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.