Hold the front page

I love that expression, do you think it's actually used in real life?  It never cropped up in my journalism career, more like, "what the **** are we gonna put on the front page, no cats stuck up trees this week?!"

But this week, my news really is worthy of the 'splash'!

I've discovered the single cause of obesity in women aged between 30 and 50 (I make no apologies for being very gender and age specfic).

I can see scientists everywhere scrambling to the computer to read withdewrespect and share the eureka moment with me and a belated entry being added under the Ws on the Queens Birthday Honours List.

My miraculous discovery came just yesterday as I was (again, sitting comfortably) leafing through the new summer edition of the Lakeland catalogue (target market, females aged between 30 and 50).

There it was, on page 67.......a laundry basket with legs.

I rest my case (no pun intended, really).

Laziness (and expensive accessories which nourish this vice) is surprisingly not my 'whinge of the week', although the purchase of such costly comforts may induce the following pet hate.

Now, I work in a shop so I am able practice 'doing as I would be done by' (take your reference from the Classics, Bible or The Water Babies, as you wish) with regards to this niggle.

Picture the scene.  Two kids are hanging round my ankles, I'm trying in vain to squash a dozen eggs, a pineapple, four pints of full fat and a box of Cheerios into the final bag whilst searching desperately for the relevant store loyalty card.

There's an angry queue building as I fumble and curse under the pressure.  I think I'm home and dry, one hand is major-multi-tasking with a bag hanging from each finger, a child's sticky hand clutching my thumb and my open purse balanced in my palm.  I hold out my other hand for the change as the tension, and the queue, builds.

Into my now sweating palm, the cashier piles my receipt, a petrol voucher and my loyalty card precariously topped off with £7.98s worth of coppers.

Anarchy ensues as it all becomes too much for my trembling hands and the coins inevitably topple and roll all over the floor.

Still, I manage to bend down to pick them all up.....just like I'm capable of bending down to pick my clothes out of the washing basket!  'Work that waistline ladies!!!'   (I can't even be bothered being PC and saying 'ladies and gents', my husband doesn't even know where the washing machine is.)

PS: I LOVE Lakeland and the Co-Op (oops!) really.....  (Blow it, let's be honest, I'm never gonna find a sponsor for this blog am I?!)

Clearly not in the mood for a housewife's workout!

The long winter evenings.......

I sometimes read my own blog (I know, as Edmund Blackadder said (with rolling eyes), 'the long winter evening must just fly by'), and I worry.
I worry that people won't 'get it' and will think I'm sad and shallow (and perhaps a bit weird) and should watch News at Ten more.
You see, my blog largely consists of wittering on about life's trivia such as litter, the trials and tribulations of bringing up kids, dodgy Groupon deals, smelly fencing helmets and boiled eggs.
I'm not sure everyone will see beyond that.

But what I AM sure about is that people would a. stop reading; b. give me a hug; or c.punch me in the face; or d. all three, if I wrote about my thoughts on terrorist atrocities, famine, greed, unequal distribution of wealth, the overpopulation of the world, tolerance (and its evil archenemy 'intolerance'), religion, immigration, crime and punishment, excessive smoking, drinking and eating and their resultant toll on the healthcare services etc.
So, I'll stick to writing about the little stuff (or 'grass roots' if you will), which may seem like random banter about annoying children, litter and bad parking, and just hope that people see that what I'm actually writing about is common sense, respect for our planet, the value of friendship, the indescribable joys of parenthood, decent standards, peaceful and healthy living and good old fashioned 'love thy neighbour' morals.
Phew, I need a lie down now.

Well, the footie season is now over and I have my weekends back.  However, the long summer evenings are now spent watching my son play cricket.  It's OK (#yawn) but I miss the shouting (apparently not much to shout about at cricket, and I got told off for telling my son to 'just whack it!').

The footie season ended with the annual presentation and my son was made Manager's Player of the Year and his BFF was Player's Player of the Year (#proudmumsallowed).
I'm loving the # thing on twitter but still not a full FB convert, #mustyoushare/dowecare.  A friend said yesterday, 'blimey, never thought we'd see you on FaceBook!' and I stress that I'm still not a fan and use it purely as part of my cunning plot to take over the world with my blog and, of course, share the obligatory photographs of my beautiful children.

Parental shouting from the sidelines is a must, if only to embarrass the aforementioned beautiful children when they're not near enough to come and dig me in the ribs.
This season there has been a few classics, with mums and dads being heard to shout......
 "Leave your bloody hair alone" (you know who you are, son)
 "Stop pulling your sleeves down"
 "Stop marking grass"  (my personal favourite)
 "Get up and shake it off" (turned out to be a broken leg)
 "Carry on, you can have Calpol at half time" (just a mild case of concussion)

I'll leave you with a quick Women's Weekly reader's page-style observation. It's something that I keep noticing whenever I'm entering my personal details into an online form.  You know you're getting old when you have to scroll, and scroll, and scroll down the drop-down menu to reach your birth year!
#was1971reallythatlongago

Winning smiles

How to build a sandcastle

Sometimes I wonder when and where the inspiration for another blog will arrive, and I find it always does so when I least expect it.
Sitting comfortably (?!), leafing through the free Boots health and beauty magazine I'd just picked up from my local branch and there it was, amid a feature on 'retro' family fun in the sun.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm Boots' number 1 fan; while living in Portugal I missed Boots more than I missed my own parents.....I'd like to say 'only joking', but.....
Anyway, there in the Boots magazine was a half page spread on, wait for it, drum roll, red carpet, small bits of sparkly stuff falling from the ceiling.......how to build a sandcastle!

I jest not, the 'article' described, alongside three numbered 'diagrams', how to fill a bucket, tip it upside down and lift off the bucket with the words 'ta-dah' accompanying the final graphic.

Is it just me or has journalism / the world gone mad?  Why is anything dubbed as 'retro' largely just basic common sense that doesn't cost anything, doesn't involve forgetting chargers and doesn't make you fat.
We could say that walking to school is now 'retro', as I said in my speech to gathered dignitaries, supporters and friends at the press launch of the Hoppa last week (see previous blog), 'it's not rocket science'.

I've often thought I would like to write a book and would have called it 'Is It Just Me' if Miranda Hart hadn't nicked that idea (I'm not a big fan if hers so don't get me started).
Ellen Degeneres (a massive inspiration of whom I AM a huge fan) stole 'My Point and I do Have One' so I need to think of my own idea I suppose or maybe get withdewrespect readers to send answers on a postcard.

Well, today it's confession time as I've been outed as a hypocrite and I'm not afraid to be named and shamed for my behaviour.
After ranting about litter leavers in a recent blog, I made a fool of myself the other week when, in a friend's shiny new car, I couldn't find anywhere to put my exhausted chewing gum as we drove along a country lane, so I threw it out of the window.

My friend was horrified, and quite rightly so.  I immediately realised I  had sunk to the depths of those I abhor and I have been red-faced ever since.  After enduring my just telling off and hanging my head in shame, we chatted about the litter lout culture and I applauded her very brave actions recently.  She explained that she saw some lads drop their Macdonalds wrappers on the floor so she went over and politely said, 'excuse me, I think you've dropped something'.

What's that....children walking to school!?  (how 1980s)