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........