Tuesday, 6 December 2011

Bring Me Sunshine........

Christmas Cards! If ever there was a flaming awful job, it has to be writing them. Last year I left it to the last minute and spent the week before Christmas frantically writing them and cramming them through folks doors. Why? All you do is write them to three lots of folk. The folk you want to write them to, (invariably the smallest list), then the folk you write them to because you don't want to offend them and thirdly the folk who you feel obliged to because they send you one every year but really you couldn't give a monkeys if they didn't. I bought mine half price on Saturday at BHS and I wrote them while L stuck them into the envelopes. Now they are sitting on the sideboard and as usual I will probably be stuffing them through doors at the last minute!

Promised the kids I would put up the tree on Friday. That means I will have to get S to haul it out of the loft when he comes back from down south. As usual he has taken off this morning and forgotten something.  This time his toilet bag.  I phoned him and he started to whine on about the fact that he had so much to take blah, blah, blah. Aye, along with the crate loads of wine and the calenders and diaries for his customers, he couldn't remember to take the most basic of stuff. Then to cap it all he phones at half past ten and says he has forgotten to book a hotel for that night. Cue me on the Internet like a loony, trying to book a hotel within the company budget. Since when was I employed by them? It would appear I am morphing into a secretary come PA for my own husband and I am not even on the payroll! To further add insult to injury he is meeting Mr Down on his Luck tonight so insisted on a twin room as pal is staying over for the night. Almost wanted to book a double. Visions of Morecambe and Wise spring to mind.......

L got up this morning claiming to have a cold. I will reserve judgement on that one until the end of school as I have a feeling she was trying to pull a fast one.......

Thursday, 1 December 2011

The Season of Good Will......

The first of December. Who'd believe it?  I have to confess that Christmas has never been a time that I have enjoyed,  in fact I would confess to cringing at it's arrival every year. I know there are loads of folk who can't wait to deck the halls but sadly if I could afford it,  I would jump on a plane to somewhere warm and pretend that it had never happened. Obviously having the kids has helped things but I don't think that I will ever truly relax at this time of the year. Why? Because Christmas was always a nightmare when I was a kid and a teenager - mainly because my mother could not cope with the stress of entertaining and morphed into an even worse control freak than usual. Christmas day was always a ruddy nightmare because we were not allowed to make a mess or get in the way in anyway. Dressed up in our Sunday best (to sit in the house - what was all that about?!) it was no fun what so ever. Invariably she went so high that a row would ensue between her and my Dad (usually not his fault) and then the atmosphere was thicker than the turkey gravy.  Dinner would arrive along with the guests (always late).  My paternal grandmother, her pal and an aunt of my Dads, a malevolent, bloomer wearing woman who masqueraded as a 'Christian'. Yes,  another one of those folk who went to church and thought because of it she could get away with being nasty. A major disappointment was awaiting her. (Note : putting ten quid in the Sunday School pot once a year doesn't necessarily curry favour either.) We would sit round the table while Gran's pal would polish off a ostrich sized turkey leg after proclaiming that she 'would never eat all that', aye right.  She said that every year.   I would sit in revulsion as Auntie P would chew her food with teeth that looked like she was breaking them in for a race horse.  It was like a scene from Roald Dahl's 'Twits'.  Highlight of the day was 'The Dick Emery Show' and 'The Morecambe and Wise Christmas Special'.  No wonder I have had such an aversion to Christmas. No amount of presents was worth the misery.

Until recently S and I have had Christmas on our own with the kids  mainly because I really could not bear the family thing at Christmas. Last year we had his mum, my brother in law and sister in law and the kids.  It was actually nice. Hopefully I have cracked the  curse of Christmas.........

Wednesday, 30 November 2011

The Sorry Tale of the Penguin Biscuit....

It's that wonderful time of the year...or so the adverts keep telling us. Yep, the school parties and pantos will soon be upon us again. The...school...party.......if you read an earlier post you will be aware that the one I witnessed last year was a ruddy miserable affair with baldy fairy cakes and an overload of tangerines. Our nutcase Council are paranoid about healthy eating to the point that the are no longer to be respected more snickered at for rules which flaunt basic, common sense.  I bet the person who makes them is sitting at their desk, weighing about twenty stone, and stuffing their chops with a bumper sized box of Celebrations.  It got me thinking about the parties I used to go to at school with egg sandwiches and ice cream.  I hate egg sandwiches but in retrospect they seemed preferable to the stuff on last years plates. It reminded me of a time I was sent to the Sunday School party,  held for some reason, at the local masonic hall.  As usual the paper plates were handed out containing amongst other things, sandwiches and Penguin biscuits. That was the day I discovered I didn't like Penguins. I took a bite and put it back on the plate, but couldn't just leave it there. Being the paranoid child I was, I thought I would get a row for wasting food,  so decided to go to the toilet and flush it down the lavvy. WHY DO WE DO THESE STUPID THINGS AS KIDS?  I remember flushing and it not going. There it was, a biscuit shaped turd-a-like twirling in the bowl.  I flushed for all I was worth but still the ruddy thing wouldn't navigate the U-bend. At that point I wished I had just eaten it in the first place and been done with it. I sneaked back to the party and spent the rest of it sweating. I had visions of some old maid Sunday school teacher coming back from the loos, horn rimmed specs askew, with a look of revulsion on her face, demanding that the culprit own up to their sin....


 And for anyone who has forgotten about what a real school party was like, here's a genuine photo of one of mine taken prior to the days of prohibition. (Complete with egg sannies and ice cream).  As you can see we were all enjoying ourselves so much the local press had to come and get a photo......obviously our taste in food was sublime, our taste in clothing....not so much..... Apologies for the newspaper cutting, it's virtually an antique.


Tuesday, 29 November 2011

If Carlsberg did Sleepovers......

L was ten on Saturday.  I can't believe it is ten years since she was born. Every day I wake up I am eternally grateful for her presence in my life. Even at her worst she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and at her best I truly can't believe that I could have produced her.

As a result of her reaching double figures she asked if she could have a sleepover. Oh joy!  Given the fact that she has been at her friends for their birthdays I felt obliged to comply. So the dining room was decorated with a pink, spotted tablecloth, pink and white bunting, matching paper tableware and the table was littered with party poppers.  Entertainment was painting snowmen mugs to be returned to the local pottery for firing the next day, glitter tattoos and bracelet making. How glad am I that I once took Brownies?  Five girls for a one night sleepover should be a doddle, after all I used to do twenty four for a full weekend. That was nothing short of torture. And I was insane enough to do it four times. After the very first night I recall sitting zombiefied at breakfast (we had two wet beds, a vomit splattered sleeping bag and a guider who snored) thinking that I had woken up in hell. So five I thought  would be 'no problemo' - I hoped. I borrowed J's blow up camping beds so they could sleep in the living room.

A good time was had by all with no fights and the girls were kept amused. It's amazing though what you hear when you are listening to kids conversations. L had 'Tangled' to watch for bedtime. Her choice and the girls were keen to watch it too.  I overheard two of them telling L and her pal J (who sat with their eyes goggling) that they had watched 'Paranormal Activity' at someone else's sleepover.  I  simmered inwardly at the irresponsibility of some parents. Fine if you want your kids to watch stuff that is going to scare them s**tless on you go. However if L had come back from somewhere and told me she had watched that,  A. she wouldn't have slept for a week and B. the film wouldn't have been the only scary thing the folks responsible would have witnessed........

After a breakfast of bacon rolls and croissants, and a jewellery making session,  they departed at midday.  I stared at the general detritus.  Party popper streamers clung to the curtains and carpets. The kitchen looked like a bombsite. To make matters worse I knew I was getting H's flu thingy he has had for the past week. I set to work quickly to clear the devastation. That way I knew I could die quietly in the corner later on....

If Carlsberg did sleepovers......

Wednesday, 23 November 2011

The Aliens are Coming.......

A strange experience the other night. H has been unwell since Sunday.  Horrible cough, high temperature and sore head. Took the decision to keep him off school on Monday as he looked pale and feverish. Settled him on the couch for the day, fed him paracetamol and let him rest. All quiet on the western front.  That was until two in the morning. I woke to hear strange mumblings and got up, in zombified state, to investigate. It didn't take long to wake up. He was wandering about on top of his cabin bed like a wild child, wet with sweat, hair standing on end and eyes like bullets. Slightly disconcerting. I tried to get him to sit down as he ranted about 'sleeping in your bed Mum'. H never wants to sleep in our bed (thankfully) but was having none of it. He then started to point in terror at his pyjama case and shrieked ' I need to sleep in your bed because of that!' When I asked him what was wrong he freaked out wailing, 'It's that flying saucer, it's coming for me!' Oh dear. Just a tad disturbing. It made me think of that scene in Close Encounters when the wee boy is abducted. I stood waiting for his electronic toys to start wandering about the bedroom and bright lights to appear. Nothing....  Stuck him in the bed and accepted the fact I was unlikely to have a comfortable night.......

The passports finally arrived today and fortunately due to the placement of the hologram I do not look too horrific. Congratulating myself that I might just make in through immigration I switched on the telly to see that Thomas Cook is in a dodgy way with debts in excess of £900 million. Heck. Makes the mortgage seem manageable. Then the horrible truth dawned.......we have booked our holiday through 'Going Places' owned by, you've guessed it, Thomas Cook. Next month we have to part with our holiday balance, Christmas Eve to be exact. According to a company spokesman, 'it is 'business as usual'. Yeah, seem to have heard that one somewhere before. Oh that's right. When they kicked my old boss Fred the Shred out the door of a certain distinguished Scottish bank....

Tuesday, 22 November 2011

To Santa or Not to Santa........

