Really should know better.....

A little light frivolity

2011-11-04T14:43:00.000Z

Yesterday I caught a falling leaf, no biggie theoretically, but it made me realise how long it is since I last laughed out loud. (Edinburgh a month ago, assisted by the marvellous @Shequeen, @AndreaGillies and some Viognier) This state of affairs must not be allowed to continue. Pleasure will be taken in small things.

My beautiful Zero teapot, which reminds me of a stout penguin

The view out of my window to soft golden sunshine, despite the fact the glass is smeared with kitten's paw prints

Knowing my purple suede boots can come back into use

Getting £3 back from the Halifax because I was brave enough to check my account and saw they had overcharged me, ditto my credit card company who I then convinced to pay for my call to complain about their service (I count this as a double-win)

Tiny, tiny pots of sparkly nail varnish

Baked beans on buttered toast, I'd forgotten how delicious they are. Similarly crumpets toasted in front of a fire with my fingers scorching because I haven't got a toasting fork.

In fact life isn't bad at all. Wish me luck, I'm going back in

The Real Me ?

2011-04-15T15:14:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago Twitter started a hash tag to raise awareness of Mental Health Issues. It was neatly listed as #WhatStigma.

What stigma indeed ? The world and his wife know about me, in my own self-indulgent way I have never hidden my problems, if anyone hangs around long enough I will self eviscerate, I have a tendency to over-dramatise, to "show off" as my mother used to say. I delight in making myself "look interesting" by telling tales of my bad behaviour or fragility and I think, when things aren't too grim I do it with some humour. It is a coping mechanism though, most of the time I'm scared, scared of doing something wrong *smile, laugh*, of being rejected *smile, laugh*, of fucking up in some way I don't even understand.

When I was in my teens the simple answer was a cocktail of Librium/Valium/Diazepam et al because if I was quiet I was OK and that seemed to be the accepted method of dealing with mental health issues. By the time I went to Uni I had learnt a bit more about coping with the black pit as it crept towards me, keep drinking, stop thinking and it seemed to work pretty well.

The the real world intervened, I graduated, got a job and despite ending a long term relationship I kept myself together fairly well, there were, of course, ups and downs, but they were manageable. The times that a good night out or a long chat with a friend would sort out, although the fear of "the pit" was always there. Then I met my husband in 1981, a man of infinite patience he worked hard to keep me on an even keel, coped with the ongoing symptoms of bulimia and picked up a lot of the scary credit card bills that my "feel better" shopping trips generated. I knew how lucky I was and how hard it was for him to understand me.

In 1989 I had our first child, I gave up work and became a mum, except I wasn't, I was numb, felt nothing and beat myself up about it. Every day I had to prove I could do everything, not as a competition with anyone else, but with myself. Fail and the doubt kicks in. After months of a bouncy high suddenly all you can do is cry, hide, hibernate. Weight loss, weight gain and self loathing, feeling you have failed everyone. Oh great, let's add post natal depression into the mix. I was beginning to feel like a text book. "Loons for Dummies". Second child, more pretence, more sobbing, more ranting, much, much more medication, the miracle cure all that is Prozac.

This became the norm for the next 15 years, in the end the mask became the real me and only if things became particularly stressed was there a public falling apart. Then I was given a diagnosis of cyclothymia and prescribed Venlafaxine which has been a huge help, my husband no longer wonders if he is coming home to Tigger or Eeyore, but that doesn't change what has happened. Inevitably the temper swings, introspection and self pity take their toll on relationships with friends and family, the risk taking behaviour can destroy trust and hope.

I had meant to publish this post a while ago, while the hash tag was in peoples' memory and with a positive and upbeat conclusion, but unfortunately I have been skirting depression again recently, glancing at it sideways, rolling my eyes like a worried racehorse. I think that I have hidden it reasonably well; in real life I have stayed at home as much as possible, smiling and socialising seems an effort. On Twitter how I feel is protected by constraints of space, it is much easier to be chatty, glib and give nothing away when you only have 140 characters to express yourself. Chat without repercussions, chat, that if you feel fragile you can drift away from without offending anyone. Eeyore is the racehorse's stable companion.

This week was National Depression Awareness Week and I wanted to finish this post, however incoherent, trying to explain what depression can do to me, to any of us, that suffer from this debilitating illness. Please stick with us, believe we can be good friends, partners and parents and please forgive us if the mask slips.

Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, "Why?" and sometimes he thought, "Wherefore?" and sometimes he thought, "Inasmuch as which?" and sometimes he didn't quite know what he was thinking about.

Shhhhh, don't say anything............

2011-03-28T11:43:00.000+01:00

but it might be spring.

I have just sat in the garden with a cup of coffee and found myself basking like a cat, there is sunshine. The sky may be that thin pale blue of an over washed shirt but there are no clouds. The swelling buds on the tree are reflecting the light, looking like candle flames and there are exciting fat leaves the colour of acidy green boiled sweets unfurling in the flowerpots.

Ah, it is definitely Spring. I have had to come back indoors. Next door are having building work done and they've just fired up the angle grinder, so much for the bucolic idyll.

Small Happinesses

2011-03-23T09:53:00.003Z

Sometimes the smallest thing can provide a ridiculous level of pleasure. Yesterday I bought myself a pie funnel, it is exactly the same as the one I used to play with in my Grandmother's kitchen 50 years ago, the one my mother had used when she was a child learning to cook. Sadly the original was lost when my grandparents house was cleared after their deaths. The memories weren't lost though and this morning I am lying in bed, catching up on my emails, making to-do lists and planning what pie to make.

Curled Up on the Sofa

2011-03-04T16:20:00.009Z

We are so lucky there are now many different ways to keep in touch with our friends and family. I know everyone still loves a "real letter" although I am a shamefully poor correspondent. "Thank you" letters were a purgatorial task for me and the once weekly, vetted, letter home from boarding school even worse. My poor mother, one scruffy page of Basildon Bond covered in unformed scrawl was the only way she had to piece together what my life was like. I'm pretty sure after seven years she knew that Wednesday was laundry day and I didn't like Latin. The telephone was only for high days or dire emergencies and you stood in a freezing corridor clutching your hoard of sixpenny pieces waiting for your turn, glaring at the Sixth former giggling with her boyfriend

Now there is email, instant messaging, Facebook, Twitter and Skype. Everyone is just a keyboard away. Whoomph, message gone, news exchanged. Taptaptap, tweet sent, im on Facebook which can lead to some hilarious misunderstandings because of the time lag in the conversation or lack of nuance, never mind the gut wrenching embarrassment of sending a message to the wrong person when you have multiple "chat windows" open. Go on, admit it, I'm not alone in that.

This morning though I had a phone call with a good friend I haven't spoken to for far too long and curled up in the corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee we chatted about big stuff, frivolous fun and everything in between. As we talked I realised there is nothing to beat the human voice, the joy of actually being able to hear someone's happiness or, sadly, pick up from tone of voice that all is not well. Conversations run on without interruption, tangents can be explored and most importantly human contact is made.

This post isn't sponsored by BT but if there is someone you haven't spoken to for a while, ring. Life really does feel better.

A New Discovery

2011-02-23T17:37:00.007Z

I am a masochist, I had no idea of this before today, but it seems I am. Why else would I go to Ikea at half term ? The ninth circle of hell where parents go to loose their children, little old ladies turn into attack dogs and I empty my bank account.

This was meant to be a very quick run through, with a strict list to be followed, no deviation allowed.

2 additional shelves for my Billy bookcase

1 desk lamp

A plant

A pot for the plant

A waste paper basket

Unfortunately it appears that Ikea have changed the size of their bookcases and of course I hadn't measured mine before I left because I knew that I needed the long ones. Except the long shelves are now 80cms, not 60cms so they don't fit. I feel this adds insult to injury and I indiscriminately called down the wrath of all the Nordic gods I could think of ....

(Research suggests Baldur would be most appropriate of these deities as he was killed with a spear of mistletoe.We all know it was actually a splinter from a flat back) ...... sadly he was no help at all as I tried to ram the shelf into the offending bookcase.

And the list ? Yes, I fell off the list. In my trolley I found mini Daim, meatballs and some glasses, but that's the law, isn't it ?

No tea lights though.

My New Hiding Place part II

2011-02-22T17:06:00.007Z

I am really very happy up here in my eyrie, four hours work done and I'm pleased with, ooh, 20 minutes of it.

(The 4 hours don't include the Ocado shop, the Clarks order for swaggery boots which will enable me to dress up as Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean", the long discussion with a friend about her wallpaper - the fact I haven't seen it didn't stop me giving a considered opinion - and watching the downfall of a dictator)

My New Hiding Place

2011-02-21T15:33:00.009Z

The last few months have, yet again, been spent thinking about writing, lots of thinking but not much doing and that is despite much encouragement from friends.

Finally though I think I'm ready for the off.

The house cleaning which I was using as an excuse... the I must just "wash the floor/chisel the grime from the skirting boards/remove the Miss Havisham like swathings from the cornices" tasks are at last completed. Now, I'm not suggesting we have reached hygienic levels of cleanliness, but if I said that Time Team would have cheerfully conducted a dig here you may get an idea of what I was dealing with. I have also redecorated both children's rooms, which translates as I chose the paint, made tea and generally offered unhelpful suggestions whilst husband and son did manly bonding over paintbrushes. I have designed a huge bookcase too, where I can rehome the tottering piles of books that adorn every flat surface in the house.

After all this sorting, a modern day visit to the Augean stables, my reward was to make myself a place to write, hidden away, quiet, no distractions and three flights of stairs away from the biscuits. There is a bookcase, my favourite pictures on the wall in front of me, my ipod and an ashtray.

Let writing commence

Great Works of Art Revisited Part II

2010-08-27T12:45:00.000+01:00

When I was at University I was never particularly fond of Dutch 17th Century art,

seen one ship in a storm seen 'em all...........

oh good, another bunch of flowers with creepy crawlies........,

but I always had a soft spot for their landscapes, broad sweeps of empty countryside with cows........... lots of cows. They appealed to my need for peace and silence and there was probably a subliminal influence from the industrial quantities of Babybel I ate in those days (good for hangovers)

Anyway, a few weeks ago, walking the dog I took this picture

but I saw this

(it's alright, I wasn't reading Veterinary Science)

My Return from the Wilderness

2010-08-24T14:33:00.005+01:00

It is 5 months since I last posted here. 5 months exactly and that is far too long to leave something I enjoy. I have no valid excuse either, if I were to put my bum on a chair and my fingers on the keyboard eventually something would appear, for heavens sake monkeys can write Shakespeare.

The trouble is I got spooked, since finishing work so "I could write" the blank page has hung over me, like a banner pointing out my pretentiousness. I got writer's block before I could even pretend to be a writer. It was easier to scurry off to daytime television and sock sorting, but finally the time has come to get my arse in gear. No longer can I pull a face like a horse in a thunderstorm, backing away, eyes rolling.

Empty screen you don't scare me....... Much.

I have lists of topics to ponder on, some may require thought, others are more Pooteresque ramblings, daughters, the fluff from ones navel found as you contemplate it and why there is never quite enough to knit a jumper, the loss of my Edinburgh virginity, trips to the great Wen. Even, if I'm feeling particularly brave, the joys of decorating with Geekdude or the fatal addiction of Twitter.

So here we go...... time to push the "Publish Post" button

Oh, and thanks to Doug Savage for the cartoon, he does some great stuff. http://www.savagechickens.com/

Technology and the Technofailyphobe

2010-03-25T10:21:00.001Z

I have never been somebody who copes comfortably with technology. I can do floaty fabric, splashy painty, random talky stuff, but when it comes down to the precision required by physics or computers I allow my brain to turn off. My husband is an engineer who understands numbers (even sums that use brackets) and our son is reading Computer Science at uni. I have used these facts as my excuse not to bother to learn more. (Also if I ask either child anything about the computer they rattle off the information so quickly and with so much flouncy eye-rolling somehow it just doesn't seem worth it)

Now I am the proud owner of an i-phone. The sheer excitement I feel about it is very uncool, but I actually feel as if I understand it, the whole thing is remarkably intuitive and other than one or two glitches (making the map huge and then not being able to shrink it again and telling it I didn't want it to talk to my i-pod ) I have found my way round it. For the first week I just looked at it askance and felt nervous but now I tweet, email, shop, watch films, read books and answer questions. Sometimes I even make phone calls. It has been a great ice breaker too, on my last 2 train journeys I have been given tutorials by the guys I was sitting next to. (Thank you Mr Gold Futures man and Mr Philosophy student man) Lots of help, albeit with a little metaphorical patting on the head, from people who used theirs in very different ways. Is there anything this little beauty can't do ?

My lovely, shiny new friend welcome to my life.

The Fragrant Mrs H

2010-03-10T11:48:00.004Z

This morning I had a shower, which, fortunately for those I live with, is not in itself worthy of comment but as I applied gels and unguents all guaranteed to make me younger, smoother and calmer I idly totalled the products.

Shampoo

Conditioner

Soap

Facial Exfoliant

Shower Gel

Body Moisturiser

Serum

Moisturiser

Frizz Ease

Deodorant

Perfume

Eleven products for heavens sake and I don't consider myself particularly high maintenance.

World Book Day

2010-03-04T10:42:00.007Z

This year I am on an economy drive. Having left work money for anything other than necessities is scarce. It would appear I consider books to be necessities. All the books in the picture above have been bought this year, along with half a dozen others that are already "visiting friends". Admittedly I was given book tokens as a leaving present by work and I allowed myself a treat with some of the money I got at Christmas but it is still a healthy haul for only 9 weeks.

