Trapped ...

This tea house has been a poorly house for a while now moan, groan and moan some more. Due to having a rotten cold and chest infection I must have coughed in the wrong way. Now, to a woman of my middle years, this usually means one must cross one's legs for fear of ahem leakage.

I had done that but, unfortunately, something else must have happened because I also trapped a blimmin' nerve in my lower back. And, it was fucking painful to say the least. Mr T took me to the chiropractor who had lovely cold hands and zapped me with her zapper and sent me home. Oooh, that car journey home was excruciating, with every bump, turn, stop and start getting me to screaming pitch. In tears when I arrived home, I wondered if the hour and a half, £25, trip had been worth it.

Next day I visited the doc and asked him to prescribed Tramadol and Amitryptaline, which he did. Then, I spent a couple of days not here. Well, here in body but stoned out of my tiny mind with the drugs. Having never taken anything stronger than dope, this was some experience!

Anyway, today I feel a little better and have cut the tabs down to one at each meal and bedtime. If I was still in my last job, which I hated, I think it would have taken me, oh months to get better, as I whiled away the time. But, as I love my current jobs, I shall be up and running about again in no time.

It's funny how that works, isn't it?

Floo stricken

We've both been ill with chest infections and jolly bad colds, and Mr T finally managed to give in to it and visit with the doc.

Dr S: You've definately got a chest infection...
(tapping at the computer)

Mr T: (pulling his t-shirt and jumper back down) Um, I take it those are antibiotics?

Dr S: Uh huh, now I take it you are getting all the
sympathy you need?

Mr T: (looks up expectantly) No.

Dr S: And, I take it you are getting all the tender loving
care you deserve?

Mr T: (grumpily) No.

Dr S: Ah, you've got a wife like mine, then.

Man 'flu is life threatening I understand.

Just watchin'

I am just watching Letitishiaaa Dean on Strictly Come Dancing: It takes two.

Why?

Not why am I watching.

Just, why Letitishiaaa Dean? A lengend in her own lunchtime, I think.

Dizzy and Jet Lagged

'Sright, am back, am dizzy and am jet lagged. If you haven't already, do look in to my travel blog.

In the meantime, I have taken some cammomile tea, in order to get one, loooong sleep, all in one block, and am now going to my lovel, soft, comfortable and cozy, bed.

Will write soon, 'night, 'night, xxx

And again...

Please don't read any further if you are bored with my rantings. I wouldn't. Actually, I have deleted the part of this post that revolved around my rantings. Enough already!


Holiday.


I am off to China on Thursday. This is with www.i-to-i.com and their Meaningful Travel.


I have long wanted to go on a Voluntary Services Overseas break, but cannot consider leaving home for a year or so, as Mr T is not interested in such goings on at all. Then, I happened accross i-to-i which sparked off an idea for my 50th birthday that happened in July. I think this is a great idea, and much better than a party. So, I am off to the Chinas, to celebrate my birthday, but with a twist.


Anyway, Mr T is not going, and I shall be accompanied by my great friend Miss Bev. And, we are going to teach English as a foreign language to primary school children and their teachers, in Xi'an, for three whole weeks. Which, as we are not teachers, will be, well, interesting! We will, however, get our weekends off so intend to view the Terracotta Army (I know, we could have saved our pennies and buggered orf to Londinium to visit them, but heck) and will go and see the Great Wall, which is on the telly tonight but I've lost the plot.


I shall, dear reader, be keeping those at home and abroad informed of my travels via my Travel Blog! here at: http://my.i-to-i.com/karenphilpott/blog/ So, do keep in touch. I will be back at the end of October. Do behave in my absence.

love, kaz xx

This is my own space, right?

So, this means I can be as horrible and, well, honest as I like, right?

Well, here fucking goes...

The man who ran over my nephew has now handed himself in, been charged and released on bail. Which, thank goodness, means it was an accident, rather than on purpose.

I have been tracking all this info on the bbc website and gleaned it from my brother.

My sister and my mother have made it quite clear that neither of them wishes to speak to me.

I am not invited to the funeral.

Bastards. Is all I can say. Bastards.

At the risk of this becoming 'all about me.' Which, of course, it certainly is not. I have sent a card and some flowers. Just so they know that we are grieving Carl as well.

They can tear them up, throw them against the wall, send them back, bin them.

Whatever.

And, following on

Yes, following on from the last post.

The last post. That cannot be played just yet.

We got news last night of my nephew, Carl, who was killed by a hit-and-run driver early on Sunday morning.

Though his body was found at about 5.30 am, he wasn't identified until 4 pm, as he had no id on him.

He will have to have a post mortem then, when the perpetrator is found, they may want their own done.

So his body may not be released for some time.

This is devastating for his parents, my sister and her husband. And their family. My thoughts are with them, as are my family's thoughts. We cannot contact them as we have been estranged for some years. And, she doesn't want me to ring.

I remember when Carl was born. His mother and father had come to visit while mum was accompanying dad on his lorry rounds. She had some stange pains, she told me. We sent her home and he was born during that balmy August night, some 28 years ago.

Rip Carl 1979 -2007.

Just a moment...

It's rare. That time, that moment when you know you are happy, your family and friends are happy and all is right with the world.



Like the rainbow we saw yesterday. It started on our left and we saw the complete half circle, to where it ended on our right. As the sun glimmered through the clouds onto the mountain, it reflected off the white house nestled on it. It encompassed the house I call home and the whole afternoon was sparkly bright.



It moved me to comment that we will remember this moment in the years to come.



As we turned a corner we disturbed a baby roe dear, and the white powder puff on its bum waved up and down as it silently took itself out of our sight, and off to find its mother.



Today, I was smacked in the face by two horrible bits of news - the (expected, unfortunately) death of a neighbour, a man who, a year ago, had been vital, fully active and had the physical strength of an ox. Fergus died today of motor neurone disease. And then I heard about a serious marriage problem of a family member that, though not life threatening, is devastating. And, it will be ongoing for some time to come.



I've had two very close friends staying this week, and they go home tomorrow, and I shall miss them so much.



But, we will remember yesterday, as being perfect. If only for just a moment.

Ker-rikey, and puffed cheeks

I cannot believe that I haven't posted here for so long! Ker-ikey is soo right. It's not as though nothing has happened in the last, well, few weeks. Loads has, but I can't think of anything to write about it. Boring or what?

Today, after being in quite a stressful meeting all morning, I turn on my mobile to fnd two messages. One, from my bezzy mate and her daughter to say they are on the train! So, they'll be here in.... very soon, hurrah!

The other is from someone who deffo has a problem with me. Her behaviour indicates that she feels threatened by me. I have had this in various situations before and usually ignore it.

However, this one lives locally and is involved in several of the groups and stuff that I am involved with. One of which includes a craft group. Her craft group. And, I made the mistake of winning a third prize, over her in a comp. Oops. I can't help being brilliant, can I? Ha, ha. I actually don't go around blowing my own trumpet, swag or boast about stuff I do. This is because I don't usually get the practice of winning stuff.

But, I also won a couple of thirds in the Domestic (Goddess) section of local show. And, even though postie had warned me to swap sugar for salt in the recipe the first time of entering. I didn't and she was a tad miffed.

Today's puffed cheeks were due to this person, whom I shall call Angel, booking a lunch in a place that I simply did not want to go. Reasons include that a better place is more central for eveyone, there is a garden we can sit in if it suddenly deigns to become sunny, or one of the two babies can be taken to if they hate it indoors and, I won't have to play taxi to all and sundry. I felt put upon.