Well it is definitely official. I am a total nutter -or so it would appear. At a school meeting last night and happened to make the mistake of saying that the kids still believe in Santa. Cue guffaws and some one's comment of  'What a crock...'. H stills believes (he is seven),  L,  I doubt does, but pretends to and would never be cruel enough to ruin H's illusions.  A few years back, when L was six, she asked me if  Santa was real ' because ****'s mum told her it was her that bought her presents.' On the spur of the moment I laughed and said 'of course not, but her mum and dad will have to buy her presents if she doesn't believe.' Another parent had 'never done the Santa thing'. When did it become a crime to enjoy a little magic with your kids? I left feeling sad at their attitudes and wondering if I am in the wrong to let the kids enjoy something fun and exciting. Then of course self doubt crept in and I began to wonder about my own abilities as a parent. Is it wrong to tell them something that is a fantasy?  I have come to the conclusion that maybe I am extremely juvenile (probably), but if my only crime is to pretend Santa exists then I am guilty as charged .  Mr 'What a crock' then proceeded to moan about having to trail Disney theme parks for his holidays this year. Poor diddums. And I thought it was only kids who were spoiled brats!  I, on the other hand can't wait.  If I am a Santa and Mickey loving nutter then so be it. Better than being an unenthusiastic, boring old fart incapable of entering into the spirit of things.....

What a cynical world we live in... I'm off to dig out my Mickey ears in preparation for next March........

Monday, 21 November 2011

Christmas is coming,.......

For once I am actually proud of myself. I am speeding ahead with my Christmas shopping. Last year was a total nightmare but this year I have embraced the wonder that is Amazon and am now doing my shopping online and getting the whole sodding lot delivered to my door. FOR FREE! And for that matter,  cheaper as well. No sore feet, being crushed in shops, having your hands lacerated by heavy poly bags or being verbally abused by someone because you just happen to bump into them by mistake. Bliss! Last year was stressful to say the least. L had the flu and was off school for the whole week before Christmas, S had it and fortunately was on holiday,  but moped up and down because the PS3 he ordered had been held up by the snow. (It was bought for the kids - allegedly.)  That, coupled with eleven for dinner, manufacturing two Harry Potter cloaks, wrapping hampers and presents, helping in school and everything grinding to a halt because of too much snow,  it's a wonder Christmas happened at all......

L's passport arrived back this morning. Not bad - less than two weeks. However it has now sent me into a frenzy of anxiety wondering where the heck H and mines are. H's is probably fine, while mine is probably pinned to a wall in the passport office while folk laugh and throw darts at it.

Went to Glasgow yesterday for some shopping I couldn't get off Amazon. It was quite a nice day. Shopped in the 'Build a Bear Workshop' for my nieces. L had a whale of a time picking things for them,  while S and H hung about outside looking like they were going to expire from boredom. Then we went to Primark for some stuff. As usual it was the kids department where she picked up clothes which were thoroughly inappropriate. I wanted to laugh as we finally settled on a top for her birthday party. A pink sparkly affair with ruffles, a flower and clip on necklace. Nothing like overkill.  It might just get lost in the washing basket, an easy feat at the best of times......


Just waiting to see who our first village eejit is.   In other words the first loony to stick up their Christmas tree. Last year I spotted one on November the 27th. Why would you do that? I like Christmas but that drives me nuts!  All it does is start the kids on a frenzy of asking when ours is getting put up. My head gets nipped until I finally give in and nearly kill myself hauling it out of the loft.

Note to self : try to find Advent Calenders in loft. Will not get away this year with pretending that Advent starts two days late because I have forgotten about them....

Sunday, 20 November 2011

Passports!

Finally after months of procrastinating, I have managed to get the passports applied for. A mammoth task. S has his own, mine needed renewing, having expired two years ago and the kids both need their first. First stop, photos. It does not matter how much effort I make with passport photos, I always end up looking like Jabba the Hutt with a hangover. They will never let me into the United States with the scary looking effort I provided. Specs removed, hair slicked back unnaturally (I have a fringe) and a face so sour it would frighten children, I sent it off secretly wishing it would be rejected and I would get another go. And have you ever tried to get a six year old to not smile?  L and I had to turn our backs on H. I knew he would automatically laugh when the camera hit him. I was right. The man in Timpsons was patience personified. Just as well. Eighteen quid down the lavvy - at that price they should have been able to make me look like a ruddy supermodel.

Not content with having to pay for photos, I also had to provide a full copy of H's birth certificate. I only had the extract. S and I had a humungous row the day his birth had been registered and I think I floated into the registrars on a post natally psychotic cloud and floated out again not giving a s**t about whether we had it or not. Another ten quid!

Finally forced myself to go and get poor J to sign them as she stuffed her dinner back one Monday night. I looked so different that she had to countersign mine again.  We debated about how long we had known each other and I could have wept as she wrote 'I consider this to be a true likeness of...' on the back of my photo.

After parting with seventy seven quid for my passport and forty nine pounds each for the kids I sent them off. No check and send, I have a feeling that going abroad after twelve years is going to be a major eye opener. Everything seems to have changed and I have not even got to the ESTA's yet......

Wednesday, 16 November 2011

It's a Hard Knock Life for Mum.......

L has been accepted for the school choir. A lovely thing you may think - but no. Not when your ears are being assaulted with various songs over and over and over. Last week it was one about pain and sorrow and miserable stuff that would have made you want to slit your wrists. This week it's 'It's a hard knock life' being played over and over on You Tube and a warbling wee voice singing along. I am thinking of turning into Miss Hannigan and just lounging on the sofa with a bottle of gin to block out the noise....

She got up this morning and decided that she would sing everything she said. Not great for the nerves at 7 am.

S has went down South this morning until Friday. The bloody cheek of him! Darned inconvenient considering L is doing a talk for school homework (with PowerPoint no less) and I am c**p with computers. I can only buy things, send emails, and look at Face book.  I had to get a crash course on how to convert photos and make a presentation last night. The s**t is going to hit the fan big time.  Our council has this wonderful online system called 'Glow' which means the kids can do homework in the bad weather and get in touch with their teachers via email if necessary. Fine if the ruddy password to get on works. The talk is due to be emailed in by tomorrow and L's password is still not working. I said we would send it on a memory stick if the email didn't work,  to which I was told 'no Mum, Mrs P says we could give the school computer a virus'. No such bloody luck. 

The only thing 'Glowing' is my face, with pent up sodding frustration.....

And if that's not bad enough I have said she can have a sleepover for her birthday next week.  Must be off my bleeding head.....

All together now, 'It's a hard knock liiiife for Muuum.....'

Sunday, 6 November 2011

Party Time.....

Wednesday is H's birthday . Seven already and I have finally had to give in to having a party. L has had two so it seemed only fair. As a result yesterday I had to negotiate Asda for the usual party fare and a barrow load of sweets etc.  I decided to get a giant pizza from the counter, an ordeal that I often subject myself to and then wonder why. It always gets my blood pressure rocketing. After standing so long that my feet were taking root,  the person on the counter finally decided to serve me.  Honestly, if ever there was a candidate for a rocket enema she was it. Wandering about 'as if the dead lice were dropping off her'  (my Grannie's saying for those diddling about in a trance like state), she served me with a vacant expression.  All the lights were on but there was definitely no one at home. I swear to goodness, when I die and reach the pearly gates and if I have been bad, the Boss is going to make me spend   purgatory in the queue at the Adsa pizza counter, always waiting and never getting served......

Up this morning bright and early to cook pizza and make rolls for the party. H had picked the local pottery studio for the venue. Staffed by two lovely ladies who have the patience of saints,  it's just the place to take eleven rowdy four to nine year olds.  We had the place to ourselves as they very kindly opened early for us. After choosing a piece of pottery to paint with more shades of glaze than you can imagine, the kids settled down to create their own little masterpieces. We had multicoloured cats, cupcakes, technicolour dinosaurs and pretty fairies all ready for the kiln. After decorating bags for them to go in, the food was served, a couple of games of pass the parcel were played and two hours were gone. Fantastic!  Everyone had a great time or so it seemed. Headed off home to sort the devastation we had left that morning.

Here's a link for our great wee pottery place :

http://www.potteraround.co.uk/

Thursday, 3 November 2011

Why you have to do PE....(and it's not the reason you think!)

Today's 'Eejit Parent of the Week Award' has to go to the dad I heard on the road home from school today.   Walking home with his chubby son in tow,  I overheard their conversation which went as follows : 'Daaad, why do I have to do PE?'  'Because you do son', 'But why? (whining voice) , 'Because' (wait for it) 'your fingernails will fall out if you don't.'  WHAT!  If I had had the opportunity to rewind that conversation and hear it again it would have been worthwhile. I could hardly believe it. How on earth did he dream that one up? How about saying, ' because if you don't move that chubby ass of yours and stay off the Wham bars you're going to end up a bloater!'  Now I have heard it all........

The Christmas telly adverts have started with a vengeance. Usually I don't see many as L and H tend to watch CBBC however they seem to have defected lately to CITV which is filled with them.  As a kid I used to watch them enthralled. Now I watch them and think, 'How much is that c**p going to cost'. I particularly hate the Barbie adverts and anything aimed at girls. Why do they think we need to hear everything in revolting sugary accents.  They should keep it real, something along the lines of 'Kid's you must buy this new piece of plastic cack because when it falls to bits it's great for clogging mummy's hoover'. Or  'Buy Mr Frosty because it will make a great mess of your mum's carpets'.  I remember the year L got 'Moon Sand'. Probably the shortest surviving Christmas present ever. By 6pm on Christmas day it had made it's way into the hoover bag never to be seen again....

This year I am not buying anything breakable, spillable, sticky or messy. Which rules out 99% of the stuff on the telly.....

Homework woes.........

Why are men such forgetful dipsticks? It seems to be an affliction shared by all ages of the male species.  On the way back from swimming yesterday H managed to let it slip that he had 'forgotten' his homework for the past two days. Cue a major rant as L and her pal tittered in the back of the car and 'I's wee boy gave me a row for not being kind.  This was due to the fact that I was threatening cancellation of his birthday party. Now this is Wednesday and reading is due to today so no reading done. Spelling due tomorrow so to avert panic I dropped a line to the teacher, apologising and explaining he had the memory span of a goldfish and could she remind him to bring his spelling home.  I suppose there is an excuse for him as he is only six however his father is another matter.  A man who is good at his job and it is a miracle.  The last business trip away saw him having to drive another sixty miles as he got thirty miles from the house and realised he had forgotten his notes. This morning he realised (thankfully) that he had forgotten his wallet a mile from the house. Too much, too early, he escaped out the door as I launched into an morning rant about the forgetfulness of the male species....