At this rate the bookcases I am drawing up for the joiner aren't going to have space for long.

Postscript. The books currently on tour include "Kill-Grief" by Caroline Rance, "Blackmoor" by Edward Hogan, "Night Music" by JoJo Moyes and "Letters to Sister Benedicta" by Rose Tremain and then the postman has just brought me "Ottolenghi, the Cookbook", "Human Traces" by Sebastian Faulks, "Samuel Palmer, Vision and Landscape" and "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron.

Twitter, please stop recommending books

Today is less dynamic

2010-01-26T15:02:00.010Z

Well, after yesterday's flurry of excitement today has been rather more relaxed. Snoozing has taken place.

In my head I want to look like this

this

or even this

I suspect it was more like this................with drool

Displacement Activity

2010-01-25T16:00:00.002Z

Today was going to be the first day that I knuckled down and started to blog on a regular basis. Not regular as in once a month, or even once a week but words on a page (almost) every day.

So far I have :-

Twittered, a lot

Tidied my e.mails- all 11 pages in my in-box

Made bread - last done over a year ago

Hoovered behind the sofa - well I did do it in October when the new one was delivered

Updated my address book - using cards we received at Christmas 2008

Folded all the bedlinen - possibly never done before

Tidied my underwear drawer - mists of time

Cleared the lawn of dog poo - man's job

Ironed his shirts - it's 4 years since I last did any ironing

Transferred stuff from last years diary to this year's (and worried about that apostrophe)

Displacement activity ? Oh yes, but having made a start perhaps it will get easier.

If not, at least the house will be tidier.

The Eleventh Hour

2009-11-11T16:52:00.002Z

Another learning curve.

In Harrogate we have one of the largest army training colleges in the country, 16 and 17 year olds come to learn "how to be soldiers". For most of them it is the first time they are away from home and the first time they have money in their pockets. In the town we are always aware when they have pass out weekends. The centre is heaving with wiry youths with regulation hair cuts lurking around McDonalds and the night clubs. Some of them look utterly lost, others already have a swagger that is noticed, and admired, by the young ladies of North Yorkshire.

Today was different, they were in town for the Remembrance Ceremony. Not youths but young men, wearing immaculate uniforms, a huge pride in themselves and their futures. An awareness of what their predecessors had given and what they may be asked to give.
Any of the soldiers I saw today could be a casualty of war in the next twelve months. Let's pray not.

Please Hollywood, leave it alone.

2009-11-11T13:30:00.000Z

I was a "non-sporty" child, slightly nerdy, (which in the days before computers was unusual), solitary and cylindrical , I loved to read.

Many of the books that gave me pleasure then are still on my bookshelves and are regularly re-read. "Little Women", "The Hobbit", all the Narnia series, Jennings, Cynthia Harnett and Rosemary Sutcliffe, but the favourite of all was a battered copy of "The Little White Horse" by Elizabeth Goudge. It was my mothers, when she was young, a present from her Grandmother in 1946. A first edition no less, printed when all books were published under the "authorised economy standards". A book was a luxury in those days and treated with respect.

This copy is now shabby and faded, the pages have that soft powdery feel and it is well foxed, but none of that makes any difference to the story. A little girl, orphaned, is sent to stay with her Uncle in a beautiful but sad house. As she learns the story of her family and determines to solve what she sees as misunderstandings and injustices, we are drawn into the archetypal world of good and evil, joy and sadness. There is no escaping the fact it is a Christian allegory, although as I child I read it in blissful ignorance, it draws you in .

Then Hollywood got hold of it. I should be pleased. A book that is not high profile chosen for adaptation by a studio with thousands, millions, to spend on a production. But my heart sank, I was afraid they would not be able to retain a charm and gentleness the book has. There would be special effects, drama and derring do. There was; we had black leather clad baddies, more hippy crystals than you could shake a stick at (this was obviously the way to dilute the Christian element) a re-enactment of the Guinness advertisement with the Sea-horses and no geraniums. (When I was at the cinema I had the added bonus of a small child trying to remove my kidneys through my seatback with her feet, but I can't blame Hollywood for that.)

It wasn't my story anymore. It wasn't my childhood. They had made an entertaining film that all the children in the cinema, those not headfirst in their popcorn anyway, seemed to enjoy, but it was a lesson for me. If there is a book that you love, really love and the film studios get hold of it, be prepared for your illusions to be dashed.

No one can make better memories for you than you.

(This will not stop me going to see "Where The Wild Things Are", I never learn)

The Joy of... Twitter, (no beards, I promise)

2009-10-28T20:55:00.012Z

I have just had one of the most entertaining days that I can remember, all thanks to Twitter. I will be blogging at a later date, in a more serious way, about what there is to enjoy about the site, but this evening it is more a snap observation.

I travelled to London today to meet @SamAtRedmag for lunch. Previously we have only ever spoken through Twitter and of course I was nervous but it was as if I was meeting with a good friend who I have known for years. Off we went into the highways and byways of life, the universe and everything, children, jobs, partners, shoes, books were some of the things we chatted about. And Twitter, without which this meeting would never have happened. I had a wonderful time and I hope she did too. After lunch I trotted through Central London playing postman with books that are travelling around the country to new homes having been recommended on Twitter. (Something of a relief to unload the extra ballast, I was getting gibbon arms by then)

After that my feet (as I ever I was wearing totally unsuitable shoes) were screaming for mercy so I took a cab (yet more excitement, I'm in a cab, in London, I'm a grown up, I'm in London) to St Pancras where I met 3 more new friends at the St Pancras Champagne bar where we got giggly and irreverent. Thank you @suellewellyn, @mcdulwich and @misspinks for trailing across the city. I have been talking to all three since June this year and met them briefly when I was in London for the Plinth (of which more on another day, I promise) but today was the first time I was lucky enough to have an extended witter (rather than Twitter). It was marvellous fun, chatting to three witty, glamorous women . Such fun in fact that I very nearly missed my train. There was no way I could run in my shoes, so having made a dignified exit from the bar (smiling prettily at the delightful host), as soon as I was round the corner I kicked them off and sprinted, barefoot, to Kings Cross and threw myself back into reality.

So, here I am on the train, on the way back up North, having had a wonderful day and looking forward to meeting up again as soon as possible. National Express can look forward to an increase in their profit margins.

Afterword. Sunday, 1st November. Reading the above, I can tell just how much I enjoyed the champagne bar. The style is even more effusive than usual, but actually, I don't care. It was a day that was entertaining from start to finish. I had managed to leave my phone and make up at home having done a handbag swap, but I had my lap top so I could email and Twitter, don't panic, nothing is insurmountable. The beflustered, pink and piggy eyed woman was rescued with a complete makeover by the lovely Shanelle at Bobby Brown in Selfridges and I met some fascinating people. Not least the young lady on the train South who inspired me to go back to singing and the delightful gentleman on the evening train, a retired Professor of Economics with whom I had a conversation about Jesuit Art.

Life is for living, seize the day, step forward not back. All cheesy, all cliches, but Wednesday proved to me how true they are.

Oh, and the beard reference ? I am a child of my times, every time I see "Joy of..." I think "sex" and the hippy, freelurve illustrations in the first editions. Never play word association with me unless you can afford therapy.

Great Works of Art revisited. An occasional series

2009-08-22T12:55:00.004+01:00

Hard to spot the difference isn't it ?

With apologies to George Stubbs and the Tate Gallery

The guilt, the guilt

2009-08-22T12:50:00.009+01:00

I read a lot of wonderful blogs, many of which are written by women with young children detailing their lives and learning curves. Oh, the memories, the joy in their children. The rueful smiles and blissful hugs. They do instil in me a measure of guilt though. I have realised my parenting skills leave much to be desired and listed below are a few of my "less nurturing" moments from the last 20 years.

I plunge into sleep before they are home and if I do wake when they get back, I complain about being woken.

Any chocolate left in the kitchen is fair game.

I put their clothes in the washing machine when I want to, which is not necessarily when they need them.

When they were young it was not unknown for me to eat treats I had purchased for them 2 or 3 times before the children actually got them. Cadburys buttons a speciality.

I refused to write a essay for a module in GC's Graphics A level.

If they are home at suppertime I will feed them, if they aren't, I don't.

I always have used a "riper" vocabulary than perhaps I should in front of them, resulting in the family story of my small boy from back of car asking "so, which car are the dozy tossers in Mummy ?"

The tooth fairy forgot to visit on a regular basis.

I still have my school reports, not convinced I could put my hand to theirs.

I talk to their friends (big sin, big,big sin)

I did not take the day off work to accompany either child to get A' level or GCSE results.

I cheat at Jenga.

I have been known to sing (and horror of horrors dance) in public

When they were young I used to sleep with my fingers in my ears - allegedly. (I am sure the picture above was photo shopped)

And do you know ? Despite this benign neglect, (not once did I congratulate them for breathing, walking or even using a knife and fork) they have turned into jolly nice people.

Long walk and little things.

2009-08-16T16:26:00.022+01:00

There really was a feel of Autumn in the air today, leaves are beginning to turn, berries are showing colour and the fungi are more plentiful. Most of all there is that damp musty scent in the air, how are we heading into Autumn without a Summer ?

Digger for M

2009-08-16T14:30:00.004+01:00

I suspect Mr Spielberg is unlikely to loose sleep over this, I am not a natural cineaste however it does give an idea of the lollop in action. Not at full lick as he could not bring himself to leave "Master".

My wounded soldier. A cautionary tale

2009-08-12T14:31:00.001+01:00

As those of you on Twitter may remember we recently had an "eventful" evening in our household. Ever generous, Boy Child decided to provide me with yet more blog fodder by wrestling with the dog at 1am and ending up being scalped. The joys of A&E at 1.30am are many and varied I am sure, I am just too surly to appreciate them. For a beautiful piece on this you need to go to http://misswhistle.blogspot.com/2009/07/emergency-room.html

BC had come down from his room on a fridge raid, but stopped off to romp with the lunatic hound, one thing led to another and at 1am BC stumbled back upstairs,

"I'm bleeding". I have to admit my head went under the pillow for a moment, maybe I hadn't heard.

"Mu-um, there's quite a lot of blood" .........................and then the clincher.

"It's dripping on the floor"

By this time Silent One had woken up and gone to investigate. when he found a length of BC's scalp with hair attached (I kid you not) on the floor things became a little more urgent. The dog was beside himself with guilt and was prostrate on the floor, BC was being stoic and Silent One proved his worth by disposing of the evidence.

A&E was not too busy, but the nurse decided his scalp needed to be checked by plastics, so we were sent home with enough bandaging to do a remake of The Mummy and an invitation to return the next morning.

When seen by plastics the decision was made to do clever, gruesome embroidery which I shall tell you nothing about because it makes me feel quite poorly. Not normally squeamish in the slightest, but this was my baby . Then there followed multiple check ups to make sure no brains were escaping (how would they tell ?) and the healing was going well.

After two sets of antibiotics, sutures, clips and glue BC is mended although he will have a Heidleburg quality scar on his brow for the rest of his life. Here's hoping he can think of a story that involves beautiful maidens, swarthy villains and derring do. Being BC it will be a functional recitation of events.......................... if you want embellishment rely on his mother.

The joys of dog ownership

2009-08-08T16:46:00.006+01:00

So far today the dog has

Woken me at 5am to let me know someone walked past the house

Chewed a corner off the rug

Pushed me off the sofa

Eaten my breakfast when I turned away for half a moment

Stood between me and the television at a crucial moment of "Project Runway"

and

given me a huge halitosis "kiss"

He did however, apparently, return when called, when Silent One took him on a walk this morning and that alone redeems all the sins listed above.

The Hound of the Baskervilles runs wild and free

Now I am worried

2009-08-05T16:26:00.007+01:00

OK, so I stopped blogging for a bit when I suffered a loss of confidence, but today something happened that made me realise I had to stop worrying about how people interpret what you say and what you do, I stepped back and took a deep breath.

Six weeks ago I applied to go on the Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square, the interactive work initiated by artist Antony Gormley that he has called a "a living monument to humanity". Most people will know him for "The Angel of the North" or "Another Place" on Crosby beach. He is a master of accessible modern art.

I never expected to be selected, but the idea of "performing " has always been dear to me, my first dream job, at 5, was a bunny girl, by 16 I was already planning on being an opera singer, but life, parental input and sheer terror made me step back from the fantasy. It has lurked, deep inside though for years. To be on stage, judged only for what you perform, not who you are, to step forward into the dazzle of the proscenium arch and take a bow to a packed auditorium (saved from stage fright by the fact you are blind as a bat and can see no one) has been something I have often dreamt of.

It is now, officially, a nightmare. My name has come up. I am on the plinth. If I can do that, I can write a blog, no more excuses. After all, they say it's not over until the fat lady sings.

I'm off to practice my scales.

PS. So far reactions have been hugely positive from friends real and virtual, the Twitter band have been generous with encouragement.

Less affirmative from other quarters. The children "God, Mum, you are sooooo embarrassing" which was expected. My Mother "Oh, well you always were a bit of a show off"

Blog Fail

2009-07-15T17:39:00.003+01:00

I know I should write, I know I want to, but I have been smitten with a combination of laziness and fear. There are ideas ready to go onto the page, but everytime I start to write the "delete" button begins its siren call, I don't know where this has come from, or why, is this writers block ? How do you get writers block if you aren't a writer ? A complete lack of faith in myself has reappeared.

Bear with me, like Arnie, I will be back.

And for your information my keyboard is not mightier than his gun.

