have tried various different shops but always seem to find myself back in the loving embrace of Mr. S. 

As a child I grew up in the middle of nowhere 3 miles from the local village shop, a place that had been run by the same family for many many years. In those days the local shop and it’s staff were truly there to serve the community, in fact it reminds me a little Arkwrights in Open All Hours, where the staff picked the products off the shelf for you. The other quite remarkable thing about this family run business was that they used to have something we called The Van, although I actually think that there were more than one. At least three times a week, The Van, would turn up outside our home and beep it’s horn, a signal that would have us children running for the back steps ready to climb aboard. The two strongest memories that come to mind are the smell of freshly baked bread wrapped in brown paper and the huge hunk of cheese hand wrapped in grease proof paper. The other quite unusual thing about this business was that if you didn’t have any cash on you or in your home they ran something called “The Book”. This meant that should you find yourself in the shop or on the van without any cash your purchases could be recorded in “The Book” and then at some more convenient date you could pay for them. I guess it was an early version of Credit but actually I like to think it was more a form of trust. Obviously people did pay their bills as that family went on to run that business for a great many years.

Back to today, as you have probably realised I am a naturally nosey person, and so my shopping trip is not just about spending money or thinking of things to cook but about looking at what other people are purchasing. I know that my blogging brother has mentioned before about how he feels people look at what he puts on the conveyer belt, well I am one of “those” people. I like to judge other people by the products they put in their baskets or trolleys, “is she really so stupid that she can’t mix her own eggs, milk and flour to make her own Yorkshire puddings, does she really need that Aunt Bessies crap?” “Can he really not boil some pasta and mix in some dressing?” “Does that very large overweight man need all those bars of chocolate and cake?” In fact the only people that I seem to understand are those with the screaming children and basket full of booze. 

So here I am, brain sorted, blog sorted, chickens are cooking, Yorkshire puddings made and the wine is open, the perfect end to another lovely weekend, wished we’d won at football though...

I just want to add a little post script to tonight’s blog, once again the laptop failed me and at my first attempt of writing it all disappeared with no chance of retrieval. Fear not! In stepped Master Musical and insisted I didn’t give up, he would type while I dictated. Thanks son, and I added this PS after he’s gone, let’s see if he bothers to read it shall we?

Weathered Wanderings

Well you probably haven't noticed and quite possibly don't care, but my walks have waned of late. I'm not sure why, maybe the weather, maybe because I missed a few and found it hard to get back in to or maybe just that I'm feeling lazy.

I think the weather plays a big part in it, even though we've actually been having lovely sunshine lately, but Autumn has definitely arrived. I noticed on Wednesday as I returned with Master Grumpy from football training how beautiful the trees on the edge of our estate looked. A mass of red, gold and green, karma karma karma chameleon... oops, sorry... but they truly look amazing. And so my thoughts turn to those that think they have it all but realistically are maybe less fortunate. How many times on these programmes where people move abroad to enjoy the sun, do you hear them saying, "we miss the changing of the seasons" Although we were told earlier this week that Autumn has officially arrived, it is today that I believe them. We've had sunshine, we've had some rain, but most spectacularly, leaves blowing in the wind.

Now I don't want to confuse you with my gushings, I love the sun and slightly cooler temperature, but I'm dreading the Winter, I think I may even suffer with SAD, yeah yeah, I know I'm sad but I mean seasonal adjustment disorder. I hate the nights drawing in earlier, I hate getting up in the dark and I really don't enjoy jumpers. 

More annoying are socks, my poor toes feel like they're being punished, trapped in that material, no room to move, but what can I do? People find it odd when I have loads of layers and big boots but no socks... at least I'm comfy and my toes are happy.

Well, tea is calling and I feel like I've burbled a little tonight but to be honest Alan Carr has distracted me somewhat... so, I'd like to dedicate this to my friend Dave in Florida, I'll send you the pics of the weather if you'd like!!! 

Dreams

A little change to the norm today and I'm blogging early, well, I didn't last night due to a long phone conversation and a bottle of red wine.

This morning I was woken at silly o clock by Mr Grumpy's snoring, as you can imagine, I wasn't best pleased but at least it gave me a valid reason to kick him. Plus, I was right at a very interesting bit in my dream. Do you dream? I mean really dream, not this rubbish, "oh look I'm flying" or "help, the bad man's after me and my legs won't run" I have really bizarre dreams, I'm sure they can't mean anything and that any dream analyst trying to decode them would lose their mind! I seem to have one recurring theme in my dreams and it's that I need to go for a wee. Of course, I'm never at home in the comfort of my own bathroom, it's always when I'm out and about and so it involves public toilets. That in itself wouldn't be a problem, but when I enter said loos, they never have a handle, or a lock on the door, or worse still, no door. In fact in one dream there was a door but it was only about one foot high. So this of course means that everyone is watching me, I'm sitting, on the loo, undies down, trying to pee, with the world and his wife watching. Worried yet?

Last night's dream that I was rudely awakened from involved a wedding and hen party. I'm not sure who was getting married but I remember queueing up in pairs to leave a pub to get into a waiting limo. Only, by the time my pair and the one in front made it outside, the car had left without us, great. The next thing, we were on push bikes on our way to another pub, see a theme? called The Nurse's Table, total figment of my imagination. I remember turning to one of my friends and asking where Lola was, only to be told that as she's Jewish, when she wants to ride a bike it involves a lengthy and expensive operation. Now even I'm a little worried! So we find some seats, only to be joined by some very handsome young men, again, nobody I know in real life, and as one of these men asks if he can buy me a drink, he drops a condom in to my lap, I think we all know what was on his mind!

I decide to go and look for my other friends around the corner and who should be there keeping an eye on things? My very sensible middle brother, dammit, now I'll never get to use that condom. Instead, we decide we'll skip the booze and have a cup of tea, someone passes us a cup the size of a bucket, we fill it with butter and then pour on boiling water, for some reason it didn't taste too good. At this point the handsome young man reappeared with a lovely big glass of wine for me, as I went to thank him with a kiss, he made the most awful noise, and there I was, in bed with a snoring Mr Grumpy.

Thanks for letting me share that with you, if you happen to know what any of it means, please keep it to yourself, ignorance is bliss and I'm happy with my weirdness! Have a good day!