It is reported today that  Justin Bieber (that chipmunk faced singing squirt) has allegedly fathered a child after a fumble in a toilet with a groupie. Heaven forbid. Really the mind boggles.....
 
Happy birthday to me. Slummy Mummy Blog was one year old yesterday.....

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

This used to be a Funhouse........GET IT OFFFFFFF!!!!!!

Yes I know I have disappeared off the face off the planet for a few weeks, but at the request of my fabulous baking friend N, I am back again waffling....

Thursday night was the annual school Halloween party and as usual I was roped in.  H gave it a miss as he is of a nervous disposition and wouldn't have slept for a week if he had witnessed some of the costumes. Especially at the second disco for the older kids. I wasn't too enamoured myself.  A kid dressed a Jason from the horror film Friday the 13th, and one running about with a fake cleaver which was eventually confiscated. Why would you let your kid loose, dressed as a character from an Over 18's film? One particular participant lurked in the darkness dressed as a freaky clown. H is terrified of clowns and I didn't even mention it, as he has a fit if you so much as play Pink's Funhouse tune with the line, 'This used to be a Funhouse and now it's full of Evil Clowns..', cue hysterics and screams of 'get it off!...'  L however was far more enthusiastic and took off with her pal to the disco dressed as Goths complete with white faces and lace gloves. They looked like a pair of anaemic trannies....

The kids started their new swimming lessons tonight. We have moved as L had reached the maximum grade and now just needs to build her stamina. It was a mum's night out with myself, I, A and J all trailing our respective offspring for a dip. They had recommended the venue, so I hitched a lift and after getting them sorted,  left the pool to observe at a safe distance.  I am glad I couldn't see too much. The last pool they were learning in was reasonably shallow, this one was not. L got the fright of her life when she jumped in to what she didn't realise was six and a half foot of water. I wasn't particularly worried about her as she is a competent swimmer and once she got used to the depth was fine.  I nearly had heart failure when I spotted H though. A non swimmer, he was valiantly struggling along in the deep end with a float the size of a postcard. I couldn't bear to watch and yet couldn't drag my eyes away.  'I' was her usual reassuring self. 'Don't worry if he gets in trouble, the teacher's got a big pole'.  There really was no answer to that.   I stared in horror through the glass at my wee boy who might as well have been floating in the English Channel......

Saturday, 8 October 2011

Robbie Rotten.....

You know when you really have a fantastic social life when your choice for a Friday night is a Donkey Derby at the Scout Hut or an alleged Robbie Williams Tribute night at the Doo Club. (Pigeon Club for those of you not familiar with Scots dialect.)  I did something I never usually do - I went to both. The Donkey Derby,  because I felt guilty about not supporting the Scouts and it was actually a good night. The kids had a whale of a time and H was in raptures as the only prizes being given out were sweeties.

As a result of my conscience I ended up arriving at the Robbie thing an hour and a half after it started to be met by an orange entity warbling 'Angels'. Robbie Williams! Aye maybe if I was blind and he was a hundred yards away with a bag over his head. Good grief. I actually couldn't watch, but as usual I couldn't not either. He was a guy of about fifty trying to pass himself off as Robbie. If Robbie Williams had witnessed him he would have called Trading Standards.  It was grim to say the least. He had died his hair jet black and styled in what he thought was a Robbie quiff,  but actually was more Robbie Rotten from Lazy Town. Add that to the most naff stage outfits ever and the result was cringe worthy. I sat silently praying that he wouldn't do 'Rock DJ' and strip off to his lion print kecks. To further add insult to injury, they didn't stock the only alcoholic beverage that I drink so I sat there nursing a cola and watching a leggy dame dancing about in a play suit that was just about decent if she didn't bend over. She did - to pick up Robbie Rotten's tambourine. The guys in the room must have thought that worth the six quid ticket price alone.  I sat praying for an opportune moment to sneak out as it was too loud to hold a decent conversation. I must be getting old.......

Finally took myself off just before midnight and fell into bed a millisecond after I arrived home. As I dropped off I reflected on the evening and realised that I had actually enjoyed the Scouts' thing best.......oh dear...

Monday, 3 October 2011

Close Encounters of the Sluggy Kind....

S was at a trade fair in the NEC Birmingham all last week. He phoned every night to let us know how he was. Hilarious moment on Thursday when he told us that he and his work colleagues had been refused entry into a bar in Birmingham city centre because they were 'too old'.

Strangely enough every time he goes away we seem to be attacked by a kitchen invasion of slugs. The past few days I have spied their snotty little trails across my back door mat and have known we have the little sods infiltrating our four walls yet again. Ever since I witnessed Ron Weasley boaking them into a bucket in a Harry Potter film my phobia has increased. Last time one was sticking to a can of beans when I lifted it out the cupboard - cue more screaming than a viewing of the Exorcist. My heart fell into my Crocs when I realised they were back. S is away again tonight and as I waltzed into the kitchen  I spied one basking on the door mat. They don't go anywhere else. Just that mat. Or at least I hope they don't go anywhere else. I realised to my glee that I could lift the mat and chuck it out the back door. No slug contact what so ever.  That was until I saw it's big brother sliding under the washing machine. A brown stripy one as well. I so hate them,  they scare the s**t out of me even more than the black ones do. Brown Stripy obviously felt the thundering vibrations of me crossing the floor and decided to get a jog on and made a slide for refuge under the washing machine. I have never seen a slug move so fast! It drew it's tail in leaving me wanting to boak. They are obviously slithering in from under the sink. I decided desperate measures were needed and in an effort to keep the kitchen a human domain grabbed the salt pot and laid a trail round the front of the washing machine. Now I am terrified to go downstairs tomorrow in case I find the kitchen littered with slug remains which I am going to have to dispose of.........

Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Say Cheese!

Today is that wonderful yearly event that every parent dreads. The annual school photograph.  We are no exception.  Got the kids up early and threw L in the shower. When it came to H's turn he thought he was just getting his face and hands washed. No such luck! I started the shower running and he freaked out shouting, 'But I had a bath three weeks ago'. There I was trying to haul his skinny little butt into the shower for a hosing down. Just what you need at seven o'clock in the morning. (Incidentally he has baths more frequently than every three weeks!)   Got the school ties and shirts ready and was just straightening the kinks out of L's hair when J phoned to ask what the kids were wearing. It turns out the letters home informing us of the photo date had said the kids could wear uniform or ordinary clothes. I hadn't bothered to read that bit obviously.  I inwardly cringed, envisaging hoards of mini Rhiannas and Bieber lookalikes clad in trendy gear, heading to school for their photo, while my kids arrived like the school nerds.  I stood my ground and said it was a school photo so mine were wearing school uniform. J agreed but said B was in his room in the huff.  When we arrived at school 99% of the kids were in uniform with only a few knocking about in ordinary gear. Left after warning L to comb her hair before the photo, no darn point with H. He has short hair and wouldn't have given a monkeys anyway.....

It is 22 degrees today and I am hoovering bedrooms. What a numpty........

Tuesday, 27 September 2011

PP's and BB's

Would the person who invented kidney infections please own up? Something I have never been afflicted with in my life, and yet in the past four months I have now had two bouts, the worst one just now. It is not very pleasant, nope that's an understatement - it's bloody agony at its worst. Sometimes just plain annoying where you fidget about like a five year old bursting for a pee and other times like someone setting fire to your nether regions with a blow torch.  Finally took myself off to the doc's yesterday after a week of misery. I am terribly bad for thinking things will just get better of their own accord but got up with such bad pains in my back yesterday morning that I relented and phoned the surgery. Actually got an appointment, don't know if that was good luck or if the receptionist could detect the agony in my voice. J ran me down to the surgery clutching my little pot of pee for analysis. Yep,  a kidney infection.

Sunday saw us off to the local church for the Boys Brigade enrollment service which H has joined. He also had to pick up a prize for an art competition he had entered run by the church. I have never been in the local church as we are still members of the one in the next village. It's amazing how different two services can be. I immediately felt uncomfortable  A. because I needed to pee constantly and sitting on a cold church pew is not the best antidote for that and B. because they have that new type churchy music which I really don't like. I have no idea why, I can only assume it is because I am more of a dour Church of Scotland 'Onward Christian Soldiers' type and the guitar playing and flute blowing is not my cup of tea,  but to each their own, and the minister gave a very good service. To further add to my horror I realised on the way out that he likes to hug all his female parishioners, something that made me squirm with discomfort. I save my hugs for family and close friends and this was not my thing at all. I decided to sneak past as he was hugging someone else, thinking that he would not notice. He must have eyes in the back of his head as I heard a booming voice shout, 'Come back, I will be offended if I don't get a hug.' Behind me,  A and I and their other halves were falling about laughing as I allowed myself to be bear hugged by the minister. Next time I will sneak out of the back door.....

Thursday, 22 September 2011

Teabags and Tootsies....

Note to self : Never EVER leave the house again wearing Crocs without consulting the weather forecast.  Now Crocs are great for sore feet and dry weather,  no matter how much of a fashion atrocity you consider them to be.  However they are not good in the rain and definitely not good in rain of the torrential variety. It was dry when I left for the gym yesterday morning and chucking it by the time we exited Big Dunc's, two steps and my tootsies were drowning. Not helped by the fact that the slabs were slippy at the shopping centre and the footwear in question has been worn to such an extent that there are virtually no treads left on them. A death trap waiting to happen.

Have been  feeling unwell today. A splitting headache and feeling like someone could shove me flat on my back with little trouble. So much so I decided to give my Patchwork class a miss. The thought of trailing all the way there was more than I could suffer, not helped by the fact that I appear to be the class dunce who never gets all my homework done and usually is lagging behind. At this rate I will finish my beginners quilt sometime before I am due my old age pension. I really love it though and enjoy the company of like minded people. A complete turnaround from the embroidery class I used to attend when L was about two. It was my one night of the week when I got out to do something I liked in peace and quiet with no greetin' weans or aggro. Or so I thought. I was the youngest there by at least forty years and gave up in the end as it was an OAP bitch-fest for two hours which usually started with an indepth discussion on who would make the tea that night. I got to the stage that I always made the tea as I was sick of the sound of the old beggars going 'Is it your week Agnes? I did it last week and Jean definitely did it the week before'. And then a full scale debate would run about who was making the tea. God help us all.  I left as my recovering post natally depressed mind could take no more.....