A certain irony

2009-07-06T11:06:00.002+01:00

My profile picture is "Marianna" a painting by J E Millais illustrating one of Tennyson's poems. All very romantic and thought provoking, the poor, abandoned woman, deserted by her fickle lover, look at all that lovely iconography waiting to be teased out

I always thought of it as "the woman with the bad back."

The picture on my title banner is a pair of shoes I bought some years ago from a dangerously addictive website http://www.italianheels.com/index_en.shtml . Not all of them are hooker shoes, but I would imagine a good few of them could be blamed for appointments with a chiropractor.

I like the connection, albeit subliminal.

Apres moi le deluge

2009-07-03T21:35:00.003+01:00

After a wonderful sunny week when I have sat in the garden tweeting and trying to turn my legs from milk white to Jersey cream, suddenly even the sunshade has had to multi-task. Monsoon conditions meant Harrogate was twinned with Hyderabad.

It is Wimbledon, what did I expect ?

Seventh Week, The Sub-Continent

2009-07-03T19:06:00.002+01:00

The recent weather with its combination of high temperature, bright sun and then torrential rain has made me think of India, or rather how I believe India to be. My impressions were formed over the years by books, films and the abiding love Britain has for the sub-continent, even if it had made the country its victim.

The integration of Indian culture in Britain has been going on since the 1840's. Jane Austen writing of the thrill of a Kashmir shawl or new muslins, curries in all their permutations, kedgeree, mulligatawny soup. IPA, gin and tonic. Yoga, the Beatles and the Maharishi, the vibrancy of Belgrave Road in Leicester or shopping at "The Bombay Stores" in Bradford. We are lucky to have a connection with this beautiful country.

What surprised me was what a range of books I had, from the teenage romance (Who didn't love "Far Pavilions" ?) through to the wistful art of Rohinton Mistry. The wild and definitely non pc romps of "Flashman" and the clear observation of William Dalrymple. This huge and diverse country has inspired so many authors, and each creates a different view.

Others who fell under the spell include E M Forster, Colin Thurbron, Greg Roberts and Rudyard Kipling, while their own culture gave us the Mahabarata, the Kama Sutra, Vikram Seth, Arundhati Roy, Salman Rushdie, Aravind Adiga and Tagore the Nobel prize winning poet. It is a rich and exciting heritage. Do not ignore it.

Mark Twain sums it up far better than I ever could

The land of dreams and romance, of fabulous wealth and fabulous poverty, of splendour and rags, of palaces and hovels, of famine and pestilence, of genii and giants and Aladdin lamps, of tigers and elephants, the cobra and the jungle, the country of hundred nations and a hundred tongues, of a thousand religions and two million gods, cradle of the human race, birthplace of human speech, mother of history, grandmother of legend, great-grandmother of traditions, the one sole country under the sun that is endowed with an imperishable interest for alien prince and alien peasant, for lettered and ignorant, wise and fool, rich and poor, bond and free, the one land that all men desire to see.

Full Volume

2009-07-03T08:15:00.006+01:00

We live in a three storey Victorian house with the humans using the first two floors and the young colonising the top, so for ease of communication we bought one of those phone systems that can also be used for internal calls. Five handsets, all over the place, but two clearly defined for BC and GC.

BC has lost his handset, we know it has to be in there somewhere. Under the heaps of "War Hammer", clothing, bedding, books and uni notes there is a phone. Trouble is, it is no longer charged ("not sure where the stand is") so we can't take the easy way out, hard work is going to be involved. Then, last night, to add insult to injury BC wandered through and in the most casual of tones enquired if we had seen his mobile which, in moments of duress, has been used as a substitute.

Now I do appreciate, in the scheme of things, this isn't really a problem. We have stairs and voices, communication is not impossible, but, inevitably voices will be raised to do this, shoutiness will be employed. Messages will be ignored, accusations will trickle back and forth.

Situation normal

Over-medicated

2009-06-22T09:07:00.003+01:00

I love Monday mornings.

Radical concept I know and one that is bound to upset St Bob, but it's true. No work until 12.30, time to come to my senses gently, drink coffee, catch up on blogs I read, quick glance at Twitter. Then, maybe, have a coffee. A bit of light housework, you know, where you straighten a couple of heaps, pack the dishwasher and hang up coats. Have a coffee.

Enjoy a shower, fiddle about with hair, have a coffee, check Twitter (where are you all ?) Oh, hang on, better iron a shirt. Nip to the butchers to get the poor dog a bone. Have a coffee.

By midday I have decided I hate work, I can't cope, I'm too stressed and I feel slightly sick. Despite saying I was giving up I light a cigarette to have with my last cup of coffee.

I'm shaking.

It's like first day back at school I'm so twitchy.

Is work really that bad ?

Nope, work is fine.

Suspect the caffeine hit may be to blame though.

The Inbetweeners

2009-06-19T19:48:00.006+01:00

The Inbetweeners is a truly vulgar, yet wonderful comedy on Channel 4 that follows the lives of four young men in their final year at school. It has all the stereotypes, a geeky one, who carries the burden of being posh, a sweet one, a dim sporty one and the little horny one. There is a Mum everyone fancies (except her son, thank God, Channel 4 not 5), a bullying teacher and "the first car". The various mishaps they encounter are exactly those that we remember ourselves and are reliving with our own pet teenagers.

I feel quite "young and hangin with the kids" because I found the programme all by myself, probably during a late night Twitter and rapidly decided it was worth watching every week. I told the young about it, I recommended it to my friends, (in the context of a Natural History programme,) and every time we met up we would talk about which of us remembered doing what, whilst worrying if our children were doing it now.

Then, oh then, the rumour started. GirlChild came home from work on Tuesday. "The guys from "The Inbetweeners" are coming to Revolution on Thursday, don't even think about going"

I pretended I hadn't heard and rang bestest friend to tell her. We talked about what we might wear, mutton, lamb, mutton, lamb ? Could we go very Mumsy as a "humorous" yet ironic take on our age ?

It was all in vain, respective daughters got first dibs, our night out was vetoed, we were the new inbetweeners.

They think we are old, we know we aren't

Call me Fagin

2009-06-12T15:59:00.006+01:00

More evidence of bad motheritis and although I suspect many of us are guilty of this sin, not many of us (possibly just me) are foolish enough to announce it in a public forum.

Cast your mind back to times spent with young male students, (go on, you know you can if you try, the therapy won't be too bad.) and remember the laundry basket.

There seem to be two types of YMS, the "I looked at it so it needs washing again" or the "I have peeled it off and it's standing in the corner over there" variety, both generate vast, daunting heaps of washing. Boy child is a member of the former group.

The following is a direct reporting of a conversation that took place over three days on his return from uni.

"Have I got your washing yet ?"

"Oh, er, right, er, what ?"

"Washing"

"Washing ?"

"That stuff on your floor covering the carpet"

"Oh, yeah"

"Well can I have it please ? I want to get it going"

"Ooh, washing, ok, er what wants washing ?"

Things are becoming a little terse by now

"Bedding, clothes, more clothes possibly. I'm not actually certain BC as it is your washing, oh and don't forget to check your pockets"

"Pockets, why ?"

"Because the best way to ruin a memory stick is for it to go through the machine, and if I find any money it is mine" (I find it best to try and speak his language)

"Oh, K"

Time passes, dynasties fall, Big Brother is cancelled.

"Have I got your washing BC ?"

"Now ?"

"FFS BC, yes now, and check your pockets !"

Like a slow moving torrent the clothes made their way downstairs

"Thanks BC, so, everything here ?"

"Er, yeah, well I don't know, guess so"

"Have you checked your pockets"

"Oh God Mum you do go on......"

"So, you have checked ?"

And that is how I came to be in possession of £15.

Flaming June....I think not.

2009-06-10T17:50:00.003+01:00

So, if I can't go and sit in the garden, the garden will have to come to me.

Mother: Job description: Psychic Powers an Advantage

2009-06-07T14:47:00.006+01:00

I have been ticked off. Girlchild is currently working fairly random hours, if Sainsburys require some overtime she will step up and I admire her for this, although I have noticed that immediate financial gain seems to be a far higher motivation than the fact exam revision will enhance results

All this overtime makes her attendance at mealtimes variable, so I have been doing food for us and allowing her to snackerel when she gets home. Theoretically not a problem, although I question the nutritional value of anything she makes herself. Sainsburys value pack flavoured noodles and 2 rolo puddings would not receive the approval of the food Tsar.

Anyway, this evening she got in at about 10.30pm.

"What can I have for supper Mum ?"

"Didn't you get anything at work ?"

"No, I couldn't see anything I fancied"

(This is a fairly large Sainsburys, my heart sank)

"Eeermm what would you like ?"

"I don't know"

"Well, there's some chicken, or I could do scrambled egg, an omelette ?"

"No, you know I don't like eggs"

"There are some fishcakes in the freezer"

"No, don't feel like that"

I'm becoming slightly tetchy by now

"Toast, cereal, bacon sandwich, cheesy toast, pasta with smoked salmon ?"

"No"

"Well, what would you like ?"

"I don't know..........why don't you ever buy something I want ?"

"I don't know GC, I am perplexed that I cannot find things you would enjoy, when you don't know what they are yourself........................"

There was a tut and a flounce and she was gone.

I am a bad mother, I have allowed my psychic powers to fall by the wayside. I blame Twitter.

I have never owned a baseball cap, but I have read Jenny Joseph

2009-06-06T14:22:00.024+01:00

Recently on Twitter there has been much talk of hats and whether they are life enhancing or a sheer embarrassment. I tend to the former school of thought, being of an extravagant nature and decided to post on hats I have known.

The first hat I remember was a dark green beret with a white silky tassel on top, I loved the tassel with a passion (the inner burlesque already making itself known) as it made playing horses much easier, providing a tail for frisking.

Then at boarding school we wore a boater, which we knew as a "board". Worn at a clearly prescribed angle there would be prefects outside church knocking it to the horizontal, in case any of us were either playing angels with it tipped back like a halo or with it tiptilted rakishly over one eye. At the end of our seven years servitude I laid mine down on the High Street and waited for a vehicle to crush it to oblivion. It was a long wait, this was rural Staffordshire.
When I got into the senior school I became a member of the school choir so also got to wear this, not actually a hat, but certainly a head covering. The smell of ironed linen can still make me want to burst into song.

Having left school I went to art college and afterwards on to uni, where I went through a range of eccentric home made numbers usually involving feathers, ribbons, veiling and massive embarrassment for the then boyfriend. Although none of these have survived the march of time they are remembered with great affection. They tended to look very similar to this. They were worn in public. I suspect I was laughed at but I was an art student, we have a tradition to maintain

From Uni to work, there had to be a radical rethink, I wanted to be a grown up, so not only did I get a camel coat but sensible hats, fedora, panama and a rather neat little number with a cockade of cocks feathers. What I hadn't taken in to account was that no one wore hats, so even sensible ones stood out. I was working on a huge engineering site in a predominantly male environment and I became known as "Hats" by the guys on the shop floor, who would make me alternative headgear with bubble wrap and card. Yes, I did wear them, it would have been bad manners not to and I had my reputation for "quirkiness" to live up to. (I was even wearing one when I met my husband, which should have warned him).

Through the 80's with both weddings and the New Romantics there were splendid opportunities to go for the mushroom look. I know stylists say that if you are short you should not wear big hats, but I decided I knew better. Looking back I realise I didn't.

Strangely, when I got married I lost my nerve and rather than go for a veiled Victorian top hat (probably with sequins) which was my original fantasy I had a tiny little circlet of flowers from John Lewis, go figure. (I have just removed the wedding photograph from its frame to scan on, so the strange ectoplasmic effect is actually where it has faded, rather than a visit from Miss Haversham. )

As time passed I acquired a veiled tricorn that I wore in Venice, with some aplomb, at the Carnevale and with less success in Harrogate, the strange take on a medieval Turkish helmet made in velvet that I bought in Salzburg - look it has a tassel..... the Venetian Gondolieri hat my father bought me, a huge fur thing that was meant to make me feel like Anna Karenina but actually just looked as if an absent minded cat had gone to sleep on my head, a stetson from Texas - yeehaw, an Aussie drovers hat, and now, the hat to end all hats.

The Russian Officers hat which I will wear as I plan world domination.

Once I have succeeded in my evil plans I think I will go for this.

Week Six. Friends with Keats, Mae West and Robbie Williams*

2009-05-29T18:28:00.002+01:00

And in the manner of the late lamented Robert Robinson, "Can you see a link ? Thats right, well done family Fotherington-Thomas, it is angels"

Not the soppy, wandering around after you doing good stuff, angels that the internet and crystal huggers seem to be rather fond of these days but spirits, metaphorical or actual. Vengeful, guiding or just plain "I might have drink too much because I thought I saw...." angels.

The relationship between humanity and spiritual beings has been a continuing theme since time began. Such a useful way to explain the inexplicable and gives the author the opportunity either to write fantastical stories or to explore the inner workings of the human mind.

Two of my favourite books are in this weeks heap. "The Vintners Luck" by Elizabeth Knox and "Knowledge of Angels" by Jill Paton Walsh, read them, please, they are wonderful.

And before anyone asks, yes I do own "Angels and Demons" and it is not from shame that it does not appear above, just that the house is so untidy I can't find it.

*I'm no angel, but I've spread my wings a bit. ~Mae West
Philosophy will clip an angel's wings. ~John Keats
I'm loving angels instead ~ Robbie Williams

The Joys of Self-awareness

2009-05-28T09:38:00.003+01:00

Yesterday I went to Sainsburys to hand over a large chunk of money buying food to nurture my family. (A fair amount of which will no doubt be spurned, because, "there isn't an A in the month, you know I don't like that anymore, I don't eat anything yellow" etc, etc)

Just as I left the building to wrestle the bags into the boot I got a text from Girlchild requesting I purchase lots of Frijj Chocolate Brownie flavour milk as it was on special offer (GC works in Sainsburys and was going to be there herself about 4 hours later ) I decided not to bother even though she had, very kindly, explained how it would protect her from osteoporosis.