 

Spiders & Conkers

I'm hoping for better luck tonight and that as I near the end of my blog, it doesn't disappear from my screen never to be seen again!

Today's blog isn't very long or hilariously funny, not they ever are, but I can promise it's authenticity. True from beginning to end.... I think.

Now, I don't want you to get the wrong impression and think that I'm the next David Attenborough, all my animal and bird mentionings, but tonight I turn my attention once again to spiders.

Last week I listened with interest to the story on Sir Terry's radio show about the potential increase in spiders due to the fantastic weather conditions. On his programme he is joined sometimes by the voice of the balls, Alan Dedicoat, and he offered some very useful information for people that are not fond of our 8 legged friends. Apparently, and I had heard this before, if you place a conker in each corner of the room it keeps the spiders at bay. Cue the cynics.

So last weekend we had some very dear friends around for a Mexican evening, and yes, I even donned a very large sombrero. As the beer and wine flowed, sorry Miss Rawding, I retold my story of the conker theory, of course everyone laughed. When asked if I'd tried it, I had to admit I hadn't due to a lack of conkers. So nice and early on Monday morning, Miss Rawding turned up on my doorstep with her 4 year old son's conker collection, poor boy, so now I had no choice but to test it out.

Last night, Master Grumpy carefully placed a conker in each corner of the dining room as a trial, I must admit, I now began to have my doubts, would this act simply drive them in to the lounge? And then if I put conkers in the lounge, would I just drive them all clod hopping up the stairs? I'm now starting to sweat, the thought of anymore spiders in my bathroom terrifies me, I already have to shake my towel every morning for the ones that are snuggled up on it. The conkers were in place and I went to bed.

I woke up bright and early this morning and came downstairs for the first of many cups of tea before work, and as I was waiting for a very important e-mail, logged on to the laptop on the dining room table. It was at this point, a small movement caught my eye, was it my imagination? were my eyes still a little sleepy? No. There abseiling from the light fitting, in true SAS style, wearing hob nail boots was an enormous house spider. He deftly dropped on to the table, dropped his rope and what do you think he did next? Yes, he ran, at warp factor 5 to hide, where did he hide I hear you ask, only in the bloody pile of conkers!

Needless to say, the conkers have now been collected and if Master Freeman would like them back he can have them. I'm sure they'll be far more use to him than me!

Deathly Dawdle

I don't want to shock anyone this evening but today I've been thinking about dying. I think I've spelt it correctly, I do mean shuffling off this mortal coil, not sure who said that, and I don't mean I've suddenly developed a penchant for changing the colour of all my clothes. I'm not too sure why these thoughts have been running around my head today and to be honest they don't worry me. 

I want you to understand, I'm not keen to die anytime soon as I really would like to grow old quite disgracefully, but I know that it's inevitable. I think today's black thoughts probably came about as I listened to the radio and stories about the massive increase in spiders and daddy long legs. I'm not particularly fond of either of these, though I will happily remove the daddy long legs from my home, but where the spiders are concerned, well, that's what Master Musical is here for. I know it doesn't make sense, I'm big and they're little but what also doesn't make sense is when people say, "they're far more scared of you than you are of them" How do you know? They might be the Arnie of the arachnids for all I know, just waiting to web me to death. 

So here we go, I know I'm going to die at some point, but do these critters have the same sense of life and death? Does the adult Mayfly know that it will only live for one day? I think not, or they'd probably avoid car windscreens and playful cats and dogs. And when they die, is there another critter somewhere missing them? I very strangely often worry when I see a dead animal or bird in the road, I just know that Mummy blackbird or Daddy hedgehog could be pacing up and down waiting for their spouse to return.

Some people may be questioning my sanity at this point, in fact I often question it myself! It's that age old problem that some of us humans have, attaching our emotions and feelings on to animals when we have no proof that such emotions exist. I don't care, I'd still rather talk to an animal, here comes Dr Dolittle again, or be kind to them on the off chance that they do understand, rather than make their relatively short time on this planet miserable.

And so to end on a note that is quite a positive one as far as I'm concerned but may be a surprise to others, when I die I really want to go out in style. Not too fussed about flowers or people wearing black, but as Mr Grumpy already knows, I'd love the big, shiny, black horses, with plumes, bit like in Oliver! Don't need the small boy at the front though.... and if my Big Bro is still about and willing, I'd love him to lead the proceedings and make everyone laugh. Needless to say, there'll be no religion, no prayers or hymns and a bloody big booze up afterwards. Gotta spend the money so nobody else can get their hands on it!

Whittlesey Wanderings

As today is Saturday it generally means just one thing, football. In fact, at this time of year football seems to take over my life even though I don't play. So after depositing Master Grumpy at the training ground I decided I'd go for a mooch around the shops in Whittlesey. Now depending on how picky you are over your shops, this could take a few minutes or like for me today an hour or so. The locals had cause to get excited recently as they got their first pound shop, I even remember my friend Denise saying she was going to go and visit it on her lunch break, I really need to get her out more...

They have also just got an Original Factory Shop, which conjures up an image of loads of other factory shops that of course can't possibly be original. I wandered around the said shop, spending at least 20 minutes in there, picking things up and then putting them down again. Maybe going back down an aisle for a second fondle, of the goods you understand, only to replace them carefully on the shelf and leave empty handed. I really could have used those new coasters, only £1 for 4.

Another exciting addition is Boots, it used to be just an ordinary pharmacy but now it holds it's head proud and is emblazoned with the big blue logo, no doubt it also has the big Boots prices too. As always on a Saturday, I pop in to the supermarket, Somerfield, though all the own brand product labels say Cooperative, interesting, and pick up 4 lovely, fresh panini rolls for our lunch. Mmm, I love mine toasted with ham and melted cheese.... anyway, it's on this bit of my journey each week that my life has changed. 