Friday, 16 September 2011

Ice, Ice Baby.....

Why is it when we are in a hurry and faced with a situation that requires common sense we tend not to use it? Leaving the house yesterday morning for school, as usual it was disorganised chaos. During the running about L said 'Mum, there's something wrong with the freezer. The door is open.' Sure enough, when I inspected it I realised it had been left open and ice had built up overnight blocking the door from closing. Damn! Fortunately not enough to defrost the food. I blocked it closed with a dining room chair and made a note to 'fix' it when I returned.  Now the simplest thing to do would have been remove the food, defrost the freezer completely and presto all fixed! But no! After the removing the top basket, where an iceberg, big enough to take out the Titanic had formed, I stuck a basin in the shelf and set to it with the hairdryer and a chopstick. Everything was fine until the chopstick slipped and I nearly lodged it in my nostril as I hacked away with gay abandon. The hairdryer was working a treat and after ten minutes I had shrunk the iceberg to a small enough size to shut the door. It was then it dawned on me that I had melted some of the plastic on the door surround.......oh dear. Technical stuff was never my forte.

This week we have had a Police helicopter flying overhead daily. It would appear a pervert had went AWOL and as usual he chose our area to hide out. It was actually not very nice knowing that a sex offender was somewhere in the area. According to the Police he was dangerous. I immediately heard the Crimewatch music in my head and went to make sure all the doors were shut. It does that to you. Fortunately he was caught so it's only the ones we don't know about that we have to worry about now.

Friday is my favorite day -usually. It was today. I dragged H's new Ferrari down to school for Golden Time. At least he is getting his money's worth.  After he returned from BB's tonight , L decided that they would dance on the rug in the living room. She decided to put on 'Pink' after I warned her that only clean tracks were to be played. H with a poker straight face whispered to me 'I know what the F-word is Mum, someone told me, but I promise I wont use it.' I nearly laughed out loud.  Pink got cranked up and the two of them leaped about as I tried to retain my composure. L took the whole thing so seriously, stripped down to her gym shorts and vest she rehearsed her dance with great concentration. H on the other hand was a scream. A miniature version of David Brent dancing in 'The Office'. I nearly wet myself.

Off tomorrow with A to the Kid's AM at the cinema to see Cars 2. Ninety five pence each to endure two hours of kids screaming, greeting and throwing pop corn at each other for the sake of a cheap visit to the cinema. You can't beat it.....

Tuesday, 13 September 2011

Wind, Rain and more Wind....

The tail end of Hurricane Katia finally hit yesterday afternoon. As I write this it is still blowing for all it is worth and another dirty great rain loaded cloud is hovering in a threatening manner on the horizon.

Of course it's never a proper dose of bad weather unless you have a school trip to add into the mix. Yesterday saw us off on a half day tour of our local farm/heritage centre. This involved wandering round with a group of six to eight year olds (H included) with clipboards trying to find the answers to questions on farming. Should have been easy you would think,  however add in the fact that the majority couldn't read words like 'combine harvester' let alone spell them, coupled with many having the attention span of a goldfish and you ended up with complete mayhem. I spent my time shepherding them back and forward shouting out how to spell things while my head whirled  about trying to keep an eye on them. It's really funny watching the class dynamics, the ones who try to answer every question (not necessarily the clever ones) and the ones who really couldn't have given a toss. Further mayhem ensued as there are many fun things in the heritage centre including trampolines, a massive sandpit and other distractions - none of which they were allowed on. It is a form of torture taking kids on an 'educational' visit to somewhere that could potentially be fun.

Highlight of the visit was a cow peeing an ocean on the barn floor and a sheep emptying it's bowels at close quarters much to the kids hilarity.
 
I arrived back glad that I had the good sense to take a dose of paracetamol before I left in the morning. If I hadn't my sore head would have been a million times worse than it already was.....

Sunday, 11 September 2011

The School Fayre... or how to lose your sanity in one week...

The run up to the school fayre started in earnest last Monday and by Friday it was beginning to feel like we were spending most of our time in school.  Having been expected to perform miracles by spreading fifteen volunteers around forty stalls, a major headache was forming. An impossible task. Tuesday saw the sorting out of donations  and we already had some crackers - mouldy mugs, crusty salt cellars and someones old specs. My personal favorites this time though were a dancing ostrich thing (marginally less annoying than that singing (Don't Worry, Be Happy)  fish from a few years ago) and a Saddam Hussein puppet, complete with boxing gloves. After having spent hours sticking numbers to tombola prizes, we arrived on Friday morning to find that someone had hopped off with four them! Really you would have to be desperate.  I could not wait for Sunday morning....no more fayre and a welcome rest.

The day of the fayre dawned dull and rainy. What else? After phoning to cancel the goalie for beat the goalie, I headed off to the school for 9.30am, kids, home baking and raffle prizes in tow, not holding out much hope for a dry day. Wonder of wonders, it was.  Everything was going swimmingly until the teachers decided to turn up and complicate matters by changing the stalls they had volunteered for. They also did not help matters by putting only their christian names on my list. I only know some of them by their surnames.  One in particular had dragged along her husband who wanted to help, that was until I asked him to assist with the hoopla stall. He looked at me like I was a complete eejit and said with a deadpan expression 'I don't really think that's my kind of thing'. For fecks sake. It was a school fayre. What the heck was he expecting to help with? He shuffled off to help his wife make a make a complete a**e of the raffle. I sneaked off to my hair braiding stall where I put my head down and got on with it.  Strangely enough, the tombola tantrummer was back again this year, but this time trying to take more than the four tickets for a pound. Honestly you can't trust some folk. Then L spotted some kid trying to nick the used tickets for the games so they could reuse them again. Worse still one of the dads caught an adult trying to do the same thing. What a bloody sad case. Imagine having to resort to cheating at a school fayre...

Finally got home at three o'clock, the fayre having raised over £1600, to find the kids fighting over a two foot long Ferrari H had purchased. He wanted it for his Stuart Little toy. L decided her Barbies should be cruising in it. The fight started again this morning as the Barbies had parked it in L's toy cupboard while Stuart was back on his mini motorbike.....

Decided to head off to Glasgow this morning for a look at the shops. H spotted some Dr Who stuff he fancied. However I said it would have to go on his Santa list. He said he had no paper to write it down on, so I told him that wasn't a problem as it was only two things and he would remember. His reply was, straightfaced as ever, 'Mum, it's not the two things I'm worried about. It's the other thirty four I've already got on there.....'

Friday, 2 September 2011

Busting a Gut...

On Tuesday I happened to be ironing and listening to the radio. My ears pricked up. Why? Because believe it or not,  three eight year olds had been charged with vandalising over fifty gravestones in our local cemetery. What is the world coming to?  They have been reported to the childrens' panel. No doubt they will taken for a holiday courtesy of the taxpayer and all sorts of excuses made because they are 'underprivileged' . Personally I would rather see their useless parents digging graves at the cemetery til they drop. That should cover the cost of the damage.

The school fayre chaos has started and although no longer a member of the PSC I am still involved.....(told you so!) I have the great job of allocating volunteers to stalls which is fine -  when you actually have a decent amount of volunteers.  We also have had the go ahead to have home baking. You could have knocked me over with a feather.  As a result I will now have to try and strap on my pinny and make some cakes. Betty Crocker I love you!  L has said she will make truffles and as she is quite good at them, I am going to let her. Left the house this morning for breakfast at 'A's and then took off with her to school,  to assist the P7's in manufacturing badges to sell at the fayre. They had to write funny slogans on coloured paper and then press them with the school badge making machine. Some of the slogans were funny however we binned the one that said 'Hitler was a bad man'........the mind boggles.  We left the school and took off to Batley's to pick up the fayre sweeties with kids in tow. £150 and enough sweets to keep every dentist in the county in business for the next 40 years later,  we arrived back home.  The hard graft starts next week. The school fayre is a real money earner,  but the Saturday night after we are all usually shattered. It honestly feels as if we have lived in the school the whole week.  The irony of it is not lost on us either. The money raised will go to pay for special educational visits for the kids, something we would normally have to pay for. The irony is that most of us who are involved in the fayre can afford to pay for these ourselves. Why we bust a gut so that others will benefit is beyond us all,  given the fact that we get so little help from the pupils parents.  I remember at one school disco walking along the queue of parents and kids waiting to go in. I was asking if anyone was helping,  and if so, could they go to the front of the queue. As I turned to walk back I heard a sneering voice say  'Aye that will be f*****g right! That's the sort of ungrateful eejit that we are exerting ourselves for.  But we still do it.....and in some perverse way the hard work is worth it........

Saturday, 27 August 2011

Smurfs, shops and skulls and crossbones.....

The kids have been nagging to go to the cinema for a couple of weeks and last weekend never worked out so this  morning we trailed off to see 'The Smurfs'. I was dreading it. There are very few kiddie films that don't make me fall asleep so I prepared for a sneaky nap after munching my Ben and Jerry's. I love the ice cream stall at the cinema but I always scoff the stuff before the Pearl and Dean adverts, leaving me to steal popcorn from the kids much to their disgust. I hate to admit it,  but 'The Smurfs' was actually quite good. Much better than 'Alvin and the Chipmunks II' and 'Cats and Dogs'. Two atrocities of films which would have had you reaching for a set of earplugs and a noose to hang yourself. Adults should really get in free or be given free drink to sustain them. Excitement of the day was when the lights suddenly came on and the film stopped half way through, only for security to come in and kick some nutter out who was trying to record the film. He left proclaiming they were 'ar**holes'. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the wee boy with him. Having to endure the humiliation of having an eejit for a father AND missing the end of the film. Some poor kids have got it hard.......

