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!