I've always been quite opinionated about beggars and homeless people, in fact I'd go so far as to say I'm ashamed of how I've thought in the past. As I've grown older and hopefully a little wiser, I have softened and I guess matured. I now realise that lots of these people really, genuinely have nowhere else to go, why else would they choose to live their lives this way? For many years as I walked past W H Smith in Peterborough, I would see a man selling the Big Issue, of course I never bought one, but I was always polite and said no thank you. The seller, small, dirty, thin, ginger hair and bearded man would always thank me in return for acknowledging him. One day as I walked along, I had decided that today I would buy a Big Issue from him, I had given his situation some thought, guess what, he wasn't there. I felt awful, I'd missed my chance to do something half decent for someone, there wasn't even someone else standing in his spot that I could give my money too. Every time after that I looked for him, and I mean for many months, I wondered if he was OK? A replacement seller did appear but actually looked clean and well fed and was always surrounded by others.

Imagine my surprise when about a month ago as I walked to purchase my paninis, I heard that most recognisable voice, "Big Issue madam?" It was him. So I gave him his pound but declined the magazine, and now every time I see him I give him something, depending on how close pay day is. And as I go in and out of the various shops and I pick something up and wonder whether to buy it, I ask myself if I really need it, not for the sake of saving a few pounds but if it's going to sit in the back of some cupboard I'd rather give the money to my ginger bearded friend. Oh, and for those of you that are saying, "he probably spends it on drink or fags or worse" I don't actually care! If that's something that gives his hard and cold life a little bit of sunshine then good on him.

So you Whittleseyites, keep out of the myriad of awful shops that you've been blessed with in town and occasionally give thought to my little friend, even if you don't feel like buying the Big Issue, maybe you could at least acknowledge you've heard him when he speaks to you.

Car park crisis

Have you ever had anyone say to you, "it's been one of those days" ??? Well, today was one of those days for me. No walk, no run, just was one of those days.

It started as normal, getting up too early and being a soft mum, driving Master grumpy to school, just to drive home again to then return on an almost identical journey back to my college course. So for those of you that know me, I'm now grumpy and it's only 9.20am. I pull into the car park at the college, park and meander over to the ticket machine. It was being closely studied by 2 men, at which point I wanted to ask, "what are you looking for, a sell by date???" But I reined myself in and was very grateful when 1 of the chaps pointed out the ticket machine was buggered and giving an hour short on whatever you paid for. I decided to leave a note in my car and went off on my course. I was not happy. I know what the parking attendants are like, I was certain I'd have a ticket by 12.30. So when we had a break just before 11am, I dashed down to my car, losing my name badge somewhere along the way, and found that I was still safe. I went to the machine to find another 2 gentleman standing looking for the ever elusive sell by date. I was once again advised not to put any money in but was feeling a little like my luck was about to run out. So, I rang the helpline number on the machine and explained the situation. please join the story Mr Jobsworth. I went into detail about the whole situation, about how all the cars in the car park must be in the same situation but not everyone looks at their ticket and I really didn't want a parking fine. What a lovely young man, very understanding, listened to my story, took down all the details including my car make, model and registration and told me not to worry though I should still purchase a ticket. I followed his instructions and said I felt happier now leaving my car, to which he replied I'd probably still get a parking ticket but now they would be able to contest it as I'd phoned in.

Oh my goodness. Instead of dishing out maybe 60 tickets couldn't they have fixed the machine? Or maybe just let everyone park as they'd bought a ticket and not fine them? No, I guess not, that would be too easy and I'm guessing the local council is run by a man.

So that was all before noon, should we even go into Master Grumpy, the hockey stick and mild concussion? I guess not, I'm sure you can join the dots. And so I just want to finish with

It's been one of those days.

Terrifying travels

Today Ms Womble and I really went for it, well, I did, I get the feeling that she's probably fitter than me, she's also younger. But today, we ran more than we ever have, and the best result was that my pedometer told me I'd burned off over 400 calories, bring on the Feast lollipop! 

There wasn't anything very exciting happening in the countryside today, apart from us that is. I did become a little distressed when we spotted a lone cygnet, that appeared to be lost and sad. Something in it's eyes I guess, or maybe I'm a little Dr Dolittle. Ms Womble assured me that it would be fine and that there really wasn't any need to wade in to the river to fetch it out and take it home. Maybe she was just worried about her arm getting broken... Some distance further along the river, we found what we assumed were the rest of the family, sitting in the warm afternoon sun on the river bank. Now I really did get upset, as the cygnet we'd seen had been paddling frantically in the opposite direction, not sure if I'll be able to sleep tonight, might need to go on a search for it in the morning before work.

The whole episode of S.B.A.S (swan broken arm syndrome) has reminded me of something funny that happened while rambling in Lincolnshire at the weekend. It was the grown men that were advising us not to wear red as we would be passing through a field of young bullocks... mmm, hold that thought. Also, to be cautious in a couple of fields due to the very large horses, and finally the sheep.  The first critters we came across were the bullocks, very scary indeed, if you're a fly about to be swatted by their tails. We walked calmly across the field and they, calmly, watched us. Phew, escaped by the skin of our teeth! The second terrifying attack came from 3 enormous horses, 1 member of our group, an adult, actually requested to be surrounded by people in order to protect them. Imagine the fear when they realised that 2 horses were standing one side of the stile we needed to cross, and they were conversing with a rather large old cart horse on the other side. Surely, we wouldn't escape so luckily this time? Being the smallest, in height at least, I calmly walked up talking to these beautiful creatures who stepped aside to let us use the stile. Then with a firm but gentle hand on the shoulder of the cart horse simply asked him to back up, which he very kindly did. One more hurdle awaited, the sheep. There were millions of them, well, a hundred maybe? A sweat broke out on everyone's brow, we looked at each other and prepared our final goodbye's.

The sheep ran and the worst injury was heavy sheep dung collected on my nice pink and grey walking boots.

I'm glad I survived to share this ramble with you and hope that it goes down through the ages from my children, to my children's children and so on. Sleep safely all.

Dodgy dogs

Today I have failed. Not only have I not managed a proper walk, well, I walked properly, you know, without stumbling or falling, but I haven't walked purposefully or even manged a jog. Unless you include running up the stairs after Harvey, he keeps disappearing and as I know he has a tendency to pee on things I have to keep fetching him back down.