On my return home I was greeted by Girlchild and another Victoria Sponge. It looked heavenly, she has recently discovered a real talent for baking, and I began to fantasise about a slice of cake and cup of coffee.

"Where's the Frijj Mum ?"

"Oh, sorry, couldn't face going back in, can you get them when you're at work ?"

"No, no you know I can't, you know there's nowhere to put it, the shop will be shut when I finish........... white noise.......... high pitched squeaking............. right then, you can't have cake !"

"Errr OK, er sorry"

The cake continued to make it's siren call, but I ignored it, knowing the retribution would be long, loud and likely to result in "things being said....."

This morning Girlchild wandered in to see me and passed comment on the fact I had not eaten cake,

"No, you told me I couldn't"

"Oh, no it would have been fine........."

"Well, I just didn't want to make you cross"

"Cross ?"

"You can be a bit horrid sometimes ?"

"Of course I'm horrid - I'm an 18 year old girl"

Self-awareness on that scale I think guarantees a life that will be fully within her control.

Gwinnie style snifflings

2009-05-20T18:45:00.009+01:00

I was thrilled to be given this award recently by Cassandra Castle, writer of the blog "Jacob Wrestling". Not because it features shoes and sweariness, both of which figure regularly in my life, but because it was given by Cassandra, a writer and a woman I hold in high regard.

The award exists to be passed on (as they all should) so below are the rules:

1. You have to pass it on to 5 other fabulous blogs in a post.

2. You have to list 5 of your fabulous addictions in the post.

3. You must copy and paste the rules and the instructions below in the post.

Instructions: On your post of receiving this award, make sure you include the person that gave you the award and link it back to them. When you post your five winners, make sure you link them as well. To add the award to your post, simply right-click, save image, then “add image” it in your post as a picture so your winners can save it as well. To add it to your sidebar, add the “picture” widget. Also, don’t forget to let your winners know they won an award from you by emailing them or leaving a comment on their blog.

Right, obsessions.......

Shoes, in almost all shapes, colours and heights. Prices, well that's another story. I am tempted to sin so often but fortunately the memories of my bank manager stop me sometimes. Why do I like shoes ? For a lot of my working life I have had to present a corporate image, which often is not really who I am, hence "quirky" "extravagant" "eccentric" shoes. They are there to remind me of the true TR. (Also, even if I put on weight, my shoes still fit !)

Weekend Newspapers There is no better way to fritter away a weekend than lolling on the sofa with a selection of newsprint. I know you can read it all online, but it is just not the same as real hard copy. The papers are filleted for easy reference, Business, gone. Motoring, gone. Sport, gone. Money, don't make me laugh. Then the other sections are mulled over, making notes and tearing out little bits of information that "might be useful - one day". Finally on to the magazines for the pretty pictures and fantasy of other peoples lives. Heaven.

Food and cooking for friends. I love to cook, I love to eat, if there was ever proof of the axiom you can't have a thin chef I am that proof. Food, like sex, can be so many things, comforting, exciting, on occasions dull but always a perfect way to show somebody you care about them.

Art Galleries The peace and quiet of an art gallery, the opportunity to revisit old friends, to challenge yourself with new work, the wonderful shops where I have spent far too much money over the years. The excitement of a new catalogue at a well curated exhibition.

OK ,trailing around the Louvre being slowly pummeled to death by surly school trips can take the edge off a bit, but to get a bench in front of a wonderful Botticelli or a favourite Turner makes it all worthwhile. I can also confirm that art galleries are a wonderful place for a little light flirting, eyes meeting as you stand in front of a picture, the chance to make a few intelligent bon mots, the meeting of like minds. Who needs a bar when you've got the Bargello ?

My children To be brutally honest a few years ago they may not have figured in this list, which is, of course, far more a reflection of me than them. Now though, they are a real passion. Hopefully not on the way of a helicopter parent but because I find them funny, challenging, entertaining and it is such a joy to see them beginning to live their lives as individuals. What a shame I didn't find out until now.

and now I pass on this award to 5 of my favourite bloggers, and my apologies to anyone who has already received this particular accolade, but remember, you can never have too much of a good thing.

http://justme-randomramblings.blogspot.com/ because Twitter just isn't enough

http://katyboo1.wordpress.com/ I suspect she has, deservedly, received every award in the blogosphere, but I know there will be deep and simmering obsessions that should be exposed

http://mmeguillotine.blogspot.com/ Because she needs distracting at the moment, writes beautifully and will forgive me my first addiction

http://razorkitty.blogspot.com/ to see if "The Apprentice" counts as an obsession

http://itsmostlyaboutme.blogspot.com/ because she needs to have fun writing, now her exams are over

A young man and another moment of embarrassment

2009-05-09T18:51:00.008+01:00

Readers may I introduce you to a good friend of mine ?

Reader, Mr Albrecht Durer,

Albrecht ... the readers.

I have previously blogged on my love of the Pre Raphaelites and how they, unwittingly, steered me into a degree in Art History, but this gentleman was my first love.

It is a self portrait by Albrecht Durer, a German artist of the Late 15th/early 16th Century probably best known for his engravings. "Melancholia I" and "The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse" and his watercolours, "Praying Hands" and "The Hare" but he was also a jeweller, a mathematician and a writer. A Catholic, but a Catholic who read and discussed Reformation works by writers such as Erasmus and Luther. Not always the best career move in those days, but he was among the great Renaissance men, who thought, researched and travelled to broaden their minds. A true polymath

Durer painted and drew self-portraits throughout his life, with one of the earliest dating from 1484 when he was a boy of 13. The picture above was painted in 1498, a handsome, confident and wealthy young man, who looks out of the picture directly into your eyes "look at me, I have arrived". his confidence, his arrogance enchanted me.

Anyway, years passed and I was in Madrid for 4 days whilst my husband was at a conference. First port of call (after a brief detour into El Corte Ingles) was The Prado, Spains National Gallery. It is packed with amazing art, the semi pornographic paintings by Titian for Phillip II, the tortured nightmares of Goya and the knowing observations of Velasquez. I was in seventh heaven wandering from room to room, then, with no warning, on the far wall of a small room in the basement was "my boy".

It was a remarkable moment and I am embarrassed to admit I burst into tears, much to the discomfiture of the custodian sitting there, who had probably imagined a quiet and uninterrupted afternoon enjoying a post prandial snooze. He muttered darkly into his lapel, requesting back up, just in case I had evil designs on his charge, his eyes flickering towards the mad woman who was by then sniffling and smearing mascara around her face. So much for the English stiff upper lip. Eventually I pulled myself together and summoning a ghastly combination of Spanish, Italian and English tried to explain what had happened. His face cleared "Senora, todas las mujeres inglesas tienen gusto de hombres extranjeros"*

The three paintings below are other gentlemen who's awareness of their own worth and strength of character shine out of the canvas, enjoy them.

* apologies to Spanish speaker I cannot promise the accuracy of my translation, and for non Spanish speakers "all English women like foreign men"

Proof I lie...... the garden is green

2009-05-08T20:26:00.023+01:00

Spring has sprung the grass is riz and despite my moanings of three days ago things are growing and flowering in the garden. The Clematis Montana has gone mad, but when it's in flower it is a joy. I am pleased with the white bluebells and Geranium Phaeum together, and all the bulbs are flowering. The tulips in particular have been lovely.

The pots on the yard are beginning to fill out,narcissi on the back door step, lilies, a fig, lilac, hostas and a load of herbs all trying to convince me summer is on the way. So far the slugs haven't found the hostas or the courgettes. I won't hold my breath.

The fountain is running again now, but what is idyllic plashing at 7pm in the sunshine becomes an intrusive torrent at 5am. That won't be a problem for long, it will seize up in the next 3 days, and I'm not cleaning it out. Nope, not me.
Palms and eucalyptus, can I fool myself I'm somewhere warm ? Unlikely, but it's a nice place to escape to with a glass of wine and a book. There's not much more you can ask for in a garden is there ?

Finally, the ridiculously overdressed Acer. When the clematis is in flower this is what happens, however, as well as the floral decoration, the tree is festooned with lights, bells and mini disco balls. Not all gardening is tasteful and we are a gnome free zone.

Week Five. Mrs and Mrs.

2009-05-08T18:24:00.009+01:00

I'm not getting as much reading done as I would like at the moment, so I have decided to do some lists by theme. (Themes of course, mean I can play with cheesy "stage sets" too, so indulge me, the frustrated stylist.) This week, wives, the missus, her indoors.

Now I realise this is by no means an exhaustive selection. Noted by their absence are Mrs Dalloway, Mrs Pettigrew, Mrs Beeton and Mrs Pepperpot, all somewhere about the house but pleading alternative engagements.

Starting from the top we have

Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell. One of the books I was force fed at O'level and therefore completely lost any interest for me, only to return some years later and discover she has the same eye for detail and dry wit you would expect of Austen. Yes, there are a lot of words but each and every one is right. Enjoying Gaskell ? I must be a grown up.

Mrs Shakespeare by Robert Nye. A charming, slim book that wears its skill lightly. An acerbic yet entertaining view of life as the wife of the bard (Marilyn had it easy with Arthur by comparison), which yet again, like so much good fiction, educates as it entertains.

An Unequal Marriage by Emma Tennant. Pride and Prejudice the sequel. Suspect a purchase made when needing a little undemanding writing. It did the job, but a bit like Carnation and cream, which serve the same purpose but are totally different, it left me wanting a good helping of Austen.

The Journal of Mrs Pepys by Sara George. A lovely book. Although writing about life in the 17C she does it in way that makes you think of your own relationships and of the way things have changed for women. It is by no means a feminist polemic, but it certainly helps enhance an awareness of our good fortune being intelligent and independant women in the 20C.

The Kitchen God's Wife by Amy Tan. Story telling at its best, you are hauled into the lives of women, who although from the same culture have widely differing views of life. The way they resolve these differences and achieve an acceptance if not understanding is wonderfully described. Tan writes so sympathetically you actually care about all the protagonists, irrespective of their beliefs and choices.

The Pilots Wife by Anita Shreve. Read this so long ago that I barely remember the plot line, I know I enjoyed it and found it rather sad. More than that I cannot say. This is not in any way a criticism, more a reflection on my own goldfish brain.

The Bondage of Love by Molly Lefebure A study of the life of Mary Shelley. I know nothing about it, I own it, I may read it one day, otherwise I shall have to hope the facts slink in while I'm sleeping.

But the title seemed perfect for the list, whichever way you look at it, marriage has ties

Musings on horticulture

2009-05-06T15:18:00.005+01:00

I had an idea for a different post, but by the time I returned from a gentle meander around home turf all such thoughts had disappeared. It is as if we have been napalmed, hit with agent Orange and deforested for the benefit of MacDonalds all at the same time.

The dog has executed a redesign. His name is not, and never will be,Capability Brown. There is some grass remaining, but only to act as a delicate accent around each lovingly crafted hole and the fence is but a faint memory.

I have previously likened the garden to a re-enactment of Ypres, but this is beyond all imagining. Obviously there is something fascinating going on in the antipodes and the dog plans on getting there, this led to my temper not improving due to "depth testing" several of the holes that were cunningly disguised in the way of a comb over. Digger (yes, I know it's our own fault calling him Digory) sat watching and smiling. There is work to be done, and I know just the man to do it.

Please don't misunderstand me, I do not aspire to Chelsea and nor has it ever been a garden of "park planting" with lobelia neatly in rows behind marigolds and in front of salvia. It is a garden for sitting in, or playing in. Once I had dreams of croquet - the most civilised of mortal combats - but with these holes it is going to have to be extreme snooker. There has always been an element of randomness and over dense planting, if I like something it is planted, if it thrives so much the better. It is a little disconcerting though how many of those plants that flourish are on the list of deadly dangers. Euphorbia ? check, Foxglove ? check, Laburnum ? check, Castor Oil plant ? check. (Fortunately my children would not eat anything green so they were saved from A&E by pickiness.)

In light of todays discoveries I will have to accept I will never be the new Vita Sackville West but I might get to try out as Wilfred Owen. I'm off to sit in a hole with my Moleskine and a pencil.

Tagged by Potty Mummy, KatyBoo and Supply&Demand

2009-05-02T14:14:00.013+01:00

Are memes the blogger equivalent of buses ? Nothing for months and then.... three invitations at the same time. I have to thank "Potty Mummy", KatyBoo (welcome back, you were sorely missed and Katherine of "Supply and Demands".
As the meme were very similar I have filleted out the individual questions from each donor and added them at the end of the original 18, I therefore apologise in advance as you have extra answers to plough through. I am quite certain I am nowhere near as fascinating to the world out there as I am to myself - navel gazing a speciality.

1. What are your current obsessions?
Twittering, an encyclopedia written by surrealists.
The thought of chocolate - post Easter gorging has resulted in a ban on the luscious, voluptous, tempting, unctuous......stop it now

and the ongoing options
books
shoes and
Radio 4

2. Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?
Shamefully, my wonderful aubergine silky towelling dressing gown from the White Company, known in the family as "The Yoda Robe". I hide in this even when clothed, it is my comfort blanket and we live in an old house with many draughts.