Did some shopping, fleeces for the kids for winter, a bag of marbles for H and then L spotted her absolute favorite thing. Claire's were selling their 'Lucky Bags'. These basically, are made up bags of tat that they can't sell which are then sold off for the princely sum of five pounds. L can't resist them and sadly for me she remembered I was due her a fiver.  I had raided her bank for bus fares a few weeks back. She is like an elephant - she never forgets. Result! She left happy having splashed her ill gotten gains on a bag which contained -2 pairs of ear festering earrings. Six strands of luminous beads. One pair of frilly gloves. 1 purple baker boy style hat. 1 set of hair bands. 1 set of hair clips. 1angel halo head band. 1 tinsel bobble. 1 white belt with skulls and crossbones (very Jack Sparrow). I added up the prices of the various tags which came to £47.50! Anybody who paid that for such a barrow load of guff would be off their head. L on the other hand was beside herself with glee.....

As I write this a marble match is going on on the living room floor. H is cheating with embarrassing ease. I am not sure which is worse, the fact that he is cheating,  or the fact that S is mad because he is losing to a six year old hustler.......

Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Back to earth with a bang.....

The school holidays are now well and truly over and it's back to the grind which also means back to Big Dunc's for the next round of torture before my back packs in again. I am hoping the chiro manages to to keep me sorted though. 'I' picked me up this morning in her new car - a convertible. I am ashamed to say that I was like a kid in a candy shop, never having been in convertible before (I have obviously led a sheltered life!). We arrived at the gym in style for Aquafit and slid into the pool with the rest of the class which consisted of us, four other ladies and two OAPS. I took a look round and thought 'Is this it?' There I was, flapping about in a swimming pool with Derby and Joan who had more wrinkles between them than an Indian Elephant.  I need to be more dynamic. I also need to be slimmer, lighter and fitter. I imagined myself knocking seven bells out of a punch bag in the body combat class and felt knackered at the thought...

After the school fayre meeting the other night I came home with my list of orders. The tasks for this year have been divvied up to try and lighten the load. I have to:

1 -  scrounge 4 raffle prizes from local businesses (a ruddy thankless task in some cases)
2 - order crimp in hair braids to adorn the little darlings nit infested nappers
3 - coordinate helpers on the day (in otherwords say 'right you are on this stall...on ye go!')
4-  arrange pick up of the leftover donations after the fayre (if nobody wanted them on the day it's hardly likely anyone will want them later, a stop off at the local dump might be just as useful
5  - (my personal favorite) sort the donations in school in the week leading up to the fayre.

Sorting donations is hilarious. There is nothing like raking through other folks junk. In the past few years we have had everything from radioactive bath salts (ones from M&S fifteen years old), a delightful cup and saucer affair with handy ashtray built in bearing the words ' a sip and a smoke' - more like a puff and a choke. But my personal favorite has to be the Little Britain doll of Matt Lucas dressed as Daffyd the Only Gay in the Village, resplendant in his red pvc hot pants. Just what the vicar ordered! I remember myself and 'I' raking through a rather wierd bag of stuff only to discover it was actually the contents of someones black rubbish bag which should have went out for the bin cart. Goodness knows what happened to the real stuff, we were left sorting through balls of hair, ripped up newspapers and crisp bags when the penny finally dropped.....

Tuesday, 23 August 2011

Guilt trip time.......

Yep, that's me finally decided to step down from the School Council. Well when I say finally, I actually wanted to last year,  but gave in and stayed on,  because not a soul other than the usual suspects turned up to last year's AGM. I  really can't do another year, for lots of reasons. The main one being that at present I am probably the world's most intolerant person. Intolerant in,  that if I hear another flap about angina warning signs for bouncy castles that solely will have kiddies leaping on them, I think the top of my head will blow off. Our local council must be the biggest bunch of jobsworths ever. A bunch of folk who cannot distinguish between common sense and  health and safety overload. No home baking - you might die from e-coli, botulism or Lord Forbid! Old age. The amount of certificates required to hire an inflatable castle last year was laughable. Insurance for this, insurance for that, and more signs to warn you of impending doom than you would need entering a nuclear reactor.

It is a thankless task being involved in trying to do stuff for the community. Folk either look at you like you are a sandwich short of a picnic, or mutter 'don't know how you can be bothered'. Or worse still,  complain about your efforts. You tend to find as well that the complainers are usually the type that wouldn't know where to start A. because they are too lazy and B. because they are too thick to know how to. But they complain none the less.  Hats off to anyone who is decent enough to try. It's just as well they do. As the 'Don't know how you can be bothered brigade' would have no where to send their little darlings for an hours worth of sanity. Although I am stepping down I know I will probably still do more than I should but hey! that's why I have the word 'Mug' tattooed on my forehead....

Anyway before I go I will be involved in running the school fayre, the highlight of last year's being an idiot who threw a tantrum (I kid you not!) at the tombola stall because she didn't win the prize she wanted. I hasten to add this was a grown woman not a child. How I wish I had been running that........

Thursday, 18 August 2011

Worries......

Found under L's bed when cleaning : The following list....spelling as written

MY WORST WORRIES AND PROBLEMS IN THE FUTURE. (dated 8.2.11)

1 a wrinkly botom
2 a bosey teacher
3 have a wort on bum
4 a bad teacher
5 to have direa

Isn't life simple when you are nine? I would willingly trade a dose of the scoot or a wrinkly butt to get rid of the mortgage or guarantee a worry free life. A question though. Why don't we just spell diarrhoea like that? Far simpler.

Cleaned H's bed out today. He has a new cabin bed which is a nightmare to change but after scrubbing his room out started to strip it. In his bed were the following items:

a stuffed astronaut
a backscratcher from 'Islas de Balleares' (gifted to him by A's hubby. I use it for reaching across the bed to retrieve stuff , have not a clue what he uses it for).
3 copies of 'The Sky at Night' magazine.
The remote control for his light up moon
a very small Dr Who complete with sonic screwdriver
post it notes
a pencil (how many times have I told him not to take them to bed?)
a metal spring

It school fayre clean out time again. His room has been relatively easy. His sisters...........well, if I am posted missing at any point it is probably because I have disappeared under her bed never to return from the land of fluff, dust and junk......




Monday, 8 August 2011

Yellow Van Time....

The rot is setting in. Yep, finally after nearly six weeks off I want to shut my children in the garage and sit rocking myself in a corner.  The weather hasn't helped mind you, or the lack of folk to play with. The kids in the street seem to have disappeared either on holiday, or to child minders or grannies for the summer holidays. Kids clubs?  They should have parents clubs with intravenous vodka, cream cakes, foot spas and helpers who just agree with you all the time. Instead of kids who wind you up to the point that you are sure your neighbour thinks you're the psycho parent from hell.....

A, I, student mum J and myself took off with assorted offspring to the festival last week. We went for the preview shows. A as usual had excelled herself getting cheap deals for the kids shows (you don't need Martin's Money Tips when A's about) and meal deals at Pizza Express. The first show we went to see was Mr Benn. Now some of you might remember him from our childhood when childrens' TV was still in the stone age. A wee man in a bowler hat who went to a fancy dress shop, got dressed up in an outfit and went through another door to an adventure. The show was excellent though I think it was appreciated more by the adults than the kids. After the show a friendly red headed lady asked the kids if they had enjoyed themselves. As she left we realised it was Anita Dobson - what a nice lady.

Walking up the Pleasance the kids were fascinated by the billboards advertising the various shows on offer. Of course as usual they were drawn to the inappropriate. 'Puppetry of the Penis' is showing. Now, for the uninformed, this is an hour of watching two naked guys in cloaks contorting their man bits into things like the Eiffel Tower and a hamburger. How they discovered this talent is questionable. To add to the bizarreness of the whole event it is now in 3D.  Needless to say there was much tittering and sniggering amongst the kids. One of whom asked her mum what the show involved. 'A' tried to explain in not so many words the gist of the whole thing and was met with the comment. 'Would it not be more appropriate to use clay?'...... Sometimes kids are wiser than adults........

Aye the Edinburgh Festival is full of the crazy, mad and downright outrageous. But it's also a brilliant few weeks and I try not to miss it. It's amazing how we all have short memories. When I worked in the city centre I used to dread it as the traffic was chaotic and it could take an hour on the bus to navigate Princes Street alone. Now it's the next best thing since sliced bread.....

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

A Poop in a Bag is worth Two in the Grass.......

I don't seem to have posted for ages. I have discovered that I can't write when I am not feeling great - I have to be in a specific state of mind - and I also have to have some decent subject matter as well.

Sometimes things happen which fill you with such rage that you end up having to do something about the situation. Saturday morning was a prime example. I happened to saunter out of the shower in a really good mood as we were going on a day out. The sun was shining and all was jolly. The joviality I felt instantly disappeared as my eyes fell on a person from down the road letting his dog leave a deposit on the grassy square opposite the house. Not content with that, he took his foot and kicked the cut grass over the top of it. I was enraged.  The kids from the street play on that bit of grass which is set back off the road, so it is a decent safe place to play and the filthy sod was well aware of that . To say I was irate would have been generous.  It was a damn good thing I was only wearing a towel as it meant I was unable to leap from my door and tackle him.  Actually, in retrospect,  I might have been far more intimidating in just a towel.  On the other hand the prospect of it slipping and me being carted away on an indecent exposure charge was not good. Off he sauntered down the street, happy in the knowledge that his dog had shat on someone else's doorstep and not his own. I went downstairs, still fuming, and told S who obviously was worried I was about to cause a riot in the street.  So I did something I have never done before, I got the council phone number and phoned to complain.  I can only assume that the lady I spoke to either had the patience of a saint or had been at one point employed by the  Samaritans. She listened sympathetically as I ranted on about how the kids could roll in it etc, etc and promised he would be spoken to. I hope to goodness I don't spot him again as I honestly wont be able to contain myself from shovelling it up and trailing off down the street to leave it on his doorstep.

Saturday  afternoon was lovely in Edinburgh. So much so it was bringing out the loonies. Trailing down Castle Street I thought the heat was making me hallucinate as I clocked something pink trailing towards myself and L. Getting closer I realised to my horror it was a stag party complete with two eejits dressed up as a six foot willy and a set of ladybits. There was no escape. I couldn't go round them as the road was narrow so I had to plough along dragging L by the hand who was wetting herself laughing and shouting 'Mum, what are they meant to be?' She must think my head zips up the back......