So I find myself in the company of my brother's dog, Harvey. We have an understanding, he takes Master Grumpy to watch Peterborough United play and I look after Harvey. On the whole I think I have the best end of the bargain, he doesn't moan constantly, though does sometimes have the odd yap. He doesn't demand endless snacks and cups of tea, just a bowl of clean water. He also has the ability of watching CSI Miami and Law and Order and other such favourites without interrupting at a vital moment so that I may miss a very important clue. In fact, I'm looking at him now as he stands on his hind legs, on my sofa, head resting on his front paws, looking out of the window, waiting patiently for his Master. I know he'll settle in a bit, probably about 10 minutes before my brother returns. 

I really am rather fond of the little bundle of mischief and wonder if I'll ever have another dog, in fact, if I'll ever have another pet of any type? My eldest brother has 2 gorgeous but nutty Weimaraners, and my youngest brother has about 30 Russian Dwarf hamsters, and with Harvey around, I'm the only one petless. I have had different pets over the last 20 years, varying from a failed RAF sniffer dog, Toby the labrador to Gimlee the rabbit. Ironic that I picked those 2 and not my lovely, loyal Pointer, Mitch, that I had for 11 years. Maybe I'll dedicate a big ramble to him one day, but tonight I'm smiling at the memory of Toby.

One day, about a million years ago and I'm sure when Mr Grumpy must have been drunk, I persuaded him that we needed a dog. After a visit to the local animal shelter and passing all of their tests and visits, we ended up with Toby. A gorgeous yellow lab, that had started his sniffer dog training with the RAF but had failed. Sadly, as a puppy he had been teased with his food which left him food proud and nobody could get near him when he was eating. This also meant no tit bits or feeding from your hand.... ever. Oh, unless you thought you knew better and ignored what you'd been told, then you ended up being bitten and in casualty on Boxing day.... that person doesn't read my ramblings.

The thing though that made our life with Toby so interesting was anytime we went on a car journey. His training had meant that when he got in to a car, he thought he was off on a search and started to bark for England. That was OK when we were popping round to see my parents or off to the park but a day long trip to Scotland resulted in ringing ears and a very bad headache! The other thing that happened was that when you arrived at your destination, he would run straight into the house and search it from top to bottom. Not a problem you'd think, well, let's just say that there was one member of my family that I was never too certain if Toby would turn something up in their room. As for my mum's knitting.....

Sadly, one New Years Eve he went just a little too far and clamped his jaw on a friend's arm and dragged her from one side of the room to the other. Thankfully my dad was there and managed to prise his jaw open, that was the end of Toby. He had to go back to the shelter for some rehab, but they decided he really was too much of a risk to be around people and put him to sleep. It broke my heart, and even though Mitch came along to fill the gap, when he died a little bit of me did too. I vowed I'd never put myself through that heartbreak again. So maybe I have the best of both worlds with Harvey, I get the walks, the cuddles and the company but middle bruv gets the poo, the vets and ultimately the heartache. Of course, I shall miss him too but at the moment he's only a baby, so we should have plenty of years with him.

There, I haven't even touched on the other mental pets we've had, I'm sure they'll appear at some point, but for now, what is that smell???? Harvey!

Weekend Ramble

Well, the wanderer has returned! I wonder if anyone noticed my absence? I know at least five people that did, Mr Grumpy, Master Grumpy and the Master Music, which in turn means Nanny and Grandpapa Baxter felt the fall out!

What a weekend! Depending upon where you are in the world you'll either be marvelling at the most amazing weather we've just experienced or you'll be wondering what all the fuss is about.... Mr Crabb. It has been glorious, considering it's September and I was camping for the weekend, the chances were that it was going to persistently rain, but no, sun, sun and just for good measure, more sun.

In case you weren't aware, I have volunteered to help with the year 10 students on their Duke of Edinburgh bronze award scheme. Which in short meant 15 teaching staff, 61 students, and yomping across the Lincolnshire countryside for about 30km over 2 days. Guess what? I loved it! Not only did my partner in crime, Mrs French and I have a laugh together, we had the loveliest and most competitive group of boys on the trip. I'm not going to go into great detail about all the minor ins and outs of the trip, but needless to say, put 6 lads together, all aged 14 and just imagine the humour. They were a real credit to themselves, their parents and of course the school. Mrs F and I laughed, not just at some of their antics but with them and their humour.

Thankfully they were sensible enough to be trusted to look the other way when my bladder was fit to burst and I had to pee in the woods. They also made a good impression with the landlord at a pub along the way.... pub? how did we end up there? there was no pub on the route! However, he was so impressed with their behaviour, he gave them free crisps and juice! 

As I have already mentioned, they were extremely competitive and even though we told them on many occasion that neither day was a race they were adamant they wanted to "win". They wanted to finish first on both days, even though they started fourth on the first day and we explained we needed to teach them all the map reading, pacing and grid references etc to help them pass their actual expedition. Fast forward 4 hours and you'll find the boys running to overtake the only team ahead of us, shouting at myself and Mrs F to "Run Miss & Miss!" Did we run? Was it race? The answer, yes and yes, we were just as competitive as them, and guess what.... we finished first on both days. What a team!

So here I am, completely shattered and in need of another early night but just wanted to share a little of what my weekend held for me... and to think, I haven't even scratched the surface of the landlord and landlady in the local pub, or the story of why Benji couldn't understand why the boys couldn't share tents with the girls.... oh, the stories could be endless. 

Have I ever told you how much I love my job?

Apologies

No proper blog tonight guys, been a busy day. I'm off this weekend on the biggest ramble ever, so will hopefully have loads to chat about on Sunday evening. In the mean time you can always check out

http://drew-theviewfromthehill.blogspot.com

he always manages to make me laugh or cry 

take care x

Training Twitters

No run or even a walk today, in fact I've managed to run up and down the stairs at school a few times to try and ease the guilt but it hasn't really helped.

My mind is a real jumble of rubbish today, nothing new there, I hear you cry, but it really is. I'm one of those people that stew and worries, I don't want to and I try really hard not to but somehow it just happens. And so I find myself in turmoil because tomorrow morning I'm starting an eleven week course to tell me how to do the job I'm already doing. It sounds silly when you say it like that doesn't it? What's even sillier, is that the school are happy for me to carry on as I am but to be realistic and help me apply for future positions, I should really have this qualification tucked neatly under my belt. Now, here is the problem, I'm not stupid, just a little less confident than most, though for those that don't know me and only see me at the odd social function they might find that hard to believe. My school days were most certainly NOT the best days of my life, they were until the bullies stepped in, then school and the walk to and from it became my worst nightmare. I really want to name names at this point but I won't, not to protect them, but I don't want them in my here and now. So, my tummy is tonight in turmoil and I'm already panicking about what to wear, who will speak to me and will I look stupid. How sad for a woman of my age.