I couldn't think of any way to put up and shut up with grace. What I did want to do was stamp my feet and scream that I wouldn't go, and if I did I wouldn't eat anything, and I would take just myself.

What I did in the end was to sensibly state my case, missing out the bits about feeling that I would be taken advantage of re; lifts etc.

The venue was quickly changed, with no tears, tantrums or tearing of hair.

O, so i can be a growed up then.

My first meme!

Well, Breezy Break decided to bring me out of my potting shed and tagged me for my first meme. Why, thank you ma'am, and here goes:

7 Things about me and gardening

1 The senior school I went to had a farm on it, and one of our lessons was Rural Science, called Double Digging, for obvious reasons. I didn’t think I listened to any of it but, surprisingly, I remember quite a lot.

2 My mother was helping me dig my patch once, when I was wearing a fairly miniscule, low cut vest (due to the heat.) She remarked that she’d looked at my melons, and weren’t ‘they doing well, dear.’ (the melons were growing in the greenhouse!)

3 Weirdly, my favourite flower to grow is a Dahlia – don’t know why, and I don’t ‘lift’ them for the winter. It’s the only flower I would grow that doesn’t have a nice smell.

4 I love to grow lavender, and obv. love the smell

5 My favourite place to garden is with me sitting in the sun, while Mr T does all the hard work. I once persuaded Mr T to move some plants a couple of inches to the left, as it was more aesthetic – yep, and got away with it!

6 Mr T loves bright colours and I prefer more, pinks, lilacs, blues etc – so we divided one of our gardens and I had all mine in pots = no arguments

7 My best job of the year is to plant my hanging baskets – so much reward for relatively little effort.

Now, I have to tag 7 other gardeners, so here goes again:

Dusty Spider is my bessy mate and loves her garden
Ducking for Apples I don't know where Ally would stop, to be frank
Kitchen Witch though, she is into knitting lately
Apprentice takes good pictures of gardens and stuff, and writes a cracking short story
Johny B's Private Secret Diary on his hols at the mo, but lives somewhere green
Stately Moans is often up to her armpits in sh**, so might plant something as well
My so-called blog now she's left work, tho' has a sparkly new sewing machine, has time for gardening, no?

And then, I need to let each of these good people know that I have given them some homework to do, sit back, feet up to read and learn more about them.
Do please join in, though if you would like.

Add some gossip, as well, if you please.

I am being haunted ...

.... by the main characters in my novel, and what has happened to them, why and what they do about it.

Yet, I haven't written a word of it down. I keep making the excuse that I don't know where it should start - the options are Now and Then. I see the two main characters, I know which one is which, what they wear, what they smell like, etc, etc.

It's late now. But, I will definately write 1,000 words tomorrow.

I promise to myself.

And, you are my witness.

(Unless, of course, I do the meme that Breezy Break has set me (7 things about gardening & me; and tagging 7 other gardening (or not) blogs) - as a slight distraction excercise) tum, te, tum, te, tum.

Up shit creek

In the words of some bloke off the telly 'I don't belieeeeeve it!'

Last Tuesday I reached the golden age of the half century.

By Saturday's post (some 4 days later, er, for those who can't count, or who've lost count) I recieved, from our local hospital, a kit for collecting poo, so that I can send it back to them and they can test it for bowel cancer!

In other areas you need to be 60 to do this.

I suppose if they look after us right, and detect it early - we may live until at least 60, eh?

Just Landed

I awake and look around me. Yes, it's my bedroom, my bed, and my man snoring next to me. Thank fuck, we're home.

We've just been to another planet for the weekend. A squeezy plane took us from normality, where bins are emptied, loos are clean and have paper in them, those nice police officers ensure everyone's car is checked for, well, you know. Those nice orange-clad people who staff the check-in desks ask inane questions; and yet more nice people (in stiffer uniforms) operate the boarder control, taking the opportunity to laugh at holes in your socks, and you having to hold up your belt-less trousers, and then have a free feel-up of you.

We've just been to a place where everything is filthy, flashy and fast.

But, this isn't the worst of it, dear reader. O, no!

We've just been darn sarf - to middle Hingerland. More yet, to a Family Wedding, groan you may, or titter you yet. And, even more, zoomer-ish, to a family wedding, in England with the fucking footballers wives!

Everyone has to drive a sleek, black car - bmw, merc etc. The wives have to be got up like make-up was slapped on with a catapult; with tallons wot mustn't be broke! screech!

There was a screech! if they lost their spectacles, or god forbid, their 'phone, which is constantly on the go wiv texts from 'me mate, yeah?' and rattled with designer dangly things.

Everything is in a panic. Now, I know weddings are stressful, expensive and the scene-setting for not letting the side down. Representing the family's wealth and status.

But, this is their Normal Lives, where every designer label (don't ask me, I haven't a clue) has to be Seen to be seen. Everyone Has to Have a Diamond. Even if they are only 8 years old, for gawd's sake, as a rite of passage into the World of Bling. I can feel myself getting all screechy! as I remember all this.

The designer holiday has to be taken. Even before the needs of the children can be met. 'A?' was the reply to a carefully worded query as to Why the Fuck has the holiday to be taken before, blah, blah, etc.

Heads seem to be filled with the latest must-haves of Things, Places etc. and we simply didn't fit in.

I must now be an official country-ophile. Much as I tried, through gritted teeth, I simply could not get them.

Race for Life, Walked

Yep, done it! (That's me with the purple shower-proof jacket around my waist - that does not keep out the heavy rain, I found.)

By gum, I am v. fat, v. unfit and v. untrained, but managed to complete the Race for Life in Perth on Sunday.

Though I had been warned that it would be an emotional day, I found myself overcome with tears. This was at the beginning as we pushed off; during the walk, while looking at others' back labels; and then at the end when we finally hobbled through the finishing arc.

What a wonderful outing it was. Nanny's best Girl and Lolly Dolly-pop came too and helped, assisted by Mr T and the girls' parents.

I can't thank enough the people who sponsored me - what a wave of good feeling and support it has been.

And, I shall definitely be doing it again next year. And, of course, I shall be thinner and fitter. Like every (next) year.

A Smile - a Real One!

Apologies. It's a nanny thing.

I got a real smile today from Ellie! They say she's too young at two weeks and one day old but, when I greeted her with a 'hello you' she looked at me and her eyes lit up, then she grinned at me!

Apologies again, but I am in love!

My cup runeth over ...

... all because I have had the best nights' sleep in a year.

The story...

Last year we bought a new bed. All spiffing it was. Brown leather headboard and footboard. Quite the most modern thing we had had in, well, years. Sumptuous, with new leafy green bedding to go on it and everything.

Mr T doesn't like the bedding at all. But, I've bought it, and love it, so it gets used in rotation with our other stuff.

We have really treated ourselves to a goose down duvet, that is cool in the summer and warm in the winter. With only the small addition of my dressing gown over me, in the really, deep mid-winter.

However.

It was bloody uncomfortable, nay painful. To the point of near to tears each morning. So, not enough sleep, let alone quality sleep was making me tired and more than a tad grumpy.

We'd done all sorts, with the most recent trial of putting boards over the slats - a thin one for me and thicker one for Mr T. To no avail.

Then, yesterday I happened to pinch his half of the bed when he was on morning cuppa duty and, Bingo! Comfort.

So, yesterday Mr T and my bro, Wicker man went a hunting at the wood place and brought home the kill of a lovely, thick board to put over the whole of the slats.

I slept. I slept until 9.15! This is well better than the 4.30 - 6.30 I've been getting up in the morning over the last few months - too bloody painful to enjoy laying in.