Tuesday, 26 July 2011

And I always thought I was a slob. I even named my blog using the words 'slummy mummy'. Now I know I am most definitely not. I think I probably suffer from aspiring to too high standards. Why am I writing this? Well, I just came across an article online about a school that had sent out a letter asking parents not to walk their offspring to school in their pyjamas. The adults in pyjamas that is, not the kids. I cannot even begin to imagine walking my kids over half a mile to school in my jammies. Mind you it was down south so I suppose the weather is better. I always wash and dress before leaving for school, even when H was a baby and I resembled a zombie.  But at least I was a zombie with clothes on. I don't want to even imagine arriving in the playground in my Primark gingerbread man print fluffy jammies. A sight to behold......

Men always manage to get their priorities right.  At Alton Towers two weeks ago we had five kids asking for ice creams, only to be told '£1.95 for a cone! Aye right!' Strangely enough when hubby and BIL wanted to go on the fast rides suddenly £8 each seemed acceptable to pay to skip the queue. SIL and myself were none too pleased but shut up anyway. Next day, complete change. Myself and hubby offer to watch all five while BIL and SIL (complete mentalists) go on Oblivion. No sooner had they left than S was dragging his wallet out to buy cones. Anything to keep the five of them quiet for a few minutes. Reminded me of the time S had been watching football on the telly and L and H appeared with their pal asking for cones from the ice cream van. Hardly drawing his eyes from the screen he sent them off with a five pound note and instructions to get three small cones. Ten minutes and four pounds twenty later they were back - clutching double ninety nines all round.........

Thursday, 21 July 2011

Last Thursday saw us meet up with S's sister and her hubby and our nieces and nephew for a two day fun fest at Alton Towers. How lucky were we? The weather was probably the best it has been this year and we had a ball. The park was reasonably busy and my SIL and I couldn't help but notice the amount of folk wearing leggings. Leggings appear to be the standard uniform for visiting the park, however not everyone followed the leggings rules which are:

1 - Get out a measuring tape and measure out twelve inches. If your backside is any wider than that then opt for normal trousers.  2 - A fat ass needs a long top.  3 - A muffin top does not need a cropped top.  4 -  If you must wear leggings then make sure your underwear is the same colour as the leggings. There is nothing worse than the sight of someones ass crack devouring their red spotted under crackers through their shiny black leggings. We know, we witnessed it.  5 - Look in the mirror. If your backside resembles a bag of pebbles, bin the leggings.

This makes for a far pleasanter experience for everyone (as does deodorant which a few folk in the queues obviously hadn't heard of).

Leggings apart we had probably two of the best days ever if you discount the 'fun run' incident on the Thursday night. After exiting the park we all trailed back to the cottage to have tea. My sister in law and myself were dispatched to KFC at Uttoxeter to get dinner. Fast food or so we thought. Unfortunately for us when drawing out of the farm road end we came bonnet to nose with an unmeasurable amount of runners taking part in the local 'Fun Run'.  About two hundred souls ranging from the overweight, to the just plain decrepit.  Usain Bolt need never worry. They shambled by like kids at a fat camp who have just been told there are donuts for tea.   We couldn't go back so had no choice but to drive at a snails pace along the road with them.  What a nightmare. We didn't know where to go as some of the roads were closed. We finally stopped and sat waiting for someone who said he would give us directions. He never appeared and we were moved on by a rude witch of a woman who said our exhaust fumes were terrible, made no attempt to help us when we asked for directions and snarled at us that 'the road to Uttoxeter was shut'. It wasn't - the lying cow!  You know who you are, you old bag! The engine would have been switched off if we had known we had ages to wait. Rich from someone who probably had a 5litre 4x4 sitting in her drive of her palatial house.  We trailed on behind a selection of folk who looked like they would never make the end of the road,  let alone the run and finally escaped down a side road, away from the run that wasn't any fun at all......

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

Cash and Claustrophobia.....

Well, last Saturday saw us off on our foray down to Staffordshire for our weeks holiday culminating in a two day visit to Alton Towers with my BIL, SIL and kiddies. We stayed in a great wee cottage three miles from Alton Towers.  Within twenty four hours I began to think that I hadn't just arrived from Scotland but from the planet Zog. Upon entering shops I found that Scottish notes are not legal tender according to some. I quickly became sorely sick of folk behind counters holding them up to the light, squinting at them as if they were bits of used lavvy roll,or shouting 'Sandra, can we take these purple things?' I kid you not. If I had arrived in a silver suit and pulled out a ray gun I would have got a more welcoming reception. The final straw came when I presented one in Tesco's and the eejit behind the counter announced in a loud voice, 'Oooh, that's foony moony!'  For feck's sake. I was hardly bartering with a crate of chickens. By that point I did not find the situation 'foony' by any extent.  I restrained myself from snarling 'it's pounds sterling you halfwit!' and settled for a glare that made it clear she had better say not another word. She didn't,  I got my stuff and left.  Seriously, we were only 180 miles over the Scottish border.  I had a vision of Mel Gibson complete with blue coupon, astride his nag shouting ,'They can take our lives, but they will never take our twenty pound notes..'  Maybe it's just that us Scot's are so partial to cash that we don't give a monkey's whether its 'foony' looking or not......

Monday saw a trip to the 'Speedwell Cavern' which S's boss had recommended. Sure enough we got there and bought the tickets. £29 to go down a hole. We climbed down 106 steps sporting hard hats,  to board boats to take us along a tunnel to view a large natural cavern, or at least that was the plan. The reality was you got in a five foot wide boat, to go along a six foot wide tunnel, which was two foot above your head if you were lucky. I was not keen to start with and the guide saying, 'If you don't like it now then get off as once we are in we can't go back,' did not go down well. Didn't want to appear a wuss so we set off. We travelled along banging off the tunnel walls in the near darkness. Not pleasant. Two minutes in I started to feel absolute panic and it dawned on me that L was terrified. She hates enclosed spaces but like myself had not realised it was going to be so bad. We reached what was called the 'Halfway House', a small bit of tunnel where the boats could pass. Perversely it wasn't half way, but only one third of the way along the damn tunnel and we had to wait what felt like a lifetime for the boat to come and pass. Every second that went by I tried to keep the panic from over whelming me. I had visions of me losing it completely and shouting 'I want off' like you used to do when you were little and on the shows and hating it. Poor L was terrified and I knew I had to keep calm.  Thank the Lord!  A woman at the back of the boat just happened to feel the same and asked the guide if it was possible to climb into the other boat when it arrived. He said yes. I cannot believe I climbed over the bows of a boat in the virtual pitch dark to another one to get out of that blinking cave. But I did. It just goes to show what you will do when desperate. There was no seat for me and L was sitting on the knee of the other escapee so I had to crouch for an eternity in the bottom of a soggy boat. Small price to pay to get out of the jaws of hell.  I am not ashamed to admit that, curled in the bottom of that boat, I cried into my Cath Kidston handbag with relief. I was crippled with muscle cramps for two days afterwards. S and H went on along the tunnel to see the cave while L and I went to the shop for chocolate (the answer to all things stressful). Never a-bloody-gain.

If you are looking for good self catering accommodation here's the link to our cottage :

http://www.aldersbrookcottage.co.uk/


More holiday stories to follow......

Saturday, 9 July 2011

Holidays!!!!

See you all in a week! That is if I ever get out of the door!

Thursday, 7 July 2011

Got a text from L (my friend and neighbour) the other night. She is hamster sitting J's Chinese dwarves and the text read as follows, 'OK...r J's hamsters meant to have wee sticky out butts?!X'. Having had hamsters myself I knew exactly what she meant. Hamsters are very well endowed in the gonad department, in fact about the same size as their heads and can look kind of weird, especially if you have never been up close and personal with them.  I texted the fact back. Just as well -  she was going to take them to vet for inspection. That would have been a scream. Can just imagine the vet's face and L's mortification when she discovered the swelling wasn't a bad dose of constipation or a massive growth but it's man bits? No wonder they are such prolific breeders....it made me wonder what human males would have been like if theirs were at the same proportions.......Dobbie's would do a massive trade in wheel barrows.....

Today's Random Question - Why is it when I go into the local library there is always some woman with the voice of a foghorn in there?  Nipped in today to pick up some audio books for the kids for their holidays. Went into the children's library to encounter 'Foghorn Lil' reading to her offspring in a voice that would have wakened the folk in the cemetery a hundred yards along the road.  Then to top in all her mobile went off and she felt the need to announce it to all and sundry, 'Oh Mummy's mobile has just gone off.'  No sh*t Sherlock.  I grabbed the audio books and left before I was tempted to shove her mobile sideways into her over sized trap. Well seeing it's PMT week........

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

What the heck is it about doorstep salesmen? How many ruddy times am I going to have to tell some halfwit that I don't want my roof 'lined' or anything else?  I am the sort of person  who does not buy on the doorstep. If I want something done to my house I will look for a reputable company and contact them. I can never understand folk who will, on the spur of the moment, part with huge amounts of cash to a complete stranger. The reason for my rant is that a few weeks ago the door bell rang. I went to answer and on realising that it was 'Roofline' yet again, I politely said 'No, thank you' and shut the door. Some weeks we can have various roof line companies more than once and it is now getting on my wick. Most people normally just say okay and walk away, not him. I shut the door and he screamed abuse at the closed door for two solid minutes as I simmered inside. Fortunately the kids were at school. S was away overnight and when he returned I told him the story. When I jokingly said I was going to open the door and let him have it with a pail of water he nearly had a fit. On retrospect he was right.  If he was nasty to the closed door, goodness knows what he could have done. I now have a sign on the door saying 'No Salesmen, Canvassers or Cold Callers.' It worked until last night when one called again. Am beginning to think wiring the mains electricity to the metal bell button might be an alternative......obviously that's a joke, it is a criminal offence to fry door to door salesmen even if they grate on your brains.

T - minus 3 days and counting until holiday time and things have been quite civilised. Only two banishings to bedrooms and three shouting matches, I feel quite calm.......