Quite ironically, at school today I had to go with some of my students to something called Human Utopia, an Heroes Journey. It's all about the choices the year 7's make now and how it affects them and others around them and possibly for life. Very good, I wish it had been in place when I was 15 and not 11 and without sounding cynical I hope it works. I'm sure for some it's the big awakening they need and that from here on in they will no longer bully, but as the leader of the course pointed out, bullying still goes in the workplace for some adults. Great. This then got me thinking about a woman, I use the term loosely, maybe miserable old cow would be better, at work. Another teaching assistant that likes to tell people at any opportunity about how she used to be a teacher... yeah, maybe of witchcraft... and how she couldn't possibly stand to eat her lunch with the children, gets far too much of them the rest of the day. Me, I find myself in the refectory with a couple of lads that ask if they can sit with me because they have no friends. Guess who I'd rather be.

Back to the old woman, she hardly ever speaks to me even though I always say good morning (check earlier blog) she appears to hate kids and loves to speak down to them, but saddest of all, she never smiles. In my book, she's a bully. I hate how the kids are scared of her, it's not respect it's fear and that's bullying. The kids in my lessons occasionally get "the look" from me and that's enough, they carry on working and we carry on being ok with each other.

So with all this running through my head and my tummy twirling, I think I've earned a glass or two of something stronger than tea, I'd just better not breathe on anyone tomorrow!!! 

Flowery Frolic

Today I gently jogged my way around the part of the locality where lots of people live in bungalows. I'm not going to generalise and say that all the inhabitants are old or even elderly but let's just say that they don't seem to go to work and they like washing their cars and keeping their gardens tidy. So as I was nosing into the gardens, I wondered if this affliction would catch me up at some point in my future.

I'm not a keen gardener, or car washer come to think of it, in fact my back garden consists of a patio, a small bedded area, a large slated area and lots of pots. Minimal care and attention required, even less if Mr Grumpy gets out there, sadly he can't tell a plant from a weed and only a couple of years ago I found him frantically weeding in the garden bed, moaning that the little blighters were popping up on a daily basis. I pointed out to him that they were in fact the beautiful plants that come back every year and could he now please stop digging.

My father is a very keen gardener and prides himself on his beautiful Dahlias.... gosh, that doesn't sound right does it? He also has an eye for the Hosta... ah, they just keep getting better, so much so, that just for the sheer hell of it I took a picture of one of mine and sent it to the local rag with a cheeky comment, knowing he'd see it. What a wit I am, or maybe I just have too much time on my hands.

Back to my bouncing, in one particular garden I noticed some lovely little flowers that immediately whisked me back to my childhood, the Mesembryanthemum, a small daisy like flower that opens and closes with the sun and heat. I was only about 5 years old when the headmaster of our tiny, village primary school, said that we could each bring in some seeds that we'd like to plant as Mr Bridgefoot, the school gardener and my father's Uncle, had set aside a plot for us. I'm not sure what pleased me more, planting something of my choice or being around Uncle Arthur, I loved the smell of his pipe, something that he would never be allowed to smoke around primary school children today. We planted our seeds and waited patiently for the shoots to appear, imagine my disappointment when mine just looked a load of green stems. Uncle Arthur could see my disappointment and was waiting for me early the next morning, there in the spot where the tangle of green had been were now a mass of pretty colourful daisies! 

It was only many years later that I realised it hadn't really been magic created by this lovely old man, but how happy and proud I was that day, and of course wanted to brag to all my other little friends about "MY" Uncle Arthur, how unbearable I must have been.

Well, I may not be the world's greatest gardener but I do know that if I ever end up in one of those bungalows what plants I'll fill the beds with!

Foody Frolic

Today my friends I ran, then walked, then ran, then walked, you get the idea. I wasn't being chased but I was being followed by Mr Grumpy on his bike, bad knees apparently. As I ran, occasionally I wanted to stop before I should, but just like the proverbial donkey, stick and carrot I managed to keep going.

Have I mentioned food before? Not sure why if I haven't, but I love food. I love cooking and I love being cooked for, I love special food and I love well cooked normal food. But pretty much I just love food! So today as I was bouncing around the countryside and my lungs were on fire, the image of a large slice of homemade Nanny Baxter chocolate cake and a cup of tea spurred me on. Now I'm sure the cynical amongst you are probably wondering why I would exercise so regularly just to come home and spoil it with a million calories of cake, well, I wasn't wondering. I love being out in the fresh air and I know that running and walking will do me good, but like many naughty things in life you know how the saying goes, a little of what you fancy does you good.

So as I continued bobbing along, another thought came into my head, who decides what's good and what's bad for you? I know about the obvious things like smoking and lung cancer, alcohol and cirrhosis of the liver, too much fat and obesity, but who decided what "normal" looks like? Who says we're not supposed to be huge, stinking of fags and booze? I mean, someone invented these things didn't they? So surely as we're only on this earth for a short time we should enjoy them.

It's a bit like marriage vows, at this point I should say congratulations to all those people that manage to stay married to their original partners for 30, 40 or more years, but I don't actually agree with the line, til death us do part. I did, before I knew better, but now I don't judge those people that split from their spouse at about the age of 30 or 40. If I remember rightly, the original marriage vows were written in the 1600's, when average life expectancy was about 36. So, you probably could quite easily stayed married to the same person. Now of course people are living much longer and understandably bore of hubby or wife number 1 and yearn for a new model, bit like having a new car I guess. After all, the person that wrote those vows had probably never even been married themselves and knew not what they were doing.... oops, getting a bit carried away there!

So the way I see it is like this, I will eat lots and lots of potatoes in all forms, I will sometimes partake of naughty cakes or sweets if I want and I most certainly will consume wine whenever my little heart desires! I will however try and remain married to this same man for as long as he behaves himself and for as long as he realises how lucky he is to have me. It doesn't mean to say I won't flirt outrageously at any given opportunity, like with the local Italian bakery, I can look in the window, sniff the goodies but keep walking on by.