Ah, well. Bliss.

Time moves on ...

... and baby Ellie is still very beautiful.

I had a call from nanny's best girl yesterday morning, to say that mummy was in a lot of pain and crying. So, the doctor was called, and I dashed down to her. Ooh, she was poorly.

Anyway, the doc arrived, pronounced no infection and prescribed some lovely, very strong painkillers. A couple of hours later an almost stoned mummy was sleeping and I got to look after them all for the day. Bliss! (for me, not mummy.)

Huge pile of ironing, and well sorted-out nursery and the family were all tucked up nicely, and she was much better when I saw her this morning. She'd really been over-doing it - all within a week of major abdominal surgery she'd - been making her own cups of tea, attended nanny's best girl's sports day, been shopping at T£sco, twice. Too, too much.

Yesterday was also our 32nd wedding anniversary. We reckon we've lasted so long because only one of us at a time has wanted to leave the other. If we'd both wanted to leave at the same time - we would have parted.

This stems, I suppose, from both of us having divorced parents. We honestly believed that people didn't stay married. But, we're still here, thankfully = best friends, and all. Well, most of the time. Well, sometimes!

He does think I'm mad, though. Tomorrow I shall be travelling umpteen miles to collect a free small chest of drawers from someone who is offering it on Freecycle Which is a brill site for people offering stuff they no longer need, and people offering homes for said stuff.

At least I don't have to work tomorrow evening, yay! We have some lovely people staying at the house that our boss owns. Sometimes, the people staying are ok, and only one so far has gotten right up my fucking nose, by being a right royal pain in the arse.

But, these ones are Gems - very polite, courteous, don't mess me about by asking for stuff I haven't prepared for, Clean Up after themselves (deep joy) keep their dogs under control and are just plain pleasant to be around and work for.

So, all's well in my world.

Oh, and nanny best girl has requested that only she be called that. Righto, I said. Her baby sister is now officially know as 'Lolly Dolly-Pop' because she is so scrummy etc, etc.

Ellie Florence Karen W.

Well, her name has changed a bit. Mum had gone off 'May,' and Dad didn't like 'Grace.' So they agreed on using Dad's mother's name.

But, she has arrived safely, by caesarean section, weighing in at 7lbs 7oz, at lunchtime today.

Hurrah! And Mum is doing very well after her op. She is very sore and very tired. But, she is also very in love with her new baby daughter.

Much love,

Nanny Karen xxx

Whinge Day Tuesday & Baby Blues

Apologies, this post will not be intriguing or spit your tea out funny, but may be informative.

My blog is for my private thoughts, whinges and rants. There are only a very special handful of people who actually know me in ‘real’ life, who know about this blog. This is because not only do they know me, but they love me despite that. (Translated into = I know I am being selfish.)

I have a hundred things to do today; this week in fact. But I can settle to none of them. I have hoovered through, checked my eB@y a lot and fannied about tidying my desk.

Our new grand-daughter will be born next Monday, by caesarean. A time of thrilled excitement, yes. And worry, too.

Mr T is having terrible back pain. He can’t sleep, can’t concentrate, and can’t do anything At All without being a grumpy git. I have back pain and lots of aching limbs, well four to be precise. Mr T is due to see the physiotherapist, who should be referring him for an MRI scan and to a consultant; and he’s paying a fortune (that he begrudges) to a chiropractor. My bad back has been with me since early teens and no more can be done.

However, a return to the main characters - our daughter, CW and our new baby grand-daughter.

CW is a beautiful, headstrong, vibrant woman who is desperate for another child. CW has, unfortunately, had three losses as previously mentioned in these posts.

Last July she had an ectopic pregnancy, which scared the living shit out of me, in case we might lose her. I’m afraid I lost sight of the baby she lost as I was so scared for her. At this time there was a fellow student who had lost his entire novel writing work, and there was lots of support and commiserations online for him. I wanted to strangle him, and shouted Fuck The Fuck Off! to the computer. I planted a little garden in honour of our loss.

After this, it was suggested that she wait three months before becoming pregnant again, and lo and behold, just before the three months was up she found out that she was indeed pregnant. Instead of being overjoyed, however, I just felt so angry.

Angry that she'd not waited the prescribed three months Before getting pregnant and, at what on earth was going to happen next; which I have no right to be at all as she is nearly 30 years old. Each of her three losses were unique, one in so many millions; no rhyme or reason why any or all of them should have happened to her; and certainly nothing to do with anything she had or hadn’t done. Just fucking nature doing its bit.

I know, that I cannot know, how it is for someone who's lost a child. But, I am a mother, CW's mother, and I would do it all for her, if I could. I love her and I'm scared.

It has been an awfully worrying time for her, coupled with the excitement. Which was exacerbated when she developed SPD – Symphasis Pubis Dysfunction* Ordinarily, the pelvis softens and widens in readiness for the birth, but with SPD it distorts and is extremely painful. She has had to use crutches when walking, cannot sit, lay or stand for long, cannot drive or use the toilet or bathe unaided, as she cannot open her knees more than 14cm.

CW did the most sensible thing she could think of and wrote me a letter, telling me how much she valued our friendship – which has always been so wonderful for her and me. She also outlined how worried she was about the baby and how unsupported she felt I was being.

I had found it difficult to get excited, until at least the second scan. Of course, physically, I was as supportive as ever, but not emotionally. I couldn’t let myself believe that, this time; it was actually going to happen. Until, last week, when visiting the consultant, who agreed to perform a caesarean section – next week, on 11 June.

Now, I am eagerly awaiting Ellie-May’s birth. But, I am so scared.

*SPD – info can be found here;

http://www.pelvicpartnership.org.uk

Ooh, 'ek!

It is definitely 'Ooh, 'eck!' alright.

I've now started my proper training for the cancer research raceforlife -->

And, as I am sooo fat, and sooo unfit, it's about bloody time.

Last evening I went out with a group from the WI, not knowing the others were bringing their men with them. Mr T was nicely tucked up at home, watching the telly.

We had a lovely time, Hill Climbing! Which, for most of them, was a mere meander amongst the hills. Luckily, one of them was aged over 80 and couldn't manage to climb down the steepest bit, just to 'have a look at the river' so, I (kindly) stayed with her.

The views from the hills were Stunning. I do love Scotland.

We went back for supper which, as I'd only had chocolate for lunch, I was starving for; and got... half a cheese roll, half a ham roll and two delicious lumps of cake. So, I woofed those down with a cup of tea and left them to sup some wine and went home and had a pizza.

And, this morning a mere matter of hours after the last walk, went on another one!

Bugger, I'm hurting. Still, a few more cocodemol, some ibuprofen and cod liver oil capsules and I should be fit for the next bit - a swim tomorrow.

Not a chocolate...!

Now, don't get me wrong. On the whole I love my job. I have a very short walk, up a leafy lane, and with stunning views, to get to my work.

At 7.30 am, yesterday morning, for example, it took me a couple of minutes to let out the hens and walk up to work amidst a fresh nip in the air, rhododendruns bursting out all over, and loads of noisy birds vying for attention with the sounds of their chirruping.

Wonderful stuff.

However.

This was the last morning of a long week at work - up to 12 hours for each of 8 days and yep, Not a chocolate, Not a big bunch of flowers, Nor yet even a cash bonus was I given for a tip, as my predecessors had.

I am head cook (producing the best of Gary, Gordon, Nigella and Mary Berry), bottle washer, laundrymaid, shopper, seamstress, bed-maker, toilet cleaner, shoe-shiner, butler, soother of ruffled feathers, etc for my boss and his guests. Rose, Mrs Bridges and Mr Hudson et al, all rolled into one.