Tuesday, 5 July 2011

Have not written much this week. Not because it has been quiet - exactly the opposite. It has been manic. As usual the run up to the school summer holidays is relentless and a mish mash of all things crazy. From wrapping presents for our retiring heidy and teachers, to trying to keep the house tidy (impossible) and washing for all I am worth.

S was due back on Friday after being away all week and on Thursday it dawned on me that I had neglected to water the plants (I had left it to L, who likes to do it). It also dawned on me that I had forgotten to do the neighbours plant pots which were probably shrivelled to death.  I raced out of the house and in desperation soaked myself with the garden hose, not just the plants...the rain started twenty minutes later.

School finished on Friday and instead of doing the Kilimanjaro of ironing that is adorning the dining room table,  I beat a retreat to the local 'posh' coffee shop at the end of the village with the girls. It's not often that we all get together and it was a real novelty and an excuse to eye up (and eat ) their cakes...

Perversely the whole weekend has been scorching hot. Him Upstairs certainly has a sense of humour. As usual He is lulling us all into a false sense of security. I love how Scottish folk go a bit do lally when it is sunny. It just takes a mere hint of sun poking through the grey for there to be a flurry of activity.  Within half an hour, shirts are off, flabby folk are burning themselves to crisps in their back gardens while their offspring attempt to drown themselves in six inches of paddling pool water. Shops run out of ice lollies and the reek of barbecues can be detected from a hundred miles. It's all great fun until the midges are biting and everyone is the colour of lobsters. I have never made a habit of sun bathing, I find it really uncomfortable and usually within ten minutes take myself off to the shade. Pale skin and freckles (the traditional Scottish skin colour) is useless in sun unless you have factor 1000 cream. Mind you I have never been able to understand the pastime of baking yourself to a crisp. There's nothing worse than someone who has tanned themselves until they have the complexion of a Cuprinol coloured crocodile handbag.......

Went to Linlithgow for the jousting on Saturday - a fab day out. We explored the palace and watched the  magnificent jousting tournament. Fit men on horses, with big helmets and even bigger lances. Worth my Historic Scotland membership alone. H was unimpressed. All he wanted was an ice cream and to roll down the banking in the park. I manage to silence him with a venison burger the size of a bucket lid, but not for long,  the ice cream quest continued....ten out of ten for perseverance.

Off on holiday on Saturday........

Monday, 27 June 2011

Well I had a lovely night on Wednesday looking after E's wee boys. They went to bed no bother, after doing the usual stringing out the time thing by chatting about anything they could think of and showing me everything from collections of stones to the views from their bedroom windows.  When they had gone to bed I sat down to watch the telly and amused myself by flicking through the channels.. We only have Free view but it would appear Virgin are no better when it comes to choice. The first programme I encountered was 'Body Building Pensioners'. There is something quite disturbing about seeing a wrinkly old face on a pneumatic body. I switched over....to a scary film about a poltergeist. I switched over. Scary films and an overactive imagination are not a good combo. Especially in someone else's house, on your own and of a nervous disposition. The next thing was a documentary on the world ending in 2012. It scared the wits out of me so I switched over again but made mental note to shop at the last minute for Christmas presents just in case......

The dreaded report cards appeared on Friday at lunch time. Still none the wiser about how the kids are actually progressing.  When I was at school there were three boxes for each subject informing your parents if you were above average, average or just plain la la.  At least you knew where you stood with regards to your abilities then. The format has changed and they are now full of useless comments. I am really not interested in the fact that according to his teacher 'H has a good knowledge of road safety. ' Does he?  Not according to my observations. I wouldn't trust him crossing our driveway, let alone the main road. He also has to adopt 'a more mature' attitude to his drama class. He is six. If someone asked me to pretend I was a tree I would ham it up and take the p**s so there's not much hope for a six year old. At least their attitudes and homework were marked excellent so we must be doing something right.   I am at present composing some comments for the return slip. There is a box to give the highlights of your child's year. I wonder if someone running over the desks and the school nearly having to call in the riot squad applies. It shuts in four days so we might as well go out with a bang.......

Wednesday, 22 June 2011

A quiet week in which I have finally conquered Mount Ironing. Hallelujah!  L finished her talk on Austria and thing are knocking along nicely in the run up to the holidays. Homework is finally finished.

Spent Monday afternoon at a meeting at the school. Summonsed by the Heidy to take part it was one of those things where you turned up not knowing what to expect and left none the wiser.  Arrived and found myself shoehorned in between the local community policeman and the minister of all folk. Fortunately the minister is a very cheery, gregarious character who launched into chat. Unfortunately he has a very strong accent. I am awful at understanding accents and spent a torturous ten minutes tuning in. One of those moments where you are nodding like mad and smiling and hoping to goodness that you shouldn't be shaking your head.  I seemed to get away with it. At no point in this meeting did anyone introduce themselves and it took half an hour to realise that someone was actually interviewing us individually. Sometimes I wonder what the heck the local council are wasting our council tax on. Today it was obviously a clueless old git talking to parents for some unknown reason and three trays of M&S sandwiches.

Have E's boys tonight for tea and will take them round to their beds as she is off to see Take That at Glasgow with her hubby.  Gary, really sorry couldn't get tickets for our date but never mind, there's always next year.......

Monday, 20 June 2011

Spent Friday morning at A's for breakfast and then toddled over to the school for their 'open morning'. H's class first and the presentation was on the Romans. Walked in to find twenty odd P2's and 3's wearing hand made Roman helmets. Large gold painted papier mache globes fitted onto their heads with cardboard plumes along the top. Wanted to laugh. Some of the plumes had been stuck on the wrong way giving them a comical look. They gave an extremely cute show. Moved onto L's class and a talk on the Royal wedding and the UK. It has to be said not so cute but good none the less.

Spent the afternoon with a splitting headache (L had one too),  so did nothing but lie along the couch hoping it would go away. Lassie came on and I cringed. L was desperate to watch it and I new it would be tears before bedtime. Sure enough a Lassie film is not a Lassie film without the demise of something cute, and within an hour she was snivelling when a wee mongrel went off to the great dog basket in the sky. She cheered up when Grease came on next,  but I was less than amused when she started doing thoroughly inappropriate pelvic thrusts across the living room floor a la Danny Zuko.  I had forgotten how some of Grease is too near the bit. When I told her to stop she just laughed and continued as she new darn fine she was winding me up big time. Thank goodness the next thing on wasn't American Pie................

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

Potted Sports : (Latin: Sporticus Freezicus your Assicus Officus). After L's sports day being cancelled yesterday morning (much to my disappointment,  as I had envisaged an hour in the cafe beforehand, drinking tea and scoffing a bacon roll), I ended up at aqua fit. Came home and started clearing up the Gala carnage. Had lunch and received a text telling me that they were back on - in forty minutes. Fell out the door dragging H's spacesuit, which had been requested as part of a school display, and an umbrella.

Arrived at the field with J to find that all the classes had been split up into teams of assorted children, the sporty ones, the uncoordinated ones, the competitive ones and the ones nobody wants on their teams. It brought back the miserable scenario which seems to plague many a child at school gym times (myself included) when the sadistic sod of a teacher used to let two kids pick the teams. Usually the sporty types were picked first, then their pals and then the dregs (i.e, chubbies and specky unsporty nerdy types). Now before anyone objects, I was one of the specky nerdy ones, so don't get on your sanctimonious high horses. It's a fact of life, one of the ones you only encounter at school.  Anyway, the teams had to make their way round the field to ten different stations doing various 'sporty' activities.  Since when was throwing a giant pencil a sport? By the time I had watched  three tasks I was slowly losing the will to live and was freezing to boot. I started to pray to Him Upstairs for rain. He answered in the form of my next door neighbours appearance. I was delighted to see them, especially as S said he would go and get us a cup of tea. It was so cold I accepted and his wife and I spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about holidays to Florida. So much so I am ashamed to admit I don't know who won yet....

As I am writing this the kids are 'cooking' in the kitchen. For some deranged reason I have allowed them to make strawberry and marshmallow skewers covered in chocolate and sprinkles. Have just spotted H with a face covered in chocolate, licking his fingers (very hygienic).  I don't think Michel Roux has anything to worry about.......

Monday, 13 June 2011

Well that's it all over for another year. Clothes dried out, fancy dress costumes put away, barbecues extinguished and beer bottles off to the recycling. What a day.

After drying out we headed off down to J's for the barby.  As usual the house was packed with folk guzzling burgers and beer. Our friend R arrived. He is a hairdresser in Glasgow, and was named by FHM as one of the top 21 men's hairdressers in Britain. (That's me had my wee brag about him, as we are all incredibly proud of him, he is so creative and such great fun). Anyway at 8.30 he stood up and said ,'Who's going to the shows then? L immediately said yes along with J's kids and nephew so with J's sister in law, my hubby and a neighbour in tow they took off to the field.  They arrived back about an hour later looking green as all that was left open was the Waltzers.  An overdose of the Waltzers, too much food and booze is enough to make anyone feel ill.

You always know a party is good when someone wheels out the karaoke machine, which had to be fixed a J's sister's pup decided to chew the mic while no one was looking.  Booze always makes folk great singers (or so they think) and before long the mic was having to be forcibly removed from some folks hands.  R did a fantastic version of Michael Jackson's Blame it on the Boogie complete with actions.  Hilarious. There's nothing like a room full of drunk folk trying to follow his lead . Downside however was that due to the drunken hilarity some git managed to pinch B's guitar from J's decorated garden. Some folk don't know what to be at. It wasn't the only thing stolen that night. Due to the power of Facebook most folk know what has gone missing and the culprits better look out, as there is nothing like the wrath of a bunch of angry mothers.....

Fell into bed after midnight, and said a wee prayer that L wouldn't be picked for the Queen's Court next year. Then instantly felt guilty.........

Saturday, 11 June 2011

Washout!!!