Misspent youth

I have just sat and watched Jonathan Maitland try and solve the problems of our youth today in half an hour.

The programme focused mainly around a young lad called Sonny Grainger from Hull. There are two things against him before we even start, sorry if you're reading this Jo. He has various different ASBO's against him, which so far only seem to have helped his neighbours and not him or his mother. As always in these types of programmes the MP responsible for deciding we should be handing out more and more ASBO's was wheeled out, and again managed to avoid actually answering a question with a straight answer. There was one very interesting chap on there that seemed to speak some sense, sadly I didn't catch who he was or his involvement, if any, with Sonny. But I did feel he made a rather valid point when he said that he thinks that as a nation we are becoming less tolerant of our youth. I think I agree.

As a mother to two teenage sons and also having been a teenager once somewhere in my dark and murky past, I see people all around us making their judgements. I live on an estate made up of family sized homes. Some of these houses have couples living in them, who for whatever reason, don't have children. That's fine, they probably have garden gnomes and I don't. But when you live in an area such as this you have to expect that there will be children, they will want to play and sometimes might even make some noise.

When we first moved here, I was being friendly and chatting to the neighbours, while at my feet my four year old son was playing with a stick in the bed of my neighbour's tree. She very politely asked me if I could stop him as they were going to have their garden professionally landscaped and they didn't want him thinking it would be OK to do it after they'd spent loads of money. They have no children, and ten years later the garden hasn't been touched, needless to say we don't spend a great deal of time in each others company.

Interestingly, we have neighbours on the other side of us that love the boys and never had an issue with them playing in the street, their children are all grown up. But they have always commented that if the football ever went onto their garden or near their cars, our boys would always apologise and ask if it was OK to retrieve said ball. Quite recently however, a family have moved into the close with two young boys that constantly play football, not a problem, they're quite young and so it's safer for them around here. But can you believe the same nice neighbours have managed to get an ASBO threat against the boys? And what does it all come down to? Manners. They run over everyone's lawns, kick the ball against cars, and generally have no respect for anyone or anything.

This brings me back to a point in the programme where Mr Maitland asked Sonny's mother if she felt she was to blame for his behaviour? Now, I happen to know that he has various different disorders and through personal experience can tell you that there isn't always a lot you can do. But in both cases of Sonny and our newly acquired scuffer type neighbours, discipline and a general dollop of good manners will help. Some children really just can not help themselves, they find it very difficult to contain their emotions and even harder to control their actions. I have questioned my parenting skills many many times over the past 13 years, but know what? I now realise that it wasn't anything we did or didn't do, I have two completely different sons and I'm glad. 

All I can hope is that whatever happens, whatever they become in life they always remember to be polite and considerate of others. I find that as I get older they're helping me to stay in touch with the real world of the youth today, that and the fact that I work in a secondary school with over 2000 children! We all have or possibly will, behave badly in our lives I'm sure, but when I was kicking up my heels on a Saturday night, the worry of my mum waiting up for me was ASBO enough.

Oh, and ironically, the neighbours that complained about Master Grumpy spoiling their garden have today had an hole put right in the middle of their lawn.... with a For Sale sign!!!! 

Well today I find myself laughing, and I mean really laughing, channel 5 has decided to show some really funny films even if they're on at the wrong time of year. We have just sat through Home Alone 2 for the millionth time, but still laughed, and I am currently laughing at Sam laughing at Ace Ventura Pet Detective. I'm not sure about Jim Carey, I know he makes me laugh but I'm not sure why. 

I think back to my childhood and the films we watched that amused us. Everything from Carry On to Abbot and Costello, something that my big bro has recently reminded me of. What harmless amusing fun their films were and I always loved the funny noises that Lou Costello would make.... So earlier as we watched Home Alone 2 we decided that it's actually one of those films that would've been an excellent Tom and Jerry episode and they've manged to cross it over into people, extreme falling, burning, pain etc.

Now of course, Tom and Jerry have been dumbed down and Abbot and Costello would be banned for being too violent. I didn't like watching Lou being slapped about but somehow back then we expected it and he always came out ok. I love watching films and thankfully unlike many people I can tell the difference between fiction and reality, so I'm not going to be offended when Jim Carey takes the mickey out of god, I actually would love for Morgan Freeman to be in charge of the world! he might make a better job of it!

So, not quite on the scale of my big brother when it comes to my cinematic viewing but I'm getting there, will still laugh at the silly stuff and cry at the soppy stuff, but will always yearn for a little Laurel and Hardy or maybe the Keystone Cops.

Blog Block

My wanderings today were a little on the boring side, streets and not many people, but it doesn't stop my mind from going off all over the place. I find myself thinking about everything that people talk to me about, analysing their words and looking for potential blogging material. My eldest brother writes an amazing piece every day without fail, I don't want to call it a blog as it doesn't seem to do his work justice. He never fails to amaze me, so clever, extremely witty and sometimes actually moves me to tears, not bad for someone that never got a degree, eh Drew? 

I now have a dilemma, I think I have Blog Block. I have loads of ideas and things I want to write about but somehow the words won't come together. I've got pictures in my head of human pillows, thanks Jill and Elaine, I've got words like they're, there and their floating about and just for good measure a bit of is it god or is it coincidence??? Maybe I need a large glass, got it, a room to myself, got it, for now anyway, and just peace in my life.... mmm, not sure that'll ever happen.

So as I grasp at straws, the lovely potential pilot otherwise known as my eldest son, is cooking my tea for me. Whoever thought this day would come? I get the occasional shout from the kitchen just for reassurance, but he's managed a lovely egg fried rice with prawns and veg with some rather nice spring rolls and dipping sauce. As his elderly Uncle Drew said recently, why bother with flying, why not be a chef? With a family like ours he'd never have an empty table!

Well, my belly is full but not so my glass, and the dishwasher needs loading, so, as I'm a writer in need tonight I think I'll leave well alone and let you find your own entertainment. Sorry I haven't met your requirements but maybe a good night's sleep will help, after all, tomorrow is another day!!!! Oops, at it again!

Agony Ali

Today I will be writing without having rambled, though the wine is open and poured so the rambling may still happen!

