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.