3. What's for dinner?
Uncertain, I haven't looked in the fridge. Either stir fry or something involving fish, as I got quite excited about sea bream yesterday watching "Great British Menu"

4. Last thing you bought?
Half of Sainsburys yesterday in the real world and just one or two (honest) books from Amazon, online

5. What are you listening to?
Muse initially, but it has segued into Leonard Cohen

6. If you were a god/goddess who would you be?
Pre-acknowledged goddess would have to be Eris goddess of Chaos, but were I to create my appropriate deity she would be goddess of proscrastination and indecision. Ditheria

7. Favourite holiday spots?
Anywhere in Italy, excluding most of the airports, obviously

8. Reading right now?
Cheri by Collette

9. Four words to describe yourself;
Over excited labrador puppy

10. Guilty pleasure?
I am not sure any pleasure should be guilty provided no one is hurt. Oh, hang on "Neighbours"

11. Who or what makes you laugh until you’re weak?
Eddie Izzard
Many bloggers but especially Belgium Waffling whose skills I suspect are the result of a Faustian pact made with the Holy Tortoise and KatyBoo who is the new Shakespure, Shikspeer, Shayks.... oh I give up (and apologise to Caryl Brahms and S J Simon)

12. Favourite spring thing to do?
Pottering in the garden, planning, waiting for the wisteria to come out

13. Planning to travel to next?
York, if that counts as travel, otherwise I have a wishlist of London, Paris, Italy and New York but they are all a bit "See what happens"

14. Best thing you ate or drank lately?
First English asparagus with butter followed by ripe figs

15. When did you last get tipsy?
Last week - "but it wasn't my fault M'Lud, she made me" points accusing finger at RazorKitty

16. Favourite ever film?
Now this was difficult, possibly "Perfume" or "Some Like it Hot".

17. Care to share some wisdom?
If I had any, do you think I could afford to share ? Erm, however scared you are about something, plunge in, the worst that can happen is you will be proved right, and that in itself is a result.

18. Which book/play would you like to be a character in and why ?
Beatrice in "Much Ado About Nothing", clever and witty yet compassionate . Hides her fear with bravura but has the grace to acknowledge her mistakes.

The next questions are those from KatyBoo and Katherine that did not appear in the previous 18

KB1. Do you have any weird phobias?
Really don't like little fish in aquaria - the way they shimmer about makes me itch

KB2. Favourite song?
To sing - Zadok the Priest by Handel
Bring Me to Life by Evanescence
Vivaldi's Gloria
To listen to - Lou Read Perfect Day
Led Zeppelin Stairway to Heaven
and if I need a good cathartic sob nothing beats Allegri's Miserere

KB3. What’s your favourite meal you make without sticking to a recipe?
Almost anything with pasta, depending on season and what's available. The chameleon of the culinary world.

KB4. Who would play you in a movie of your life?
If it was for attitude they'd have to get Christian Bale in drag, logically I imagine Victoria Wood or Imelda Staunton would get it, in my fantasy Sarah Bernhardt.

KB5. Facebook or Twitter?
Both, but Twitter has my attention as more real time. Facebook is useful as a diary but is much less of a witty "salon"

KB6. What is your favourite word?
Hug - onamatopoeia of the very best

S&D1. Who is your favourite male celebrity at the moment?
Edward Norton, although the chap playing Cheri could be a runner.

S&D2. Wow! How Do You stay looking so young? Share your secret!
I ignore the teenagers

S&D3. If you could change anything in your life so far, what would it be?
Allowed myself the confidence to enjoy being me, carpe diem.

Rules of the meme. Respond and rework. Answer questions on your own blog. Replace one question. Add one question. Tag 8 people.
Not wanting to run the risk of double tagging anyone, I am leaving this open, anyone want to give it a go ? There's a lovely pick and mix to play with.

Week Four. Grey matter unchallenged

2009-04-29T12:23:00.009+01:00

Oh, The Moomins, how I love The Moomins. I treated myself to one of the comic strip compilations last weekend. Just reading it is enough to make me feel happy and I keep getting the urge to get my crayons and colour in the pictures. Crayoning (tongue between teeth, nose on the paper - remember that ?) has to be one of lifes' great escapes.

My mother lent me The Sisters who would be Queen by Leanda de Lisle about the machinations of the Tudor court. Women were pawns, even the best educated and most independant, in a game played by their male relations. I am looking forward to this, probably reading it at the same time that I watch David Starkey analysing Henry VIII. (Therefore not getting the best of either but needs must)

Brat Farrar by Josephine Tey. Another recommendation from Lucy Fishwife. Only started it this morning, but has every chance of being a cracking read. If you enjoy mentally casting films this would be a great book to do. The character development and their physical appearance are clearly described but still there is space for your own imagination. Better yet, Josephine Tey left her estate to the National Trust so they get all profits from every book sold, a new interpretation of a novel for the beach ?

Such a Long Journey by Rohnton Mistry. A slow gentle progression, like unravelling knitting, but there is an sad and sinister undercurrent, each page you turn there is the feeling "something bad is going to happen, is it now ? Please don't let it be now." You yearn for peace for the family. You know it isn't going to happen.

Poppyland by Raffaela Barker. The first books of hers that I read seemed like grown up chick lit (which is not meant to sound derogatory, we all need to fall into easy reading sometimes) but this book seems much bleaker. Her early books felt like the Norfolk where you go on holiday, bright and fun, this one is more like Norfolk in early Spring, bleak and although you hope things will cheer up, you are not certain they will. Lovely descriptions and some wonderful observations on the worst elements of love.

And these ? These are what I am meant to be reading. I think it is going to have to be revision by osmosis.

Arms and the Maiden

2009-04-29T12:23:00.006+01:00

Yes, I know I am mixing my dramatic references, but after much chewing of my pen I really couldn't think of what else to call this post.

Here, in all its glory, is girlchilds' tattoo

I was given daily updates on the state of healing, tonality and discomfort and did look through squinty eyes (I'm not not good with needles) but now it is fully healed and a sheeny shiny proof of her independance so I was allowed to photograph it. I do like it a lot and was not overly surprised to be told there would be additions to this work of art. Apparently it is going to be surrounded with a garland of roses.

That was when it all went horribly wrong, I still haven't learnt to keep my mouth shut. (after umpty years of colossal faux pas, and an MA in "Teenagers; the inadvertant insulting of a tender lifeform") She did not take kindly to my throw away comment "Gosh, so similar to the painting on a narrow boat then ?" Ooops.

Suggestions as to salvage our relationship would be gratefully received.

At risk of disappointing my regular readers

2009-04-22T20:53:00.003+01:00

who know I have gloom and despondancy, with a subset of whinging hard wired into my make-up

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJpQJWpVJds&feature=related

Because it is.

Brain Food. Week 3

2009-04-22T18:53:00.007+01:00

OK, week 3 and a good selection of old favourites and excitement that arrived today.

"The Other Queen" by Phillippa Gregory, although I have a rather snobbish approach to books with "gold on the cover", this is very good. Romps along and even though it is set in a period I still read around since doing Tudor History A'level, there is a lot of stuff that I didn't know. If only all text books could be this entertaining

"Brat Farrer" by Josephine Tey, a recommendation from LucyFishwife as a follow on, in style and period, to "Dora Damage" (06/04)

"The Rossetti Letters" by Christi Phillips. Venice, libraries, mystery, Cambridge, courtesans. Don't really need to say any more do I ?

"Molly Fox's Birthday" by Deirdre Malden. The only Orange short list book that Waterstones had in today. You're a book shop for heavens sake !

"Neris and India's Idiot-Proof Diet" If you don't know about this, you should. Appears to be held in high esteem by most of the inhabitants of my side bar because....it works. May have to buy a second copy as the pages are beginning to peel off the spine it has been consulted so regularly.

"A Sensible Life" Mary Wesley, a wonderful, witty writer with a unique style and the ability to make ageing seem something to look forward to - provided you are prepared to be disreputable. A modern Nancy Mitford, with an eye for relationships and social mores that make re-reading her novels compulsory.

"Lizzie Siddal" by Lucinda Hawksley. Spurred on by my post about the Pre Raphaelites a couple of weeks ago, I have gone back to my shelves to re-read books bought since I was 16. This, from 2004 is a lovely book, clear and academic yet never frosty or obscure and gives a fascinating view of how important women were to these artists. (Cassandra, I will flag up the others asap)

In the background, my windowbox. Who'd have thought ? - if you water plants they grow, they flower and in the case of wallflowers, smell wonderful.

Neuroses writ large

2009-04-22T17:49:00.005+01:00

I do realise that one of the most tedious things in the world is when someone says "I had an amazing dream last night". After a cursory "really?" most of us will start looking for the closest escape route, so I apologise, in advance. I just feel this story gives a very accurate view of the squeaky doom merchant I am, remember, scientia est potentia.

Some non specified apocalypse had occurred and I was trying to collect together useful items to spirit away to the woods, all carried in my re-cycleable Waitrose bags (easy to pack and padded handles so you can carry more - see how prepared my sub-conscious is).

Paracetamol

Scissors - do I need 1 or 2 pairs, large or small ?

Loo roll ? No, too bulky

Plasters

String, natural and plastic

Sellotape - don't be stupid you aren't going to be wrapping many birthday presents !

And so it went on; I was rather pleased with the way unconscious me knew where so many things were, believe me, in the waking world every day will involve shouting and random drawer opening as vital items are vainly searched for. Still, other than the fact I was very worried I had no gun and knew I was going to have to rely on a huge Sabatier to fend off marauders, things seemed to be going well.

Then I woke up, which should have been a good thing really, no apocalypse, family safe in their beds, bailiffs over the horizon. But no, I continued to plan my survival list ! Lying in bed, still shaking, I was trying to remember where the hammers were, which nails to take and would blankets be better than a quilt ?

The Voice of Reason (quite strident, after years of CBT) kept saying

"No apocalypse, there is no apocalypse !! Look out of the window, see, night time, you are in bed, it was a dream"

"You just don't understand, how will I manage without conditioner ? Oh God, I forgot matches" "Shut up, it was a dream - you are bloody mad" and so on.

Twenty minutes later the V of R finally got the upper hand, my pulse returned to normal, and I decided having woken early to put the time to good use.

I had a cup of coffee.

Tattoos

2009-04-20T10:30:00.005+01:00

My daughter has got her tattoo. I am sad. I am also wondering why I am sad, because, actually, it is rather nice, it suits her, it is well done and I am proud of her for having the bottle to do it. She designed it, checked around for a reputable and respected tattooer (?) and drove herself to Whiteley Bay to have it done, having first saved the money she needed. So what is my problem ?
I think it is because, inevitably, I am a product of my age and upbringing. Girlchild sees it as body art chosen by her, I see it as a sort of mutilation that will mean she is judged by some, who will take it as a badge of affiliation to a subgroup in society, I am concerned she will regret it in later life, she says it is part of who she is.
So, a worried Mother or someone who should be happy her daughter is confident in who she is ? Perhaps I need to learn from her example, I shouldn't spend my life saying "What if.." but say "That looks fun, lets have a go....."

I'm still not going to get a tattoo though !

Thoughtful musings

2009-04-19T20:25:00.003+01:00

Wandering around Waitrose in Hull this afternoon (yes, I know, stereotypes are made to be disproved) I came across a man in the homewares aisle quietly and reflectively squeezing 2 of the deep round muffin cases in a silicone muffin tray.
He saw me seeing him, shuffled gently and moved off towards "Laundry Goods".
I am still giggling.

Oh grow up !

A grand day out

2009-04-15T16:13:00.010+01:00

Last Saturday we had a "family day out" a phrase that can strike fear to the heart, but in this instance was really rather good. Silent One had bought his mother, sister and b-in-law, as well as our tribe, tickets for Quidam - the Cirque de Soleil show that is currently in the UK - at the Sheffield Arena. Sadly, girlchild was off in London finalising details for her tattoo ( I know, it is her choice, yadaa yadaa, but I can't help feeling a bit sick about it all even though she has promised it isn't going to be anything too ghastly - not sure I could make that distinction ! ) so we had a spare ticket that I forced upon my oldest friend.

The show was amazing - I loathe contrived fun, circuses and all such jolly things and yet every Cirque show that I have been to has reduced me to tears. The whole spectacle is wonderful, but there are also tiny incidental moments that stay with you for a very long time afterwards. The imagery that is simple enough to see without being clunky, the choreography that intensifies the sense of a story, the lighting that lets you see but still enhances a sense of mystery. The problem is the acts themselves would be done no service by trying to describe them and the small intimacies are just that, everyone would see them in a different way.

I have been to 3 of the shows, Saltimbanco, which has an Italianate theme, I saw in Amsterdam with no idea what I was going to and was utterly swept away - a sense of joy is the only way to describe it.

I went to the Royal Albert Hall last year to see Varekai which is based on the idea of a man searching through a forest for who he is, just as the inhabitants of the forest try to work out why he is there. It was mysterious, haunting and beautifully designed.

Then, Quidam, which seemed to be based on loss, being lost and the fear of separation from what you understand. Again, I was reduced to tears, and this time by skipping - no, there was no bullying in the playground - the sheer simplicity of it was astounding. My only disappointment is that is impossible for me to describe any of this effectively.

As that is the case the only thing to do is go yourselves, watch the faces of the audience as well as the performance. It is something you will never forget.

Normal service, ie.flippancy and random stream of consciousness, will be resumed as soon as possible

Brain Food. Week 2

2009-04-14T16:16:00.004+01:00

From the top down

A Moomin tribute

Carol Ann Duffy from a friend to widen my horizons

Linda Grant bought because I enjoyed "The Clothes on Their Backs"

Lush architectural yumminess, a birthday present from boychild. (He really can take a hint that boy !

Ooyay - one of those ones where you play on Amazon and think "Oh yes, why not ?"