All for the princely sum of £5.35 per hour (basic minimum wage.) That's what I get. Mr T, for being gardner/handyman and general runner abouter has our tied cottage thrown onto his salary package.

My boss visits only a few times a year, but expects, and gets, full service. Except, of course, any 'service' above and beyond the normal call of duty- *ahem*.

And. Joy of joys - I heard that the rancid old crow, who used to have my job yonks ago, but has now climbed herself up to the dizzy heights of paid 'companion', made up Lies about me. A big problem for her is that I am good at my work.

Fuck, I do wonder why I am doing this.

Especially when I am asked what will happen to the leftover food; will it get saved and put into the freezer?

Perhaps I should be grateful for the 'showy offy' glass of champange I was persuaded to drink the other lunchtime.

Just made me drunk in charge of an Aga.

Egg Shaped

I was wondering, over the last few days, what must it be like to be a chicken, as it lays its first egg? It surely can't be like labour, as in giving birth labour. When that happens there is a build up, of shufflings, and wrigglings and well, Pain. That builds. And Gets Worse by the Hour.

I don't know of any animal, or fish, that goes into labour to give birth for, it must be remembered, most days of its life. Like a chicken does. Can you imagine? When the wee chicken starts to feel some kind of rumblings in the nether regions -

'Sqawk! Wha' the f...?' is the very least it must say to itself, when this oval thing decides to burst out of its bum. This would scare me shitless, especially as they don't get to go to any ante-natal classes. Anyhoo, 'nuff of these meanderings. I have news.

Ahem *cough*...

Yes, our first egg, laid by one of our lovely girls, sometime this afternoon, as modelled by Mr T himself.* We are sooo very chuffed that one of our girls has come through for us.

I do feel a bit squeemish, though, about actually Eating this first egg.

* Yes, he's still wearing those damned trousers.

CAN YOU GUESS?

Can you believe it? Can you?!! We, at our local Rural, won the heats for a mini-Play competition way back in March of this year. This was lovely, we were really pleased to run home with the cup, make videos and tell all our mates about it. Though a bit daunted to be having to don our costumes again to re-perform, as'twer, we were up for a Challenge!


However.


Last night was the County Final. We were up against some stiff competition and all the ladies were nervous, and held bated breath while the Adjudicator read out his comments, including some bits about the bits he was impressed by.

Looking at him when he arrived earlier in the evening, a flat briefcase attached to his hand, and sporting a neat beard, shiny glasses, red cheeks and maganamous grin, I could tell he wouldn't mind any of our knicker, liquour or stripper jokes.

Oh, we had our champions of champions speeches ready. We'd decided who and in which order the mike would be taken; even the pose we would make around the Winner's Trophy for the undoubtedly glamorous photographs we'd be called to do, despite that it would, no doubt become boring, yawn.


But, can you guess?




We only went and bloody Won!



Autographs R Us, then.*

* When asked if she'd like our autographs, 'F' said 'I knew you before you were famous!'

They're Here!

Yes, the chickens have moved into their spiffing new house and run that Mr T and my bro made this week, Look!

Aren't they gorgeous?!

Although they are over in a large walled garden with two good gates, there is a big, big problem with foxes (the swans on the loch usually lose all or most of their signets to the darned things each year) and weasels, so they need to be secured in a house and run. This will be moved every few days or so, depending on how quickly they eat all the grass. They should start laying in 10 - 14 days and then we'll have lovely fresh eggs!

Though he was a bit wobbly tonight, Mr T insisted on weaving his way over to close them indoors. We had been out for Nanny's best girl's birthday dinner. After she and her mum and dad went home, we kind of got locked in the pub and, well the ale flowed freely, shall we say.

He is tucked up in bed now, gently snoring.

Meanwhile the dog is also in her bed, gently making very smelly farts. Is this because she 'in season' at the moment, do you think?

Not long now...

Well, halfway through April and, it seems, the Summer may just have arrived.

Nanny's best girl returned from her holiday with The Other Side of her family (estranged father and strange grandmother) sporting a lovely pair of high wedge shoes - at aged 10 years of age. I ask you! Great for playing the swingball game for the garden I got her for Easter.

Oh, she is a gem. Staying over for a couple of days, she brings great joy, and a reminder of the disruption a whirly-gig can bring to our lives! Today she came with me to see Mr and Mrs Farmer's new baby lambs, and we arrived just as a ewe was giving birth to her second lamb. Facinated eyes watched as the tiny wee scrap slithered out and, looking blindly about, made it's first 'baaa..'

Somebody who was burning heather caused the local volunteer fire-fighters to take a break from lambing to put the damned buggering thing out, before it continued to sweep along willy nilly and destroy all in its path. The billowing yellow smoke was a tad exciting to see though I shouldn't say so.

Our bedroom is now very dark. Our new V£lux blind has arrived! After over two years with nowt at the window I shall not be awoken by either the full moon glaring at me; nor the bright morning sunlight of, oh, about 3.30am of the height of summer. Bliss.

However, when the blind arrived I eagerly tore open the wrappings, with full intentions to fix up the thing myself. I know it is easy as I watched Mr T fix one up in our last home, with nary a swear word to be heard. Funny thing tho'. When I read the instructions, with pictures and everything, I got a bit scared when I realised I would need a screwdriver and bradawl. Ooh, I didn't want to be doing stuff like that. Did I? This is spooky as, when a younger woman I was, I would think nothing of hammering in a few screws or gaily making holes for where the things would go. But, now I'm not so sure about this stuff, which is a bit weird.

I went out to visit new lambs and calves and left Mr T to do it. I never heard any cussin' or nothin'.

We have, as we speak, plans, drawings, lengths of wood and a man found who can supply other wood and stuff for our Chicken Coop! Hurrah!

And, the name and telephone number of a man who may be able to supply some laying hens. Not long now then...

Sunshine!

We've had a beautiful sunny day here today, really warm enough to sit outside and get a red nose! This is the view from our bedroom window this morning, two fat horses laying down in the sunshine!

But, as you can see, they did stir and wake up - must have been the sound of us giggling while taking the 'photos!

I feel like I've had a fairly productive day as I got a lot of work done for my Open University 'Start Writing Plays' course, which you can find here at;

http://www3.open.ac.uk/courses/bin/p12.dll?C02A176

I am enjoying it, though I am a really crap student. I know that if I was to work through the course, whichever it is, from the start and do all the exercises as they are laid out, I would probably do better than the grade C or, at best, B, I usually get. However, I tend to come across something I am unsure of, get scared, and place my head under the covers, so to speak, in a panic and leave it.
But, today I decided to just go back over what I should have been doing for the last couple of weeks, and actually, got through most of a whole block. With the exercies as well! This has really spurred me on and the ideas are now fizzing around this tatty head of mine.

And,

I had a couple of new pals from WI around last evening, which is something that doesn't usually happen. Oh, we have plenty of lovely visitors from England, but not really anyone local. That's why I joined the Scottish Rural (WI), to get to know people; as we've been here over two years and have not really made any close friends. ah, bless!

This is a very close community and, they are wary of incomers, especially from England. While we haven't experienced open hositility, and people are polite, they haven't been what you'd call welcoming with open arms. I know that people who move to Scotland, Ireland or Wales from England have similar experiences. But, as a white person, it is strange to be the ethnic minority in a country.

Also, because we live in a rural location, well the whole area really, it is very 'white.' Not what we are used to at all. And, to me, it seems a bit bland. There are hardly any black and asian people about and it feels odd.