Spent last night helping J and crew, (there must have been 20 of us) decorate the house. L and myself were dispatched to the local chippy to get pizza to feed the hungry masses. How lucky were we? The last pizza was just being whipped out of the oven when there was a power cut.  Was glad that we got ours as I didn't fancy venturing home empty handed, I reckon they would have barbecued us and eaten us instead. Felt sorry for the guys in the chippy though, they were gutted as the night before the Gala is one of their busiest nights of the year.

Woken up this morning at 8.30 by a text message from J asking if I had any double sided sticky tape. S was lying in bed dying after giving himself a dose of the trots. He will not stay away from prawns and had eaten a dodgy prawn sannie. He had purchased it yesterday from a very large supermarket chain which will remain nameless.I tipped myself out of bed and took off down the street on what was a beautiful morning. It didn't last long. By eleven the clouds were closing in and the heavens opened at 12 just in time for the Gala parade. Why can't it just stay dry? A gaggle of soggy inhabitants of the village trailed behind the gala float on which poor wee page boys and bedraggled flower girls sat cowering under brollies. A ruddy washout. I walked the parade with L in 60's gear & H dressed in full spacesuit, holding a brolly over him and his American flag. It was amazing the amount of folk who spoke to him and said how much they liked his suit, even the teenage lads who he met in the park who told him his suit was 'smart as f***'!  Hardly appropriate but the sentiment was there. By the end even the promise of a visit to VT's cake stall wasn't enough to stop him saying he wanted to go home. I forgot my gala bag tickets and must have looked a sight pleading to an official to get them, wearing a space helmet (it was better than carrying the thing), and lugging a giant flag with soggy miniature spaceman in tow. Dispatched S to get the car and took off home as they cancelled the sports. Passed J's house and noted the soggy hippie commune looked a state and the runny banner was going to drip paint onto every visitor who appeared for the booze up.

Was glad I had left the central heating on (in June as well, what a disgrace) and we started drying soggy stuff right away and heated the pies from the gala bags in the oven for lunch. Switched on the telly. James Bond was on and I thought at least that's something we can all watch. Hilarious moment when James Bond has a miniature camera on and trains it on an attractive female's cleavage. H starts laughing and says, 'Dad, he's looking at her b..b..b...chests!'

Off to J's for soggy burgers..........

Friday, 10 June 2011

Well today is the day of the Queen's crowning and it dawned bright and sunny. Hopped off down to school, had breakfast with A and I,  and then toddled up the road to help J with the Gala preparations. With B being a herald in the Queen's court,  the house is being decorated and I ended up mixing black paint to paint a banner,  while J received the Sainsbury's delivery and her hubby cut the grass. The Sainsbury's man's knees nearly buckled under the strain of heaving the crates of booze up the drive. Tomorrow will be the barbecue to end all barbecues....actually we thought last years was outrageous, what with enough reek to ground flights  into Edinburgh Airport, enough booze to sink a battleship and our good friend R turning up to provide his usual anecdotes it was a night to remember. Especially when R got a hold of J's I-phone and impersonating her, put a rather embarrassing message on Facebook about one of the guests, who was not amused. Mind you neither would I have been if someone had announced on Facebook 'Does anyone know the number for Dynorod?  ******* has left a floater in the lavvy and it wont flush'  Snigger's all round and J left apologising profusely for her guests 'peurile' behaviour.

Took off down to the field for the crowning after a dodgy afternoon of rain but Him Upstairs was kind and kept it dry. Kids were lovely as ever, the usual gala fare - bored page boys, pretty flower girls and a lovely wee queen being entertained by the local organisations. Special mention to the local scout group. It takes a special people to run the scouts - it helps if you are off your head for starters and you must be great with kids. They are both and the leaders are amazing.

Came up the road to help J turn her abode into a Hippie Commune minus the drugs - but plenty of booze instead.......

Thursday, 9 June 2011

Happy Birthday to me! Today is my 100th post!

I love my little boy. After spending time making him an astronaut suit for the fancy dress yesterday, I trailed him down to take part (his first time) along with his sister, and he didn't get placed. Now, some kids would have been devastated about this, but not H. He could teach us all a lesson. His response when I said he hadn't won was 'yeah, I know Mum, but it doesn't matter, they gave me a pound and I have the best astronaut costume in the world. Can I go and get sweeties with my pound?'  His sister on the other hand was less forgiving.....how can two kids from the same parents have such different personalities?  Oh and I love her too, just in case anyone thought otherwise. S has barred me from entering any hand sewn costumes from now on, at least he said, until they remove Stevie Wonder and David Blunkett from the judging panel. I really don't mind at all, as I love making them and the fact that folk think they are bought is a big compliment.

Today is school sports day which usually involves lingering in the field at the school with other parents,  watching our assorted offspring bounce on space hoppers, throw stuff through hoops and jump over hurdles. None of your traditional stuff there. H was not amused. He, like myself, is not sporty. Although, I do confess to always having tried my best, but really hated P.E.  Mainly because at secondary the head of P.E. was a prize pillock, with a ego as big as his pigeon chest. And the female staff weren't much better, with more testosterone between them than the school rugby team. And then there were the showers......Anyway I digress. Arrived at 9.30 to a fully assembled field of kids and spent an hour quite literally freezing as we watched. I ended up with earache and was glad to get home. Scottish June weather is ghastly and I made sure to look out my woolly hat and gloves for the afternoon session. Honestly,  folk south of the border probably wouldn't believe the weather we suffer.

H informed me yesterday, that his pal was moving house. I checked with his mum who said they weren't,  and then asked H where he had got it from. He said that A had announced it at news time. I said he had obviously made it up for something to say. H said,  'Yes I think he was telling porcupines!'  I thought for a moment and then realised he meant 'porky pies', the rhyming slang for lies!

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

The only thing worse than being caught unawares is being caught unawares by an over confident, precocious, bratty, six year old.  This morning I walked down with the kids to school.  While in the line my sleeve was tugged by aforementioned child.  'Did H say I was coming to your house for tea?'   I looked at H who to his credit looked both mortified and panic stricken.  'When?' said I thinking 'no ruddy way'.  He said, 'You can just go and arrange it with my dad, he's over there', and pointed to some random man I had never seen before. I said 'Oh, this week's no good', thinking he would go away, but no, ten out of ten for perseverance, he said, bold as brass, 'thats okay, this Sunday between twelve and four is good for me'. I told him we had to go to H's grans on Sunday and still the little beggar persisted informing me that he could 'do' Saturday morning. I am ashamed to admit I was relieved when the teacher came and ushered them in the door.

Now, I do not mind having an adult conversation with someone who has actually gone through puberty, but there is something marginally disturbing about a six year old who can negotiate his own social life, especially when mine cannot find his own shoes half the time, let alone anything else......

Tuesday, 7 June 2011

An interesting week to be sure. L and I ventured to Glasgow on Saturday with A and J to see the Sound of Music. Why do I always get sat next to someone who has to laugh like a buffoon at the funny bits?  It was a fabulous show with the exception being Jason Donovan as Captain VonTrapp.  Excruciatingly someone wolf whistled him when he came on stage.  Mortifying.  Not so much Von Trapp and Von Cr*pp, he really should avoid singing as he was as flat as a pancake and wooden as a cricket bat when it comes to acting.  Him apart it was an amazing show and the Von Trapp kids were brilliant.  So natural, not precocious at all, like some of those ghastly stage school divas.

Prior to the show we went for afternoon tea at a bakers in Sauchiehall Street.  Fantastic!  One of those places that has been there since the year dot, serving scones and shortbread, sandwiches and cream cakes and all on the wee cake stands your Grannie used to use. Surrounded by old ladies, we had a great time scoffing the lot.

Started H's Apollo moon suit for the Gala on Thursday and set about sewing it up on Sunday.  The house now looks like it has been bombed.  As is normal prior to Gala week, J has been on the phone asking if I have certain items.  A long, black wig. Hippie clothes and anything else remotely hippie related. I obliged with L's shocking pink kaftan style thingy from Primark and her black wig from her stint as Wednesday Addams. Hilariously this is for her eight year old boy B. He is being a hippie in the fancy dress and the garden is being done up as a hippie commune.  She is letting the grass grow so it is authentic. (I think she just can be assed cutting the grass!)  Went in to see him try it on and,  after the initial horror of having to wear L's top,  he got into it big time and ran outside in the wig with a black droopy moustache stuck to his top lip with double sided sticky tape.

S very kindly as given me the cold that he had last week and taken off down south so I can be ill to my heart's content.  Not really. Still have to get on with it.  Spent the day sewing together an Apollo backpack made from two cardboard boxes and two plastic washing powder boxes as the ironing grows to gargantuan proportions.  So glad L is going as a gogo girl.  I have managed to scrounge most of her stuff, no sewing involved at all.

If this weekend is anything like last years gala we will hardly see the house, dine on chippies and barbecues and hopefully not get soaked............

Thursday, 2 June 2011

What a few days. L took off on Monday and on Tuesday H decided to have a virus. As a result I was confined to barracks with a cranky, miserable six year old. H is very rarely cranky so I felt sorry for him. He wouldn't eat and was running a temperature, had a sore head and a sore throat. He recovered a bit yesterday, but horror of horrors, was set back when he found the telly had lost the tuning for CBBC. I  had no clue how to fix it so he watched tornado chasing dvds from the couch, getting excited at terrifying twisters ripping the roofs of poor folks houses. Went to pick up L from her school trip. I think that the outdoor centre had been taken over by the 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'.  I am sure the pleasant, polite child I put on the bus two days previously had had her personality erased and replaced with a bad tempered, rude, cheeky imposter. She jumped off the bus and grumped her way up the road, got into the house and had a go at poor H who was delighted to see her. I filled the washing machine with manky clothes and decided to ignore her. When she hadn't improved a few hours later she got a severe talking to and was sent to her bed. Probably the best place as I think she was shattered and is used to getting at least ten hours sleep a night.

The peace didn't last long. Five am and I am up again after hearing L shout from the bathroom. Walks in to a scene from 'Kill Bill'. There is blood everywhere. Her nose has started bleeding and she is sitting on the side of the bath letting it run onto the floor. Finally get the mess cleared up and the bleeding stopped and put her back to bed. Hope the CSI folk don't arrive with their fancy light. They will think there's been a murder......