The two hardbacks were birthday presents from my Mother. Now I understand the Paxman, good choice. But the WI book ? The paranoia kicked in there and I'm afraid I took it as a subliminal criticism of my domesticity (or lack of it). Last year she gave me "Mrs Beeton" but obviously, as I still have no staff, she feels I need the "D.I.Y" option. Oh well, off to find my pinny.

I am infinitely superior

2009-04-14T16:09:00.005+01:00

to all humanoids - even that Doctor Who person, who would not stand a chance (if I could be bothered)

and as for that dog............

Something else I've found out..

2009-04-09T13:18:00.003+01:00

If you start a post, then save it to go back to later, once you can actually remember what you are trying to say, Blogger posts it retrospectively. You don't realise this, can't see it at the top of the page so repost. Repeat until realise error.

Feel stupid.

Mutter darkly.

Decide not actually completely hopeless, as have managed to set up Twitter.

Go and eat chocolate to celebrate.

Admitting to an addiction

2009-04-08T22:11:00.003+01:00

My internet connection to everywhere has just been down for 2 hours....frustratingly the diagnostics (!) suggested me to hub AND hub to world were up and running so it was everything and everyone else that had disappeared. I was distrait. This was not a good discovery, surely the internet should be a garnish not the raison d'etre.

Step away from the keyboard

This weeks brain food

2009-04-06T10:29:00.004+01:00

special thanks go to LucyFishwife for her recommendation, and Tania Kindersley. Also the V&A, and WHSmiths "buy one get one half price".
OK, I know, not a proper post; revving up for that, but still suffering from post weekenditis. My ability to put words in anything like a coherant sequence seems sadly diminished. Silent One places my struggles to set up twitter and my age as directly responsible. Silent One is now making strange whimpering noises - hah !

Look, Spring !

2009-04-06T10:04:00.003+01:00

I love how happy something as simple as this can make you feel.

Small, warm smile.....

2009-04-05T10:43:00.013+01:00

Well, Friday was so much better than I expected, even though it was my 7am start at work. I was told the young had presents planned for later but there were cards and a huge bunch of lilies, (often wonder if I have a BVM complex my love of lilies is so great) Work was ok - other than my boss asking me, as she returned my annual evaluation, if I felt fulfilled there, and had I looked at something that might stretch me ? "not that I want you to leave, no, it's not that at all, no" which did get the paranoia sensors on red alert !

After work I met some friends and we drank coffee and giggled ( an underrated pastime I think) before ambling home to see what had happened in my absence. Both of the offspring are now at home, busy turning time backwards and living nocturnal lives - any activity seems to take place over my bedroom at 3am, one WIIfitting, the other testing computer games with the sound off but so loud the floor shakes. It's killing aliens that does it apparently.

During the night they seem to generate mounds of washing and use innumerable cereal bowls (11 on the draining board just now) and it all rather reminds me of the household Nurse Matilda went to, prior to her arrival.

I decided that it was not worth recriminations and smiled sweetly as I was given a can of gin and tonic flavoured with pink grapefruit, a box of Turkish Delight and the mysterious promise of a surprise tomorrow.........

In the evening a crowd of us went to see "The Boat that Rocked", not in any way cerebral but great fun and the inestimable Bill Nighy on top form, lots of potential singalonga too, so suspect I may treat myself to the soundtrack. Finally on for a drink after the inevitable "well I don't mind", "what about you?", "does anyone want to eat ?", "oh, no, don't go there on a Friday" conversations (every pub, bar and purveyor of alcoholic beverages was packed, couldn't have done falling down drunk even if I had wanted too) I did feel slightly hazy after a pint of Speckled Hen, a half of Riggwelter, and 2 Alabama Slammers. This comes with the warning "Do as I say, not as I do"

All in all, a much better day than last year, and many thanks to all of you for your best wishes !

Apologies

2009-04-02T19:15:00.011+01:00

for the previous grumpiness, one chocolate brownie on and almost all is right with the world (note to self, ring Brown and Obama with this info )

Anyway, I decided to do a post on something that makes me truly happy, still makes me smile just thinking about it and will be with me for the rest of my life. No I haven't gone soppy in my old age, I'm not talking about my children. (They will be gone soon)

I love Pre-Raphaelite art. Discovering Rossettis' decadent women in my early teens, when their anguish and melodrama fitted perfectly with my own sturm und drang, whilst Burne Jones interpretations of myths and legends fulfilled teenage romanticism. So, I went on to do a degree in Art History. The PRB were lush, sensual and their pictures tell stories. The colours sing off the canvas and the details are exquisite. It is a style that is very English, with landscapes we understand and gossip to revel in.

Go and read about what happened to Rossettis' poems, Millais problem with hirsute ladies, relationship triangles, drama, scandal and opprobrium, it is the very best of "Mistresses", rom-com and "Desperate Housewives" with added opulence !

Best of all, have you seen how many are red heads ?!

Advice please...

2009-04-02T14:41:00.003+01:00

OK, it's my birthday tomorrow and I'm going to be 51, except last year was so appalling, for many reasons, I thought I would have my 50th again this year, sort of second try, buuuuuut, actually I'm not that keen on the real world knowing at all and so it is not having any publicity.

However, I will be quite upset if people (eg the offspring) forget. Answers on a post-card please

ps. I know this reads very "little miss contrariwise" but I'm feeling old, crotchety and raging with PMT

Dear Father Christmas.....

2009-04-01T09:38:00.013+01:00

or birthday fairy, or whoever it is that listens to the breathy little list that gets chanted, like a mantra, around this time of year

"I have been very good this year and if you need hints for my birthday I can think of a couple of things that might help if you are stuck for ideas."

Please note this is a hideously acquisitive collection, as I firmly believe that if something is "useful" I can always justify buying it myself (hence no books, or anything, ever, for the kitchen)

Started gently here, as not ridiculously expensive, and almost useful. Note - must be black

The lovely Mr Munro - bling-ish, sparkly, pretty and perfect for Summer.

OK, getting silly now, but I do love it. Never thought I could become a handbag person, but then I met Furla

Because every woman wants to wear birds on her head ?

Some good taste to counteract the previous item.

And finally........ the ultimate paper cup.... I love it !

http://www.madeindesign.co.uk/prod-Crushed-Coffee-cup-Rob-Brandt-refrob02.html

I did go to the Tiffany site too, and left, swiftly, whimpering and I suspect there were many other things my greedy little mind had registered, going "mine, mine", but when it comes down to it, I will be happy if they remember..........

Oh, huge excitement, Mr Amazon has just been and my present to me "Backwards in High Heels" (see, I said books could always be justified) has arrived. It is wonderful, it even feels nice and I can't wait to read it. Thank you, in advance to http://taniakindersley.blogspot.com/ !

Boychild and the frazzled mother

2009-03-30T20:29:00.005+01:00

I was really excited about boychild coming home, yay for boychild etc, etc. That was 48 hours ago.
Reality has kicked in.
(Please remember while reading this post that I was a perfect teenager/student and caused my parents no grief whatsoever)
OK, first up - seven loads of washing
By Sunday evening 7 pint glasses had disappeared into his room but not returned (this did not stop complaints that there were no clean, large glasses - it did result in me having a dead leg, but that is just too complicated to explain other than it wasn't his fault)
Monday morning - I had a long conversation with boychild about the importance of him attending his dental appointment at "2pm, yes, that is two-o-clock, yes, this afternoon, today.... " It wasn't a complete surprise to me when I got a phone call this afternoon, at ten past two, asking me what time his appointment was. When I remonstrated with him I was told that when I spoke to him this morning he was actually asleep ?? WTF ?
There is no blood on the carpet but I am counting the days............

So, how wet can you get ?

2009-03-30T20:04:00.005+01:00

Finally the weather was warm enough to bath the dog. After an increasingly frowsy winter it was time to degrub the beast. It is not fun. No fun at all. Well not for those of us with opposable thumbs anyway.

This is the penalty you have to pay for having a dog too big to fit in the bath, and even if he did, too big to be allowed upstairs whilst wet.

First you fill an old tin bath with hot water

Then you find towels you don't care about

Then you argue with each other about whose turn it is to wash the nether regions

Then you find the dog

Then you convince the dog he wants a bath

Then you convince the dog he wants to come outside with you. (This is one of the times opposable thumbs begin to show a purpose)

Dog, outside, suitably haltered, glares and moans.

(This is when I remember I should have changed into jeans and found my wellies)

Throw a lot of water about in a fairly random way (Hope some gets the dog)

Get soapy

Get dog soapy (trying to accept the fact you got the D's B's)

Rinse

Rinse more

Rinse ad nauseum

Then you run - a long way, a long, long way before the dog shakes himself, and if sensible you run into the house closing the door behind you, before the dog decides to come and sit on your lap and tell you all about it.

Personally I would prefer the tin bath to look like this

Just call me Jessica......

2009-03-25T18:59:00.003Z

I need this dress, if I am very good I might let myself buy it - the trouble is, I suspect when wearing it I will be tempted to be very bad. (Or, if alcohol is involved, wear bunny ears )

The bliss of an empty mind

2009-03-25T15:58:00.004Z

My usual Wednesday includes meeting lots of my friends for "catch up" and can even involve two lunches, and certainly far too much coffee, by the end of the day I am often as bug eyed and twitchy as a meerkat.

Today I had deliberately kept my diary empty. The decision was made, a lie-in was in order, lolling in my pit with Kate Atkinson (not actually K.A. I hasten to add, before I get involved in litigation, just her latest paperback) A blissful shower during which no one turned on any taps or flushed loos so I escaped the "invigorating" temperature change . I did give the kitchen a cursory tidy, enough to feel lightly virtuous, and then to Sainsburys where I hardly forgot anything, certainly not enough to warrant a second trip ! The joys, the joys.

This afternoon I lazed on the sofa watching 2 rom-coms back to back and Mistresses. I read and caught up with bloggery. Sadly there were not bronzed youths fanning me with ostrich feathers and feeding me with Turkish Delight, but even so it has been a pretty fine day.

I love my friends dearly but sometimes it is so wonderful to be silent and unsociable.......... next week back to harum scarum.

They're very quiet up there.......

2009-03-24T20:03:00.004Z

"An 18-year-old has secretly painted a 60ft drawing of a phallus on the roof of his parents' £1million mansion in Berkshire. It was there for a year before his parents found out. They say he'll have to scrub it off when he gets back from travelling."

(they never had stories like this on Newsround when I was a gel)

And let that be a warning to you. Never let your children on the roof !

Libby's back

2009-03-23T19:29:00.002Z

go on then - that'll sort the sheep from the goats !

Be warned though, admitting you know what this is about may be considered a matter of deep shame, hinting at a need for cultural rehabilitation.

Simple Pleasures

2009-03-22T22:11:00.002Z

Painted toenails, hot chocolate and rubbish, yet entertaining, Sunday evening television. The cerebral and celibate character of Hathaway (Laurence Fox) is strangely attractive.

Shame it's Monday tomorrow.

Mothers Day and hubris

2009-03-22T17:34:00.007Z

So, there I was, thinking I wasn't doing too badly as a Mum now - hasten to add I was all time appalling champion of bad motherdom when mine were young, but now - communication takes place, I am allowed out with older offspring and his friends (very occasionally) and even girlchild says thank you sometimes and the disdainful lipcurl is seen less often.
But today, humph... I was given an orchid (to replace the one eaten by her cats), but with no more than a "here, oh, btw, can I have the car later, I'm not going to be in this afternoon now" and no card.................. at all...................... from a creature doing graphics !
Boychild did ring, (not quite spontaneously, as I had marked today on his calendar, when I visited him last week, with a thick black marker pen. I am not known for subtlety). He did then admit that he would appreciate further funding having bought himself sandals (he is disinherited) and some Tommy Hilfigger swimming trunks (he is no longer my son). Mothers Day is full of surprises isn't it ?!

Spring "not" cleaning

2009-03-21T22:14:00.014Z

Having made the worrying discovery there are 211 books under my bed, and others have escaped and are re-colonising the staircase only months after a major purge, I felt it was time to do some tidying. This may, or may not, include rehoming the De-icer I found under my bed, (hate to think what Freudian overtones that may have). Socks have been paired, nasty, nasty tangles of hair caught and released back into the wild and shoes lovingly replaced back in their boxes. Please note that nothing of any housewifely worth has been done. I can see out of the windows so they obviously don't need cleaning, there are no horizontal surfaces for dust to collect anyway and I shoved all of the "don't know where to put this" items into the ever useful ottoman.

I did however take a hard stare at the shelf behind my bed - my take on a bedside table - and felt it deserved the itemisation normally given to handbag contents........ go on, make me feel better about my slovenly habits - please.

There is a radio, books I am currently reading and sufficient medications to stock a hypochondriacs pharmacy. There are also my hoard of little books, ones that say its ok to be curved, how to be chic, how to shop, all the useful stuff , bits of jewellery including amazing sparkly stars from the V&A, nail files, ointments, unguents and potions all promising me the world if not eternal life, yummy Paul Smith perfume, yes, you can see a box of Opium talcum powder, how retro is that ?, assorted vials of perfume from The Perfumed Court and my sons ticket from last years Leeds Fest. Sadly, you can also see the coffee splashed up the wall courtesy one of my daughters cats who had decided it, too, needed coffee. When I get breakfast in bed, it is to share ! No, the dog does not sleep on my bed, he doesn't even know about upstairs, and you are not to tell him !

Progress has been made in the garden though; I've been out into it ! It is still there ! I came back in as sunshine in Yorkshire is something of an illusion, it does mean light, it does not necessarily mean warmth, but maybe next week .