Don't get me wrong, I know that the 'culture' in England is virtually eroded; what with no Easter or Christmas celebrations as such, for fear of offending people of varying cultures, races and religions. What a crap idea.

At least there is still a strong Scottish culture and, perhaps, they feel unable to embrace others for fear of losing that, not realising what they are missing. But, in the local, local culture it feels like a closed shop. Bit of a lesson for a white person, really, isn't it?

We have begun to make some friends, but these appear to be mainly amongst other incomers too. And, it is a start, I suppose. But, one of the reasons for relocating here was because we enjoy the Scottish people, culture and, well, the scenery is so stunning.

It feels like a waiting game, I suppose, in that people will probably get to know us and begin to accept us as part of the furniture. Unless we are horrible people, but I don't think that is the case.

Well, this started out all sunny and happy, and we are, really. We love being together and working alongside each other, even though we hate each other and row sometimes. But, as there's no-one else to fight with, we have fun making up too!

If you please...

‘I’d love to get a campervan …’ I dream, watching one as it passes the bus we are on.

Miss Manners pipes up ‘You have to hire one first. To see if you like it.’

‘Oh, we nearly got one a couple of months ago …’ I interrupt.

‘There’s no point in spending money on something you don’t like.’ She kindly fucking points out to me.

‘…but, we couldn’t afford it, without dobbing in our 4 x 4…’ I trail off and give up, and stare out of the window, biting my tongue so it bleeds, I tell you, bleeds!

She continues to entertain the rest of our seven strong group of women, all heading for a pleasant lunch in the country, with her infinite bloody wisdom.

Later, that same hour … !

‘Ooh, look at that lovely chair in that shop!’ I point at a delicious chair that, actually, would not fit into my (shitty small) compact and bijou house and I am told,

‘It’s rude to point!’

‘Fuck the fuck off!’ is the retort I wish to give to the keeper of my life and manners, it appears. In sisterhood, you understand.

However, I politely point (see it’s a habit!) out that I am an adult and am allowed to point at whatever and whomever I so wish. Thank you. And, she sulks!

I like good manners. I am often tempted to highlight other people’s, shall we say, misdemeanours and aberrations, but I would never be soooo rude as to do it!

You ask my (grown-up) children. I have learned that advice given is only valuable if asked for and, as kids rarely ask for advice; I have very quickly indeed learned Not To Give Any. Which has an upside in that, when stuff goes wrong for them, as it occasionally does, it's not my fault and nothing to do with me, hurrah! Sadly though, I don’t get the pleasure of saying ‘I told you so!’

Not that I ever would (gawd, I sound horrible, but I’m not, honest. Just, well, honest) we just get the bill, usually.

More usually, though, they surprise us and do, well, rather well, don’t they?

Easy pleasure # 2

I am currently being pleasured by This!

Go buy yours now at;

www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk


It really is a spiffing read. And, it's still in aid of Comic Relief's Red Nose Day.


I also have a new pet, a webcam, to go with the wee black dog. But, she's not sure about it, probably wanting to eat it, little bugger!


It looks like an alien, peeping at me over the top of the laptop screen. I think I'll call it a name. Why, I don't know, but it seems a fluffy thing to do. So, it shall now be known as Little Bo.





And, the weather finally Smells like Spring today. Not a day too soon as it's now British Summer bluddy Time.

Easy pleasure

Mr T sits across from me in the kitchen of the main house, smoking a fag and drinking coffee. Legs akimbo.

‘Blimmin’ ‘eck!’ I say, ‘you simply cannot wear those jeans anymore!’

‘But, I love these jeans, and they do me fine for work.’ He replies, defensively.

‘Let me take a photo of the holes in the seams and the crutch and then …’

‘Don’t be a twat! Gerroff me!’

Exasperated, I squeak ‘I’m not the twat, you are indecent. They’ve got to go, you look like a perve, look, and I can nearly see all your bits. Plus, there are worn out patches on the legs.’ I nag, apparently.

While he’s away for a few days I order him some new ones from the M£S website – one pair black and one pair blue, which will be delivered by 28th March. Good-o.

I rake the bedroom floor for washing to put into the machine, and find the forlorn jeans. I go to throw them in the bin. Relenting, I wash them. And IRON them. For God’s sake! Because I am worried he’ll not have any to wear if the new ones don’t arrive sharpish. And, his bum does look particularly gorgeous in them …

This morning, I am sitting in bed, sipping my first cuppa of the day ah, nectar. Enter Mr T. He has found his pile of ironing (I wash, I iron, I don’t put away.) He is bearing his precious, pervie jeans in his outstretched arms; his face a picture of joy and happiness.

He strokes them reverently; eyes alight, reminding me of the magic of Christmas.

‘Well, summer’s coming and I’ll need to keep cool,’ he says. Then he proceeds to refold them, stroking them all the while. He places them in his drawer, saving them for best.

Bitz a News

Not an awful lot to report today. Wee black dog pining for Mr T - looking like a little lost poor child all about the place. As well as running away, around to see Mr & Mrs Farmers' dogs and pesterin' the life out of them 'cos they live in kennels and she doesn't. And helpfully getting me into my coat, hat and wellies again this morning, whilst still wearing my pj's (me not the wee dog.) And, the snow's still here, though it has stopped snowing, but it is bloody cooooold!



Best Bit: one of my Bessy Mates is coming up to stay for a week in April, Hurrah! And, the Farmers have agreed we can help them with the lambing. But, I shall have to stay away from pregnant Freaky Friday due to a toximoses thingy. Luckily, she will be away for most of this visit ... which show all things work out somehow, don't they?

And, apparently the Proclaimers got into the pop charts at no 35 this week - on downloads alone. People preferred the real one to the karioke one that Peter Kay and Matt Lucas did for RND. Um, while I did enjoy the RND one, I, um did download the

Proclaimers Best of album via i-Tuns. And it is Great!

O, and my bloody cold is back. How ^ery dare it!!

A Bl**dy Dog! Story this time ...

Ooh. I said OOH!

Mr T is away for a few days, staying down South, in England, with my brother - an excuse, you see to partake of (lots) of brewed hops, some F1 on the telly and a look at some pop star called Lemar, and generally having a batchelor kind of time... Me? O I'm having some lovely, peace ...

Back here at the ranch, the Scottish sky keeps sending snow to fall on our heads. Well, it arrives in the night, covering our ve!ux windows so I can't see out, and making the hills look like xmas cakes. Then the sun comes out to play and it goes - see-saw, see-saw.

(Just now, at 10 minutes past 4 o'clock, the sun's out and the trees are swaying in an ear-bitingly cold wind, when half and hour ago big, fat fluffs were sailing down - confusing.)

And, while Mr T is away then with the dog I have to play. Wee dog and I came back yesterday at about 7 o'clock, from having a lovely mother's day dinner, cooked by Freaky Friday and ... well, me and a little bit by nanny's best girl (who, not grumpily, o, no missus never grumpily, helped me wash and dry the dishes (moody nearly 10 year olds, eh? tsk.)) and that morning's snow had melted. So I peacefully had a bath.

Then, 30 minutes past 8 o'clock the wee dog needed to make yellow snow. I thought bugger it, I'll put my coat over my jarmies and put on my wellies. O, no. The wanky torch batteries had gone (we do live in the wilds, hence no streetlamps, and hope to gawd the buggering Gordon Brown does NOT double the price of the 4x4 tax) so, I put in more batteries. It turns out the torch bulb had gone. Meanwhile, the wee black dog is turning white in new, freshly falling yet-a-bloody-gain, snow, waiting patiently for me. So, found another torch, donned hat, gloves and scarf as well as thick, long coat and socks and wellies, to brave the near white-out so she could have a poo, and I waddled out the door.