Somehow I have managed to find myself in the role of Marge Proops, for anyone under the age of 40 you may need to ask an adult who she was. This is nothing new in my life, it appears to have being going on for some years now and as I get older it's gathering speed. I have considered setting up an Agony Ali page on many occasions and still might! Don't get me wrong, I feel honoured that people want to off load all of their woes on to my shoulders and that they trust me with their innermost and naughtiest of secrets, I just hope that any advice I offer is considered carefully before being put into action.

I think that at some point, maybe while I was asleep or when I'd sniffed a bottle or two of something, someone crept into my house and put a flashing light and sign over my head that says "pour your heart out here" The reason I say that is because it's not just friends and family that open their hearts up to me, I actually bumped into my sometimes postman in Sainsburys last year, now, if that had happened when I was 16 I would have thrust myself at him. Back then in the dark ages he played football for Peterborough United and I had the biggest crush ever, mainly on his thighs. Now though, all these years later, he's lost his charm somewhat, especially in the Winter when he has a constant drip hanging from the end of his nose.

I digress.

We stood in the bread aisle and somehow between the bagels and croissants I managed to learn all about how he'd been having an affair with a woman on his round, whose husband had found out, told his employer, forcing him to tell his wife and now he didn't know what to do. Now I know why I never get my mail before 11am....

And so my life goes. 

As well as this I have a very very good friend who is happily married, normal and down to earth but has had her head turned by a man that has given her some nice attention. I think we've all been there at some point and I hope she won't mind me mentioning her, but what can I do to help? Should I give my opinion? Should she be asking? The answer to the second question is most certainly yes she should, that's what friends are for, but is her life and the goings on, just fulfilling my love for voyeurism? Oh what a tangled web we weave.... and so on.

And now to the real dilemma for me, Master Grumpy and the lovely Beth. Another lady has appeared on the scene and is calling herself, Girlfriend. I haven't met her, just seen her from afar, and already I'm not sure I like her. How terrible am I??? But sadly the consequence seems to be that it has affected Beth and Master G's relationship. I want to get involved, I want to tell him that she's no good and he needs to stick with his friends, but from my own experiences in life, I know that this will just push him futher into the wrong arms. I think back to an earlier blog when I was dispatched to my brother's home, my goodness, that local phone box had never been so full!

Well, how do we end this one???? I guess that life isn't easy or straight forward, it also is not an episode of Eastenders or Corrie, so it won't be made alright with a cup of tea. But whatever happens, I'll always be here, waiting for my next story, offering my shoulder and just hope that the friends I turn to don't mind bolstering me.

Friendly Following

Well, once again I find myself at the keyboard and I'd like to say thank you to my readers that have demanded I return.... all two of them, thanks Sue and Mr Crabb!

Should I call them readers or should I call them friends? This is where I have found that as I get older I seem to have a mini dilemma. With the age of the internet and super information highway, I have found myself thrust back into the lives of people that were just a fond memory, well, in most cases. I think that Mr Crabb and Ms Womble are probably very good examples for me to use. I can't tell you exactly when Crabby and I first became friends, but I can tell you it involved ice hockey, my one time passion. I was an avid fan of the Peterborough Pirates Ice Hockey team, along with the two younger of my brothers. We went to every home match and stood proudly under Spot the flag and when money would allow also went on the away trips too, to such exotic places like Durham and Whitley Bay, oh what fun we had.... if you need to confirm how much fun, check out Crabby and Cheryl's pics!!!

So, at some point I did the dirty deed and found Mr Grumpy.... and reader I married him... oh no, that belongs to someone else... but I did, and my ice hockey days ended. So along with it disappeared all of those people I had called friends, we'd drunk and got drunk together. We'd abused hockey players in more ways than one, thanks Sandy McDonald, shouted at referees and had the most amusing coach trips in history. But, if it wasn't for such inventions as the internet and Facebook would I be in touch with them now? Sadly I think not. Especially as good ol' Mr Crabb lives in Florida and by all accounts is living it up with a lovely lady that helps him nurse his gout. 

Now for Ms Womble.... here is another case in which many people would say she's not a friend, just the partner of Mr Grumpy's colleague, and maybe at one time I would have agreed, for about ten seconds. As soon as we socialised together we knew that this was it, stuck with each other forever, sorry, I know she tries to lose me when we're out running but I stick to her like a bad smell. We've been through some crap times and shared the lovely ones, like last year when after a very loud, drunken BBQ where we sang Carpenters songs til the small hours in her back garden, earning a round of applause from the neighbours... I think it was applause, not sure why they threw buckets of water.... it was that night that her lovely Welsh Ram proposed, ah the wonders of brandy. I feel proud that I was a part of that, it was me that kept topping up the Ram's glass you know!

The point I'm trying to make and probably very badly, is that we do call people friends but maybe they're just acquaintances, we have people from our past we called friends but lost touch with. We also have family, that we wonder should we call friends as we haven't chosen them. I don't know if it's right when the saying says "People from your past didn't make it into your future for a reason" Maybe without the internet they wouldn't have, and I didn't lose touch with them because I wanted to, it was because I was crap at staying in touch and moved around. So, call them friends or call them colleagues, acquaintances or family, I am in touch with the people I want to be and hope it stays that way.

Oh and if you're wondering, I don't actually have many real friends, yeah yeah, thanks for the jokes, I have only mentioned two here but have a few others that allow me to moan, cry, laugh and drink with them, you know who you are and yes, some of them are family.

Poetic Prancing

I am well aware that I haven't blogged for some days now, and in case there is anyone out there actually reading my ramblings, I'd like to apologise.

I also want to say sorry for what I'm about to write, I'm hoping you'll allow me to post one of my all time favourite poems. Not the sort of poem I want reading when I die you understand, I have a couple of those tucked up my sleeve, but one that has meant something during my lifetime. For those of you that know a little about me, I'm sure you'll understand.

Strangely, when I first discovered this piece of work was on a visit to Mr Grumpy's Great Aunt's cottage in Loch Maben in Scotland. She was a truly wonderful, yet small, lady that welcomed anyone and everyone in to her home and her life. Sadly I only had the honour of knowing her for a few years, but I will have the memories of holidays in her cottage forever. Maybe those stories can be shared another time, but today is about Aunty Lillian's books. I love reading and she always encouraged me to take one of her many many books to bed with me to help me drop off. It was very cold, even with the electric blanket! Sometimes I chose one of her Reader's Digest but this one particular night, I found a small, green, hard backed book of poetry.