And just to prove that sometimes I do tidy up - the dining room, the only book free zone in the house is now cleared. Some weeks ago I listed the items on the table, the rummel that had relegated us to eating off our knees. It has gone, yeehaw, but we are still not going to be eating like civilised human beings as I have plans.... I have scarlet/shot black silk and I feel the need to make a Vivienne Westwood style slightly bustley, certainly rustly skirt, updates will follow but I fear that it will all end up under the spare bed, home to all the other unfinished projects. (And yes, they are Christmas decorations on the light - ready for next year !)

Will you please turn over to what I want to watch....

2009-03-14T20:29:00.001Z

Tagged by Cassandra.........

2009-03-13T18:26:00.006Z

aka Jacob Wrestling, previously living under the name of Sanders (come on - keep up !) to give five reasons why my life is grand and I am happy with my lot.

Initially I was concerned that I would find it quite hard to think of 5 things but then I realised I would be a singularly crabby and ungrateful individual if that were the case (and that truth must never be made public !) So...

1. There is a man who loves me for who I am, and has forgiven me many, many things

2. My children, who, contrary to all my best efforts, have turned into lovely people

3. Books, each one is a new adventure waiting to be started.

4. My friends, past and present, real and through the ether, who have all given me a different take on life, made me laugh, supported me and generally made my world a better place.

5. Sunshine through a window, a breeze billowing the curtains and a bed made up with white cotton bedding - and outside the window ? Italy.

Now, I do know that I am meant to tag others, so they too can go "me! me!me!" but all those I would catch are already divulging there innermostness, so, sorry, the road stops here.

Mounting Excitement.......

2009-03-12T23:02:00.002Z

It's the Cheltenham Gold Cup tomorrow

I am very excited.

Horses, speed, mud, fences, uncertainty and men with very firm thighs.

What's not to like ?

Who watches the Watchmen - that'd be me....

2009-03-12T21:20:00.014Z

Well, what tales to tell ? It has been a good week, the temptation to kill people has been at Defcon 4, which for me is very acceptable, (probably very acceptable to the NHS as well ), a sash window has been removed, reglazed, repaired and replaced all in the space of a single afternoon, albeit the afternoon with horizontal sleet, an day was spent at "Spooons" hanging with my boys (sorry) and a trip to London looks as if it is going to happen.

For those who haven't already lost the will to live, details as follows.

Dogs/windows and windowcleaners make a lively combination. Digger decided that naughty, rude windowcleaners should not, under any circumstances, be allowed to even look at his windows. Nobody told the windowcleaners this, so dog went through the window to tell them himself. Silent one decided he knew how to mend this destruction, and he did. Unfortunately it is a long, painstaking job, more unfortunately it had to be done when the weather was testing its full Northern repertoire, from damp to f**in' freezin'. This time even lying on the sofa under the newspapers wasn't enough to save me from the chill. I took to my bed.

On Wednesday I went to visit boychild at Uni, and gathered a tribe to go for beer and a burger at Wetherspoons. (yum). Some of his fellow students I knew from school, others are more recently acquired friends, and had apparently requested the opportunity to meet me. Whether this is because I sound utterly fascinating or because they want to meet the woman who made boychild the man he is (saving for therapy as we speak) I don't know, it may even have been the offer of food and beer - "surely not?!" I hear you cry - It would appear that I have agreed to accompany one young lady, who is reading languages, on a train journey across Spain to catch the ferry to Morocco where we will lie on flat roofs, draped in white linen, smoking sheesha pipes and channelling our inner Talitha Getty (Don't worry, I will explain who she was to the young !).

Oh, Oh ! went to see "Watchmen". Loved it, numb bum at 3 hours, but still very good, my only criticism would be the marriage between reproducing the graphic novel, and the morality tale with huge special effects was a little clunky. It has also enabled me to find my new fantasy me, Silhouette, a superhero from the 1940's, gorgeous costume and cheekbones to die for. Actually the only picture I could find makes her look like the bastard lovechild of Adam Ant and Michael Jackson.

but see, we could be sisters ?

Cassandra has tagged me for a Me!Me!, so shortly you will be treated to a list of why I am happy with my lot. Hope I don't have to think too hard, but the Empress is tired, she must leave you now ...........

Until tomorrow

Quiz......

2009-03-06T21:21:00.001Z

Am I .............

Auditioning to be a carabinieri ?

Indicating I need a further 5 euro ?

Stating the closing time of the Duomo ? - well even God has to get home sometime

Requesting, oh so politely, that a photograph is not taken of me ? (just in case I look sulky)

As you can see, the paparazzi got me on a bad day !

Technology is against me

2009-03-06T21:17:00.000Z

It may be hard to believe, bearing in mind my propensity to "run on", but there were paragraph breaks in my last post - I just can't get them to stay there. I am quite sure the quantity of wine I have ingested has nothing to do with it.

Real life is a bugger.....

2009-03-06T20:23:00.001Z

So, long time since last post, but life has been rather fine. Florence was amazing, art, food, wine, shoes, bags, Italian men - oh come on ......... cheesy yes, but so good for the ego. I didn't disgrace myself by sobbing in the Uffizi (caused something of a stir by blubbing in the Prado in front of a Durer some years ago) although there was a slight footstamp as a Uccello was "in restaurio" and the view from my room window ? Now I'm not Helena/Lucy but I reckon this is ok ? Yup, the bestest baggery in the world !

I was also rather pleased with how my Italian seemed to be going, even if I wasn't sure about how to say things (bastard daughter of Miles Kington for those of you who remember Franglais) I understood most of the conversations I had, or rather, were had with me. A small triumph for a woman with few linguistic skills, and fascinating how helpful 1 year of Latin in 1970 could be !

The shopping was kept firmly in check - sadly, but of necessity. Alessandra in Furla worked very hard, by reminding me that altho I already had a cream bag, the one I was lusting after but denying myself, was "chalk", therefore not cream, and so a totally acceptable expenditure in a well ordered wardrobe. Ladies, or metrosexuals, I demand a round of applause.

What else ? Well, on my first evening, on my way to supper I saw a beautiful hat...... mentally noted but then ....never found again. Am I the person who doesn't have the magical adventure ? was it waiting for someone else ? The shop disappeared ! I trailed around every jitty, alley, ginnel, cut, lane, calle, via (suspect we have enough now - ed) and never found it. I began to feel as if I was auditioning for "The Ship that Flew" or an E.Nesbit story.

Now, back in real life, catching up with friends and blogs, plotting my next escape and repairing the disasters wrought in my absence, which include......... kittens crapping in the laundry basket, daughter cutting her own hair and signing up for a major tattoo ( should I be cool and hope the fact she is needle phobic will change her mind or just rant like any sensible mother ? ) and the dog flinging himself through the window at the naughty, dangerous windowcleaners.

Life's a bugger isn't it ? - but remember, it is usually better than the alternative

A special for Jaywalker

2009-03-06T20:14:00.002Z

Florence is packed with various tortoises, turtles and similar testudines doing useful things, so when I should have been thinking of bags or stroking shoes I found myself in an outpost of Belgium - who'd have thought ?

The madness of random button hitting

2009-02-23T19:35:00.001Z

Wonderful Jaywalker was mentioned in despatches - aka Sunday Times best blogs -and somebody, somewhere has received a congratulatory message from me about it, the only thing I know is, it wasn't Jaywalker. Bad computer, naughty, unhelpful computer.

Idiot Luddite woman. Considers asking teenager for help.

Decides against it.

Opens bottle of wine.

You see........

2009-02-23T19:00:00.001Z

a luscious jewel

and when I rule the world it will be mine, all mine, mwahahahaha !!
(Sorry, just a bit overexcited)

The shame...the shame

2009-02-23T16:38:00.001Z

Just been catching up on Neighbours - ok, you can miss weeks and still know who is doing what and to whom, but Libby has had a headectomy ! Who, what, where, when, why ??? Just before the wedding too - I'm off to Google.............................

Relief and anticipation

2009-02-23T15:35:00.001Z

Another sequence of days full of not a lot........ although I did run away, as threatened, at the beginning of the week to Stratford where I saw Antony Sher in "The Tempest", an interesting production would be the most charitable I can manage. Not sure Shakespeare envisaged the political problems of South Africa as a working analogy, it would probably help if I had an ear for accents or they had gone for surtitles too. OK I am a Philistine. Then I went and stroked things at Bicester, but kept my card in my bag - yay for me and on to Oxford where I had fantasies about quads, groves of academe and ivory towers, so actually it was a perfect couple of days, culture and Mammon. (Although no naked cowboys)

One of the positive points of being a bit older is that often ones children are too. Having read and appreciated the slightly "eyes on stalks/stir crazy" combo that half term engenders amongst bloggers I was quite relieved that mine are past the stage of needing entertaining, now they just need financing ! Girlchild spent the week in London (advanced crayoning aka geography is obviously not a strong point for her - London actually means St Albans, Rochester and Brighton)visiting friends and helping with the balance of payments, and has come back rapturising about the joys of YHA. She stayed in a new hostel in Central London, and if she is to be believed it was better than home ! (Being a jaded teenager myself once, I do remember that anywhere is) The boy meanwhile plods along at Hull, all agog for the game of the year due out on the 4th of March - no doubt there are others that will be in the running for that title but atm I am on standby to get something from somewhere - sorry boy, wasn't listening........

Tomorrow, courtesy Ryanair, "no you can't take luggage, check in, weigh more than....... or even eat" without paying subsidies I am off to Florence (via Pisa) to pay due tribute to the artistic greats and practice Italian. I have advance booked my ticket for the Uffizi, which means of course there will be no queues anywhere, so it will have been an exercise in futility, but actually I don't care, it means I will have more time to eat cakes on behalf of Katyboo (Thank you for the excuse !)

I will also be going to the Bargello to say hello to David by Donatello - so much nicer than Michelangelos, and so naughty - look closely at the picture at the top, admire the young mans enigmatic smile and observe the feather on Goliaths headdress tracing its way up his thigh - provocative, oh I think so . Then there is the obligatory sensory overload in the Medici Palace chapel by Gozzoli. If my jewellery case isn't going to be full of luscious bling (which I promise you, it never will be) at least I can go and stand in this tiny room and pretend that I am actually in a jewel box.

There will, of course, be the necessary and expected trips to bars, trattoria and gelateria, but I deliberately didn't bother mentioning them because it would be unfair, and besides you know I am temperate if not Puritanical, so will only do it for research purposes............. (excuse me while I just go and file my nose, it seems to have grown somewhat)

WTF ?!

2009-02-13T22:41:00.000Z

The silent one has just poured a glass of water over my feet to stop me having a cigarette

Does anyone understand ?

(I bet Marlene never had this problem)

They are stealing my childhood...

2009-02-13T21:17:00.001Z

Oh God - completely forgot to rant at length about current big BIG worry. They have made a film of my bestest book ever "The Little White Horse" by Elizabeth Goudge ( may be other books loved more and for better reasons but this is a special, first kiss sort of book)

Have they killed it ?

Can I go and see it ?

What if the pictures don't match the ones in my head ?

Why is the short, stout, golden man being played by Ioan Gruffudd ?

Why is the doglion black ?

and this, of course leads on to further neurosis

What am I going to do when they decide to film Joan Aikens "Dido Twite" books ?

OK, why do we still act like teenagers ?

2009-02-13T19:49:00.000Z

The lesson today is taken from "Tainted Love" by Soft Cell,
verses 1 to end ............

So, should I stay or should I go ?... check the letter box I mean.

Do I want "Romance" ? Probably not, but it would have been nice once. I am actually quite cross that my cynicism seems to be winning over my naivity.... oh, I want to be romanced, cherished, flattered and treated to fluffy fripperies - trouble is that people know where the bodies are buried so it won't happen......... unless the alter ego does get her chance. Lets wait and see. (Whatever happens it can't match the hideousness of getting a Valentine card from my mother " just in case you don't get one from anyone else" ! I was at an all girls boarding school, and it was 1973 - I leave the humiliation factor to your imagination (times at least 2 and you might be near))

My concession to Valentines Day... yummy shoes from Minna Parikka (mine are plain red) and I will be trotting about tomorrow smiling at my feet. What I really love about these is they can be burlesque or "proper" depending upon how you play it. Guess I'll have to wait and see how the mood takes me.

The last week has been quite a cultural beanfeast, courtesy 2 for 1 at Pizza Express, Orange and cheap last minute tickets. I have been to see "Benjamin Button" followed by a Siciliana, and "He's Just Not That Into You" with Soho. (Thats the pizza, not the buzzing hub of Londons' film and entertainment industry where I hope to be next weekend, hanging out with an Oscar winning CGI friend of mine - Myspace has a lot to answer for, I really am a sad starf****r, but hey a guy who does shopping !! ) BB was good, certainly had some thoughtful moments, and a legitimate excuse for a blub. "He's Just......." yeah it was fun, and not utterly chickflickery, while some of the "scenery" was very attractive. A nice combo of Alex James and Keanu Reeves (Don't worry Mr Norton I can never forget you)

There was also "Tosca" in Leeds, which was ermmm, soupy and shouty, I need more twiddlyness for true engagement; I suspect too, that any production would never measure up to the glorious description in "My Family and Other Animals", while tomorrow I am going to see "L'elisir d'amore" which I think will have a higher twiddly factor, and you have to admit is a good choice for the date ?

My feet are itchy (no, not the shoes) and I feel the need to do a Thelma and Louise..... maybe it's the lighter evenings, but I want to be alone and running for a bit (No, not wearing trainers running). Is that allowed when you have commitments ? When you are signed up to be a sensible grown up ? When you have no idea what is going on ? Answers please on a postcard - or in the comments column.