O, wee now-white dog, loved bounding about in the snow, hiding from the torch-light and fair danced up to the end of the lane. Just to return to the house with me, wriggle and generally fuck about while I tried to wipe her feet, and she didn't have a poo at all.

Ooh, I said OOH!

Puff, pant and rock

We started our walking 'training' yesterday. As I am not fit, at all, I succumbed to very achy little leggies, being puffed out and, as I'd worn Mr T's socks instead of mine, getting blisters on my heels.

Not only that but also, we enjoyed fantastic views from up the hill, fresh air, red cheeks and a sense of achievement that I had actually got off my arse and moved about the place a bit. We've diaried in to walk around near A's place next week. A is very much more used to walking than I am, and she's slimmer, younger etc so, I shall have to get some practice in!

But, when to get the time? I have to see the rest of $aturday £itchen this morning. I have a Rural meeting this afternoon and, the 'competition' is for 3 rock buns (see? how exciting?) But, I thought I would have a go, and realised I haven't made these things for nearly forty years! It was in first year of senior school, aged 11. I can remember having made them but for the lifeof me couldn't remember what they even looked like, let alone tasted.

Luckily, Mr T went to the same school as me, and had to do 'domestic science' as cooking was called then and he made them too! So, he was chief taster and passed them as 'mmm, ok' for me. Shall I faint if I win?

Buy This!

'THIS' is a book, full of funny stuff all written by V.V. Funny Bloggers, compiled by Mike Atkinson, in support of Comic Relief's Red Nose Day.

I just did! at;

http://www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk







GOOD LUCK TO RED NOSE DAY!

Kerpow!

It's 10 past 6 am. I have been awake since 30 minutes past 4 am. This is the result of having an early night. This may not be very early by other peoples' standards, but 11 pm was Early for me, lately. I've been, I dunno, sitting up until 2 or 3 am each night (morning?) lately. Looking at films, Skins, Scrubs etc on the telly, as well as checking my email, looking at blogs (there is some v.v. funny people out there!) eBay, Amazon and, O, anything that takes my fancy on the computer machine.

Then, I can't get up in the morning.

So, I am grumpy. And, can't Get On with anything with any kind of Energy.

Then Kerpow! I've signed up to do this Race for Life and, suddenly, I have Energy! I have been motivated to bully all my email contacts - some of whom I haven't written to in, O, ages, except to pass on 'funnies' like you do; I've printed out a sponsor sheet, ready to bully those lovlies at the rural who don't have email, or have been sensible to not give me their email address; printed out a training sheet, in order to bully myself into doing stuff, or at least, read whilst laying on the sofa to drink hot chocolate with marshmallows in; spoken to a couple of pals and bullied them into joining the race too. One of whom had the cheek to call me Ms Bossy Boots! But both of whom try to bully me into stopping smoking.

Ah, yes National Non-Smoking day today. Or is it World-wide Non-smoking Day?

Anyhoo, I shall try to not smoke today, (please, miss can I have more tomorrow?)

And, one of my pals is coming round on Friday am, so we can begin our walking training.

So, perhaps this Race for Life is gonna do something to prolong My Life, eh?

Just one more thing ...

Now then, I know that over just the last few days I have asked you to donate a funny blog, to help needy folk around the world; not eat unethical chocolate, thus do a bit towards stopping slavery, that was, apparently, abolished oh, about 200 years ago, except it's not. Stopped that is.

However.

I do have just one more thing to bring to your attention, and to ask not just for your support, but also for your money, too. Cancer Research UK, Race for Life has just had another entrant, me, at Perth, on 1st July, um this year. This Year!

Please see the thingy at the in the side bar and, please do donate at least a little Something. Or enter and do it your self. Thank you.

O, and I'd best get moving a foot. Or Two. One, after the other.

Hedgehogs, Ginger Beer and Chocolate

Ooh, I'm hungover. Not from alcohol, you understand, as I only drunk Ginger Beer and Lime. But, we didn't get to bed until about 3 am, after going to a Ceilidh Ball last night. And, I danced! The Dashing White Sargeant, it was, and I was bloomin' knackered - then at midnight there was a disco, ooh! I love dancing, and did it, well, a lot. 'Dancing Queen' me. Trouble is I have a sore hip. And, I don't really exercise much. So, this is the first exercise I've had for, oh, some while, ouch.

I took nanny's best girl to Burnham, Perthshire, yesterday to look at the Beatrix Potter exhibition. Well worth the one pound coin entrance fee. She's nearly ten (NBG, not Beatrix) but still enjoyed dressing up in Mrs Tiggie Winkle's bonnet, pretending to iron old fashioned clothes, grimmaced at the drawings of spiders and loved reading about her life. Well worth the drive and the money. We went into the dreaded 'gift' shop and the only thing NBG really, really wanted was a book of Beatrix's journal. Now, she has a birthday coming up shortly ...

Speaking of special occasions, I know some of you do buy for mother's day, and will probably buy for Easter so, I'd like to ask you to look at this site.



http://www.stopthetraffik.org/chocolatecampaign/







It tells you where you can buy chocolate that is human traffic free. Do scroll down to the 'Good Chocolate Guide' highlighted in blue.
Thank you. (picture downloaded from Fair Trade site)

Now, I shall have to get dressed, the family are all coming round for their Sunday Roast dinner and, I hope they will make the coffee, to help my poor head that is hungover from staying up late, too much ginger beer and, ahem, too many fags ...

Shaggy Blog Stories

Len, fellow A215 06 er.

In aid of Red Nose Day, Troubled Diva are hosting a bookwriting thingy.

http://troubled-diva.com/labels/rednoseday.html

(updated 11.3.07 with a copied linky thing)

This hasn't come out all spiffing and sparkly, with a proper link etc. But, it is a great idea, so do give it a go.

The idea is that bloggers submit their funniest blog to Troubled Diva, by Wednesday 14th and then they (or, if they are overwhelmed with many entries, they'll make a selection) will collate them into a book. This will then be sold, in aid of Red Nose Day on 16 March. Yay! Go forth and submit your best!

Just thoughts

Oh, bugger. This post was in danger of turning into a rant about mine and my mother's relationship, or rather, lack of one.

Why is this relationship such a shite one for most daughters? And, what the fuck do we need Mother's Day for? It's a lie if you don't mean it, and can be wracked with guilt if it passes without acknowledgement.

This year, I will not find myself searching for a card without 'I love you' printed in it. I shall not send a card at all. Without Guilt. I believe it is now time for me to finally grow up and get on with it as far as my own mother is concerned. She's a grown up woman, who makes her own decisions. She can get on with it, too.

My bitterness and rage are here no longer. From this moment.

I have my own family and we love and nurture each other. It really is more than sufficient.

Win, Win, Win!

I am sooo chuffed, and huffed and puffed up I can hardly contain myself. We performed our playlette this evening for the Rural (Scottish WI) and Won the damned competition. There were only four entries but, because ours was different from the others and, well, yes, better we Won!

Darlings, it was a battle. Of wits and snipes, of lines cut and actions added. Of lines too short and stuff that just padded. Of the newbie's against the knowing old wifey. But, we came home with the silver trophy!

Here's the thing. We are now in the Final in a couple of months. So, we've to do it all again.

This actually won't be a pain, though as I like the women in our 'cast' and it's good to get to know new people. The witch and I will never like each other, but at least I am learning to tolerate her.