I actually read this poem and thought of my parents, but as the years went by, it applied to me. I hope you enjoy it, and forgive the punctuation, I copied it exactly.

Just Growing Pains

Just growing pains that made him say that hurtful, bitter thing today. He didn't mean to give you pain, t'was just a storm that swept his brain and made him argue black was white; and bad was good, and wrong was right, and made him scoff and made him sneer at all the things you hold most dear. He isn't bad, that boy of yours, but just like other, scores and scores.

First babyhood then childhood wanes, and then, there comes these growing pains! Oh! Foolish parents to believe he likes to make you fret and grieve. The minute that the word had leapt from his hot tongue he could have wept, he felt ashamed, too proud, alack, to take the silly statement back. He is a man (and you should know it) and loves you much, but cannot show it. He has to quote from Bernard Shaw and rant about life's highest law and say religion's out of date and reconstruct the church and state.

Soon will this phase grow weak and wane - it's nothing but a growing pain.

Musical Meandering

Today I borrowed my eldest son's music machine to accompany my walk. I have a very broad spectrum and taste when it comes to music and will not easily dismiss anything without first having a listen. To be utterly and completely honest, I love music, I always have. I love singing, though Mr Grumpy doesn't enjoy my singing as much as I do, but still I sing. I wouldn't say I am good at singing but surely that shouldn't stop me, I'm clever enough to know I shouldn't stand and sing in front of people like Simon Cowell, who I actually think knows what he's talking about, hence the reason he's a millionaire!

Since I was a small person, singing  and music has surrounded me. I have spoken before about how I listened to Radio 2 and enjoyed the musical choices of Terry Wogan, Pete Murray and Jimmy Young. I loved hearing all those oldies as we would now call them, but I also find that the songs from the 80's are now classed as oldies by my teenage sons. I also used to enjoy singing in the Citadel of the Salvation Army and when my brothers lost interest I joined our local church.

It mattered not to me what I was listening to or what I was singing, it made me happy. I just enjoyed the music and for that I'm thankful, it means that I now have the most diverse music collection ever! As I have grown, my taste has changed and so I find myself with a collection of vinyl and CD's that range from Northern Soul, musicals, RnB, pop, soft rock through to my current favourite thrash metal. This latest musical taste is in main due to my eldest son's doing. He plays guitar and learns mainly heavy metal music, his passion, yes I'm his Mum and I'm biased but he is good and really loves it, so in turn I now have fallen in love with some good rock and roll music.

Somehow, I seem to have an uncanny ability to memorise lyrics, lovely when the radio's on and I'm singing but most annoying for Mr Grumpy when he says a sentence and I can almost immediately pick that sentence from a song and sing it! Oh if only my maths O level had been in song lyrics....

So as I find myself surrounded these days by long haired, head banging, body moshing young men I wonder what the 80's me would have thought. Well, I guess that because in the 80's I was still looking for love, I wouldn't have taken too much notice, I would've been matching every song to my personal circumstance. Where as now with the maturity of age I have learned to just enjoy music for what it is. It matters not what it's genre is, who's singing it or whether they're the latest, biggest, hot thing, I like what I like and will continue to do so. 

So there.

part 2

I really wanted to add a very funny story that the lovely Beth's mum told us recently about driving, quite brave and also quite hilarious, I'm just waiting for copyright to come through. If we get it, I'll add something else of my own.

Driving Dawdle

Today I am hoping that you won't mind if I write a little about how I'm thinking without the added walking. It can be quite tiring you know, especially as I have also started to incorporate a bit of running.
Today has been a busy day for me and one that has involved rather a lot of driving, only short distances but driving none the less. I was clever enough to pass my driving test first time twenty years ago. I had initial lessons with my Dad, followed by the usual 300 lessons from a local driving school, OK, maybe not quite that many, but of course while I was paying for lessons they were happy to keep taking my money. Unlike many learners, I actually learned to drive in a Volkswagen Caravanette, so a large, long and quite heavy vehicle but actually had quite good va va voom!

Since passing my test, I have made it my job to be a good, careful and responsible driver, even when I was a sales rep', haring from one city to another. I have been stopped for speeding only once, to which I fully held up my hands, and as for accidents, well, let's not tempt fate shall we?
So, here I am, 41 and a regular and considerate driver. I flash other drivers out of junctions when it's safe to do so, though Mr Grumpy says he thinks I've misunderstood about the whole flashing concept.... not had any complaints so far. I always stick to the speed limit on local roads, sorry, can't include the local parkways, I indicate even when there are no other vehicles around and always keep a safe braking distance between me and the vehicle in front.
Why oh why can't other drivers do the same? I'm not asking much, I know when you pass your test the standard line from your instructor is “now go away and learn to drive properly” But when they hear that do these other drivers hear “ Go and drive like selfish lunatics” ????

It seems that other drivers seem to have no spacial awareness, a gap that you could quite easily fit a family sized car through suddenly only seems the right size for a double decker bus. Or when I'm driving along a main carriageway I suddenly seem to don my invisibility cloak and no other driver can see me, well, actually just that one numpty that thinks he's got time to pull out in front of me causing some braking on my part. Oh and let's not forget those people that don't realise that when you join the main carriageway from a slip road it's them that need to give way. Although a special mention should be given here to the prize idiots that brake on the main road in order to allow them to join!
There are also the people that we have to call pedestrians, shall we call them non-drivers? Oh look, I'm going to walk out in front of you because I know you won't run me over, if only they were on the inside of my car, they'd hear my passengers screaming, “please don't run him over, we know you're right”
It's not that I'm aggressive, just that I know the road. I had the old trick question in my driving test, if you're turning into a road and some one's crossing, who has the right of way? The correct answer is of course I do because I have a car and I'll run you over. The answer they want to hear is the person crossing because you're not going to run them over, are you?

I don't profess to be the world's greatest driver, I'm not saying I'm always right, though I usually am, but I take great comfort in the fact that my sons still think I'm a better driver than their Dad, well, it's statistically proven, women are better drivers than men.

Gosh I feel better getting that off my chest, happy driving!