Hope you all have a great day tomorrow, and there hasn't been too much shopping on the garage forecourt !

MIA

2009-02-06T13:25:00.000Z

There is likely to be twittery update full of "stuff" later, but this is far more important. RedRum has gone missing and her blog has closed....... if anyone knows her in the "real world" please pass on my best wishes, I will miss her. Thank you - also apologies if this contravenes the secret code of blogging

Petulance

2009-02-02T20:07:00.000Z

I have just lost University Challenge.......... every week I play, solo, by the rules, only going for the follow up questions if I get the starter question right, and this week I lost. Hate it.
So now I am trying to work out why I feel so fed up ........ ok I could say I missed the points because there were too many science based questions and not enough esoteric mythology, but I even messed up the Art History picture round. The shame !
However, I have a (feeble) excuse ........ I kept being distracted by various blogs, websites and of course Jeremy Paxman.

Note to self : it was Max Ernst not De Chirico - stupid woman

2009-01-29T18:07:00.001Z

I have checked with Trading Standards and feel I should let you know that although the statements below are honest they are not necessarily entertaining or interesting - sorry, it all rather depends on personal interpretation ................

2009-01-29T17:05:00.000Z

I have been tagged by the lovely, and very funny, RedRum http://definitelystoppingattwo.blogspot.com/ and I am to entertain you with ten honest and interesting things about me.

Long pause for thought............................

1. I am still in denial about being 50, and it's only 9 weeks until I am the age that dare not speak its name

2. I first started on the internet on MySpace with the alter ego of a 23 year old (long, long story which I may admit to one day) and yes, thank you, I do realise that is the sort of thing the Daily Mail writes headlines about.

3. I was outed because I knew too much about the Clangers....... but actually I don't care.

4. I have a passion for Italian art, film, food and shoes - finding the language bit more of a struggle. (In fact if anyone needs input on C17 Jesuit Iconography I'm your man.)

5. I broke my back when the horse I was riding and I went in opposite directions (he thought a paper bag at the bottom of the hedge was a tiger) The good thing about the accident was it did give me a chance to develop a lifetime aversion to daytime television (Neighbours is on in the early evening)

6. I love singing but can never remember lyrics or titles so spend a lot of time annoying people going " you know, it goes la laaa la dada". At least you get a score for classical stuff.

7. I am Edward Nortons paramour - oh hang on....... that isn't true.

7b. My favourite television programmes when I was a child included The Pogles, The Clangers, Noggin the Nog, Captain Pugwash and Robinson Crusoe but The Owl Service scared me so much I still haven't read the book.

8. I "wore" a prawn on the front of my wedding dress for most of our reception (It was in the days when a buffet would be decorated with prawns still in their coats, and its legs had got caught in my lace bodice) When confronted the silent one said he "thought it was meant to be there" !

9. I adore my children but I am already saving for the therapy I fear they will need.

10. I am finally going to get staples in my midriff .... well not exactly, but my photograph is going to be in the next issue of "You and Your Wedding" - I even had to sign a model release form !! Another long story relating to low self esteem, a love of burlesque and an amazing photo studio which I will post one day, but just wanted to have a little boast, out loud, in public....

Thursday is the new Wednesday

2009-01-29T15:04:00.000Z

So after last weeks' "claiming of Wednesday", circumstances took against me, and I had today off, spent driving through wet fog on the M62, surrounded by white vans and silver cars, none of whom felt a need to turn on headlights.........aaarghhh.... Consequently I am nursing a filthy headache - worse even than the red wine headache of Tuesday evening. (All sympathy will be gratefully received)

Girlchild has just disappeared off to practice being a wage slave (cashout at Sainsburys) and she, too, is woebegone and hypochondriacal (there is a possibility this is genetic). Today's worries include
"being sooooooo tired", "yes, well, you're seventeen, it goes with the territory"
and her
"wrist hurts", "probably RSI from all your texting".
I was treated to a basilisk stare and a "humph" as she left the room.

I suspect I have blown my chances of goodies from the discounted cake trolley.

I was going to go to see "Valkyrie" this evening, inspite of Tom and because of Eddie, but my bum feels so happy to be back on its sofa I have decided tonight will be "Hellboy II" night courtesy the lovely box on the top of the television - God, I love this technology thing, although it can make me slightly paranoid. You select a film, it tells you how much, you hit the button that says "yea, fine, whatever" and then it asks you if you are sure you want to watch it. Even the Digibox questions my taste in entertainment ?!

Oh, and today's dog exploit - he returned to the ever popular "I shall get all of the newspapers you didn't read because you went to sleep underneath them pile, and shred them to make a pleasing papier mache opportunity" and he wasn't even alone and doing it from boredom. Next time I shall get a dog that can read......much simpler, he can entertain himself.

Now, that was nice

2009-01-21T17:46:00.000Z

As I said earlier, Wednesdays are mine, and today was a corker. The virtuous making elements were better than expected, paying in 2 cheques, liberating funds from the education fund (Apparently you just can't do photography without an Apple Mac) and returning a pair of shoes that were so expensive they had made my eyes water. The only problem was that with a 4 1/2" heel and a smidgeon too small (even though I bought my size) wearing them made my eyes water too. At least I had the pleasure of owning them and crooning to them for a few short days. Thank you Net a Porter xx.

So, anyway, today, coffee with a friend this morning, and the world was firmly put to rights (you can all sleep easy in your beds now !). A visitette to a bookshop where I did indulge in a couple of the books LucyF has flagged up on her sidebar. Lunch with a friend, a brief shop with daughter ( a very determined** 17 year old) during which no blood was spilt, and then......... afternoon tea at Bettys (best of all it was free - thanks Mum ) with a chum who lifts the heart. Oh, it was amazing - little cakes on twiddly stands, scones, teeny sandwiches, tea with strainers and hot water jugs, I was all ready to come home to Revolution Road ! Is it possible to be a lady who lunches and yet still an acceptable member of society ? Answers on no more than two sides of A4.

And now the day draws to a close, with a sin I am not sure I dare admit. Four episodes back to back of Neighbours........ I blame Boychild, as I started watching 20 years ago when on maternity leave. Determined to retain some semblance of grey matter, I would sit down and watch the News every afternoon. The problem was that weary, wide, pregnant arse found it very hard to stand up again, and there I was, hooked. My only defence is I don't do Corrie, Home and....., Hollyoaks or even 'Stenders, but happy, smiley, even if things go t*ts up you know that "it'll be right" Neighbours holds me in its thrall.

I am sooooo sorry.

** the translation of "determined" in this instance, is arsey, petulant, arrogant and fairly objectionable if thwarted. (She really is my daughter !)

The ongoing dog saga......

2009-01-21T09:05:00.000Z

Since eating the firelighters horrid hound does not seem to have suffered any ill effects, but I am slightly concerned he may have pyromaniac tendencies, or be trying for a re-enactment of the Bleak House immolation scene. He is painstakingly removing the bark from every log in the basket and eating it. (So far birch seems to be the out and out winner whilst apple is fiddly and pine obviously tastes funny) If only children were so easily entertained.

At last... the day off

2009-01-21T08:51:00.000Z

I yearn for my Wednesdays, every one is for me.... just me, no housework, plastic food for supper and only enough of the "have to" stuff to make me feel virtuous (or clear sufficient paperwork off the dining room table to eat at it !)
Today, rather than disembowel my handbag, which is way too scary I shall itemise the table contents (you knew there was a reason you read this blog didn't you ?)

A large plant - indeterminate variety, seeming to exist solely to feed kittens.
Daughters hideously expensive camera perched precariously near the edge.
Another I camera I don't recognise at all
4 Christmas presents waiting to be wrapped and posted.
Italian homework laid out such that I feel I'm doing it.
17 CDs none of which have a case
8 CD cases none of which have a CD
A skirt I was making, that I got cross with but hasn't as yet been stashed under the spare bed.
My last Amazon order ( Casanova, The Libertine and Love in the Time of Cholera)
Several coat hangers
My sons wash bag plus contents - he went back to Uni last Saturday and so far doesn't seem to have noticed it's missing.

Well I like a challenge !

(Please reassure me, there are others out there who make the collection of detritus a necessary part of being)

It's pretty chilly

2009-01-14T17:25:00.000Z

here in Yorkshire and the sodding dog has eaten the firelighters !

Still, it has to better than my shoes............

Yup, it really is the New Year

2009-01-14T16:26:00.000Z

Far too long has passed since I last wrote, and not for want of excitement that deserved to be recorded (even if it didn't merit reading). The only excuse is sheer, darned laziness - I could blame Christmas, work and New Year, but hey, you all have that excuse,so truth will out.

A precis would have to include...

An Italian exam - now I can buy not only ice-cream and wine but high heeled red shoes (size 39) with confidence

A trip to Paris immediately before Christmas (fuelled with Diazepam as my brain had fallen out of my ears) which culminated in me singing Edith Piaf songs in a piano bar at 2am with a friend from school who I hadn't seen for 30 years ! (Way past my bedtime, and paid for in full the next day........... at what point did anyone else lose the capability to process alcohol ?)

Grief from the young who resented me running away (again...........said with much eye rolling), and the concomitant whinging

"but what about Christmas",

"how will we eat",

"why do you get to have fun?" - replies which may be useful for others in a similar situation included

"I'm back on the 23rd - last time I checked Christmas is the 25th"

"First you get food out of the freezer, then you cook it"

"Spending my money that otherwise I would have to spend on you"

(in actual fact I was detailed to buy my presents from the young whilst in Paris and mug them for the money on my return..... and they did remarkably well, Boychild got me a Paperblank diary, and Girlchild some purple suede gloves - well shopped children !)

Christmas went surprisingly well, I tend to view anything multigenerational, with expectations of pleasure attached as likely to implode messily, but apart from the mental stoicism required NOT to kill my sister ( new Louboutins) or her son (nutted my boy in the nether regions because he "likes the face Will pulls when I do it") I think I can cope with it all again this year.

And now... back at work, ducking germs our patients seem determined to share and plodding rather, thank God for other peoples blogs, books and a glass of red wine now and then, it seems a long haul until daylight ...........

Andrew....whats in a name ?

2008-12-10T22:54:00.000Z

Just watched a wonderful programme about the Medici with Andrew Graham Dixon, who has joined my list of unattractive yet strangely desirable men (the other is Andrew Marr). Perhaps it is their erudition and enthusiasm that is so appealing ? Can anyone enlighten me ? Does anyone else have that little voice in their head going "Why, why, why.............? Go look at someone pretty" ?

Another of Lifes Great Mysteries

2008-12-04T18:54:00.000Z

Why does smoking a slim, elegant cigarette not make me slim and elegant ?
My ability to self delude is immense.........

Snowflakes and sparkle

2008-12-04T17:26:00.000Z

I did promise that the next post it would be "sparkly" - does frost count ? - soooo pretty this morning and the idiot hound who hasn't met snow before thought it was the most wonderful thing. He spent 10 minutes leaping around the garden looking like a manic hairy croquet hoop..........oh, another good thing about the snow - it hides the fact he has turned the lawn into a re-enactment of the Somme (that includes trenches, destruction of all natural vegitation and booby traps but fortunately no gun emplacements)

Other sparkly things today include the delicate frosting of icing sugar all over the kitchen floor, I might have done some baking, but didn't; a trail of glitter up the cellar steps and along the hall, where the Christmas decoration box "leaked" and the glint in my eyes, the sign of a woman who has spent way too long looking at the Tiffany website. It is, after all, a truth universally acknowledged that any woman in need of a Christmas present will look at Tiffany ((Holly was right, you know she was) and my apologies to Miss Austen.)

I have also been trying to find Christmas presents online and struggling with the "I like it too, so I'll get one for me" attitude, which tends to make my bank manager quite twitchy, luckily I don't feel the need for a personalised Stig poster or a set of glass drawer handles, so fairly safe there, but the V&A website is a bit tasty (and very sparkly) go and see, if you don't know it. For the love of God stay away from Amazon though, I get RSI clicking on the foreign DVD pages,
"I don't understand the language, I've never heard of the director or the actors but the precis looks good - oh look its only.............(insert a price here) I'll get that, always good to try something new."
And there you have it, the inner monologue that leads to the Marshalsea.

Grim Reality

2008-11-19T14:44:00.000Z

How often can one say "well, it is November......" ?, why do people insist on complaining about the weather for heavens sake ? I know this is something that proves we are British/English but I find myself increasingly intolerant of this lack of pragmatism, it does rain in November, and sometimes it is cold too, the grump into which I descend is most uncharitable and unnecessary , perhaps it's SAD ? On the upside, if it is cold and damp it is the perfect excuse to wear furry, fluffy, snuggly things, and having hair with a similar texture to a Shetland pony I can just shake off the most inclement of weather (the downside is my legs are of a similar length to said equine !)

Today I am struggling with Italian homework, and it's amazing how quickly the old excuses come rolling back...... "The printer broke", "Oh, was it for today ?" and so on - last term there was one glorious occasion where I could, legitimately, say "the dog ate my homework". Obviously a description of my family holiday was just too delicious to resist. Anyway, homework; to encourage us our tutor told us that Italian was much easier to learn than English, because English has 16 tenses ........... yes, but I know English ! I can even make a reasonable fist of French, courtesy 7 years with scary Mam'zelle, and have a nodding acquaintance with Latin which is very useful for vocab. Maybe the truth is that although I still have the ability to assimilate random facts (thank you, Lucy - loved the Turing thing) and delight in serendipitous google linking, I no longer have the application to process sequences of co-ordinated information.

As I said in the title - grim reality.

(Next post will be sparkly, twinkly and rapturous - I will eat chocolate first !)