Ah, we live and learn.

Thumbs Up

Yesterday I noticed I have a numb thumb. And it's still numb this morning. Well, a bit, just at the top. Hmm.

As the fags have increased lately, I was a tad worried so I looked up 'numb thumb' on the bbc health site. Nope, not a heart attack. Nope, not a stroke. Or 'text thumb'. Or from playing video games - I don't really do much of either. Hmm.

Ah yes, then I remembered, I did three hours of ironing wet, starched napkins for work yesterday. Bugger, nothing exotic then.

Other News. On Thursday evening we had our final dress rehearsal for the Rural play competition, and stuff got helpfully changed*, by one particular person, Grrr! If ever a person got on my tits, it's this one. I try to keep calm, I do, grit my teeth and evertything, but I understand she has a reputation for being a cow, and in my panicky moods I wonder Just What she will come out with on the night. I shall never do anything with her again as she is an old b*tch.

Calm. Calm, Lavender, Calm. Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaalm.

Anyway, Mr T videoed it for us and, crikey it looked Shite. Well, fat, old me certainly did and most of us forgot at least one key line = the key lines are the funny ones. And it was a whole two minutes short. Although, we are hoping that this time will be made up in part by audience participation called laughter. Like a hyena, me, haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, bloody, arrrrrrrrrrrrgh.

So, I have elegantly added more dialogue for my character, as I don't feel I can ask anyone to learn anything new at this stage. Today is Saturday, we have a last read-through and check-out on Monday morning, then we will perform this life, nay, world changing literary gem, on Monday evening.

Fuck, it's only a 10 minute skit, for Chrissakes!

(see what language they made me do?)

* of the play wot I wrote.

Donny, David or Rod?

Donny or David? In my yoof, cira 1973, I was a David Cassidy fan, he was soooo cute! We don't see so much of him now, and, like some of us, he hasn't really kept his looks. Hooever, Donny (Osmond, in case you are a zoomer) is on the telly lately and, on this lunch-time's edition of Loose Women, he was introduced as the 'Original Teen Idol'

Ahem.

A teen idol, as far as I know, is the bloke you drool over, scream at, sob over, dream and fantasize (yep, sexually, of course. Even when you are only aged 12 or 13, or younger) 'cos you Firmly Believe he will happen upon you, straight away fall madly in love with you, thus making his life complete. Teenagers only evolved around the 'fifties, when Elvis Presley hit the sounds and screens, and hitherto-before demure young ladies, jumped up and down, doing all of the above. He was the 'Original' and, don't tell anyone but he can make me squiggle about even now. Even though he was my parents' generation, and is believed to be dead.

Now, a later and everlasting idol for me, is Rod Stewart (not yet a Sir ...) Not, you understand, just because he is sexy, sassy, wrong-'un type that your father would not allow within a million miles of his unsullied (?) daughter but he is a superb song-writer, and great performer.

At the moment I am stamping my feet (yup, another tantrum. Possibly) because he is due in Concert at the Hampden Park Footie Ground in Glasgow in July. My birthday's in July. I want to go and see him. But the cheapest tickets are 75 pound coins of this realm. But, we need to seriously consider a new matress in order to stop the groaning aches we find ourselves with, as we grapple out of a fitful sleep each morning ...

Watch this space, kiddos.

Dirty cups, snow and backseat distractions

I have cleared my bedroom floor by picking up all my clothes,

sorted out the many, many books on my beside table, brought down furry cups and glasses and put rubbish in the bin. I did this without being nagged, or threats of being grounded. Oh, and I'm not 14 but 49!

We have snow again!

And those kind, helpful snow-plough people have cleared the road at the end of the drive, but obviously think we don't want to go anywhere, as they piled it up about 4 feet high at the gate, thus blocking all entry and exits.

Oh, and on the news today it was announced a zero tolerance and hefty fines for being distracted from driving, by using a mobile 'phone on the move. I absolutely agree with this, as we are about 6% more likely to have an accident while telling people 'I'm going through a tunnel now.' There is further discussion on the banning of other distracting things to do while driving, such as eating and smoking. I used to be able to do all three... and have my morning cup of tea with me, but then, donkey's years ago we used to smoke in bed (but not while driving.)

When my children were in the car I often had to threaten to Stop the Car and Make Them Walk, if they would not stop fighting/arguing/asking 'are we nearly there, yet? Or grit my teeth when mother or mother-in-law would question my driving/dirctions or what I had bought in the sales.

My thought for today is - When will they ban the transportation of babies, toddlers, children and aged parents from the back seat?

Mid-Life Crises

I thought mid-life crises were for wimps. You know, those that are not only middle-aged in years but in mind, too. Wrong. It just hits you anyway. I am nearly 50 but feel, oh about 23 but with loads of life experience. I've got the partner I've had for years and years and still want to keep him; my children are grown up and, well, fairly adult and self-sustaining, with good relationships and families of their own; I've trained, done and left the job I always wanted, and now have the chance to do the one I've always dreamed of; I have lovely friends, with whom I am close, and am quite able to leave alone the ones who don't care for me or allow me to care about them.

Hooever, the mid-life thingy is more about me losing the role of Mother that I have had for all of my adult life, since I had my first child at age 19 and my second at age 20. I have nurtured and worried about them, am proud of and, at times, been furious with them, as well as pestered them and interefered in their lives. I have a crazy mother (really) and had a not very nice father (deceased) who, together or separately, were not fit to be parents to children so, no role models there. This is not a rant about my horrible childhood, and since. Promise.

Middle age, though, seems to be a time to take stock (oh fuck, cliche alert) and, as my 50th birthday approaches in the middle of this year, I find I can finally, emotionally, leave the kids to it and, I'm, well, Free of all responsibilty. O.

This also means, of course, that my kids are now free of me!

'Free at Last, Free at bloody Last!'

I hear them cry, nay, Shout. With tears of Joyous Relief, I should think!

I. Have. A. Cold.

I cannot remember the last time I had a cold. And, I don't like colds. Mainly because when you have one you have to bloody get on with it, and be off the fags. Now, a good dose of 'flu and you (I) can go to bed. For at least three days you think you are gonna die and, by the end of the third day, you are in soooo much pain you (I) wish you could die and be put out of your misery, blah!

Today I have been a wizz in the kitchen - and happily, partly, nay, mainly because now I have a dishwasher I can use the biggest bowl I want and, Don't have to Worry about the Washing Up! (sad, I know ...) Anyway, it was bacon & eggs for breakfast, homemade mayonnaise (the first. Ever) and chicken sandwiches for lunch; and then, lovely lamb mince done to a T in the oven, with Neris and India's 'Cauliflower Faux Mash' {steam the cauli, then wizz in the machine with some butter and cream, and hey presto!} All lovely, if not diet, food but here's the thing. I Cannot TASTE Anything due to a dose of the cold. Bastard.

None.

This is how I feel at the moment. Blah!

I have started Neris and India's diet and decided to start early with the decaf tea and suppliments and so the headaches began. Hooever, I now realise there is a sick-headachy thingy going around and think I've got that as well. But, started the food thing today.

Hopefully, I will feel better soon, and will post some more when I can.

That was the week, that was

Crikey, I seem to have been away for Ages! But, things have been happening, o yes. The new dishwasher has Changed my Life, I can tell you. Apart from now loading the stuff into the machine and it, well, washing it. We (the Royal We) put in new worktops and, instead of having a board over part of it to cover up a gaping hole at the back from when we re-arranged it to fit our fridge in ... blah, blah - the upshot is that I now have More Space in the kitchen, in which to make a mess And clear it up = bliss!

And, I do suffer the 'Blues' a bit at times and I get very down. Sometimes it is because I overload myself with saying 'yes' when I should say 'No! Bugger Off!' This is mainly because I forget that I am no longer a spring chicken of, say, 30 or so. I am, ahem, a tad older though, unfortunately it seems, not much wiser. Lately, in order to 'join in' and 'make new pals' I allowed myself to be sooked into writing the playlette for the WI Comp. This is, however, as well as my two OU courses starting at the beg. of Feb. To whit, I felt so panicked that my head went deep into the sand, lost sleep, considered running away to ... well, possibly join the circus (I knew somebody once who did exactly that, oh, she was my hero for a time!) Anyhoo, this has now been cured. I asked my lovely Freaky Friday for help, and we sat down today and put meat on the bones, as'twer, and it's Done! Done! Done! I took copies of the script, darhlinks, to the Rural meeting tonight, ready for rehearsal tomorrow morning. I am now so bloody relieved that I shall open my books for the two courses, both of which I am now two weeks behind, and Get Started.

Plus, in other bloody good news: Mwa and Bri have put an offer on a new house; My Bezzie mate's daughter just got engaged; and another pal, who is Heartily sick of her job, has an interview for another one tomorrow. Hurrah for all.

Hmm, had a lovely Valentine's Day (with Flowers!) and went out for a meal with Freaky Friday and her family, for her Birthday. (See above piccie, her friend sent to her, aah!) I remember her writing in one of her school books that she was 'mummy's Valentine's Day present.' How dare my youngest child now be aged 29!

Ooh, snow!

Meet my new friend ... as I write at five past eight pm, his hat is covered in the white stuff, which hasn't stopped tipping out of the sky All Day! Bugger, I was cream-crackered after playing snowballing and snowman building this morning - had to have a sleep this arvo, when Mr T took nanny's best girl to the front lawn with a sledge. However, it was too deep, apparently for sledging, she kept sinking!

Our neighbour, Mrs Farmer, went down to the town this morning in her land rover and, luckily, brought me some shopping back, but no-one can get in or out tonight.

As always, my first thought is, have we got enough to eat stored in the cupboards? And we have - flour, eggs, porage oats (the Scott's brand spelling, I've just noticed) veg, onions, potatoes, bread, milk. Pity we'll not be snowbound for a couple of weeks as I have enough supplies!

White Out Baby!!

We don't actually have snow here in central Scotland today, o no, we have a white out! Even the sky telly dish has to be cleared periodically (thankfully that appears to be a boy job, as well as walking the dog - but I have now bought myself a ciggie rolling machine in order for this to become a girl job) so I can continue to watch Murder She Wrote or some such, in the peace of my living room that has a lovely log fire burning in it. I can now do this while the washing up is done in the Dishwasher, yay! And How Sad Am I that this tickles me fancy and cheers me up? Eeuw!

What does cheer me up no end, though, is that I went with Freaky Friday and Helpful to see their baby scan. Wowee! Baby is a Girl (pink knitting (I know, I know in this day and age an' all) for me then.) Freaky and I sobbed with relief as baby sucked her thumb and then had a stretch - you know the baby s t r e t c h, with arched back, and raised chin. And, did I mention she sucked her thumb? Awww. We are somewhat particularly pleased as Freaky Friday has suffered what is euphemistically termed 3 previous 'losses'. We are blessed and this now means I shall have three granddaughters!

I may now stop sulking

Saturday - is bashing and crashing, hands thrown into the air as the kitchen is being dismantled somewhat. An emergency trip is taken to the retail park before closing time and get them to, please, give us the Correct Taps that Do Not Leak. I am staying out of the way while Mr T and My son in law, Mr Helpful, create a space in the kitchen for the sparkly dishwasher.

Monday - is hard earned pound notes being handed to the grinning man in the electric shop, overseen by the scruffy man who has come to pay his bill after spending some time in the pub. Evidenced by the foul beery breath he insists upon inserting into my breathing space, eeuk.

Thursday is D-Day - when I shall be happy that my dishwasher will be in the shop, and I can save the £25 delivery cost (to bring it the sixteen miles from the shop to my house) by collecting it - or rather advising Mr T that it would be good for me if he brings it home.

All is well and I may now stop sulking.

Today The Sun Was Weird

The sun today was quite weird and bugger if I didn't have my camera with me again. We (Freaky Friday) and I decided to not go swimming and go for some lunch instead and we travelled along under a fairly grey sky. But, in the distance there were some bare trees against a strip of skyline that was bright, bright blue. It was eerie. The weather was so lovely and mild I could have put out my washing on the line, sadly (as I am a sad person) my favourite job.

However, I was late for a meeting of a few of us from the Rural (Scottish WI without the Jeruselam) to sort out what we are going to do for the local Play Competition. We decided some time ago that several of us wanted to do it and, spookily as the theme is Fashion Show, at least two of us are somewhat larger than the current high profile of size 0 models. It is expected that the playlette of 10 minutes duration should be a farce. As usual, it was quite interesting to hear the different visions each person in a group of people will have. We talked around several ideas and finally decided on my (simple and basic) idea, which was developed, grew legs, and had 'meat' added. I have now been dubbed 'local writer in residence' and am expected, just because I volunteered, to come up with a draft script - ready for 10 am on Monday morning! One of the others has said she'll do the props and each of us will come up with names for each of the 5 of us who will be on stage.

While this is scary as people are relying on me, I now feel I have to be a grown up and produce what is expected. This is something I have never liked to do. For example, I have always knitted; I love knitting and will often knit something for someone, especially a new baby. But, this is the quirky bit, I usually can only do this if I have decided to myself that I want to do it, not if I've promised it, or I have been asked to do it. I think it is a fear of not acutally being able to achieve it. Hmmm. I wonder if this is why I tit about Not sending stuff off to anyone who might publish my work. Apart from the fact that I am lazy and can only work to a deadline, hence my excitement at getting my draft ready for Monday. I shall have fun with it.

Strewth, Have I got to be rich?

Big day today, I went to have my eyes tested. Firstly, I got up late and had a choice of cleaning my teeth and eating breakfast or straightening my hair and drinking my cup of tea. So, in order to Not look like Wallace's girlfriend, I chose the latter.

Following the eye test, during which I had chew some cherry menthol gum, (see above re teeth) the nice man took me to look at the lovely (!) cheap eyeglass frames that Boots seem to think people want to wear. However, as I Am a Fashion Icon I decided that I would either a) keep the lovely pinkish frames I already own and paid shed loads of money for two years ago, or b) check out the fashion frames. Eeek! the prices! The only ones I reeeely liked cost over £200. And, apparently, the 'Buy One Pair and Get Another Pair Free Gratis' only applied to 'Buy one pair of Lush Glasses and get another, Gopping Boots' Own pair' for free. If I stuck to plan option a) then that would cost one arm and one leg soooo I chose a lovely pair made by guess.

Hooever, when the man looked on the pooter, he managed to get me 4 hundred quids worth of eyeglass wear for the, ahem, 2 hundred quid I am forking out. He made out that we were swizzling Boots, but I don't believe him.

Also, the eye-testing (opthalmist?) did suggest that I could also, at a very reasonable price perhaps use contact lenses. This was a tad suspicious as I only use glasses for reading, etc. It transpires, ladies and gentlemen that, if I so wish, I could Wear One Contact Lens at all times and so would not have to pull out the fucking expensive glasses to read things in shops etc. At All!