Saturday 29 April 2017

Our Song

I'm going to a wedding today so recalled a recent romantic tale of my own, be warned it might get messy.

Plus, I've been told off by one of my avid readers for not blogging enough.  Three words; job(s), family, life......walking bus, kids' taxi service, cooking, cleaning, sleeping, pilates, ballet, tap, personal hygiene.....you knew it was never going to be only three words didn't you?

But actually Mr Avid Reader has a point so I've decided to adopt a little and often (also the name of a great singing duo from Huddersfield, Google them) approach rather than waiting until I have multitude of blogging gems to impart.  The other plus side to this is that I'm getting incredibly forgetful these days so when there's a blog-worthy incident I have to jot it down quickly before I forget, and then I forget where I've put the bit of paper, closely followed by forgetting that I ever wrote it down in the first place.

Withdewrespect prides itself on being a warts 'n' all, spill the beans, tell it how it is kinda blog.

However, some things must remain private and I'm afraid the origins of our song (me and Mr Withdewrespect) will remain thus, and never be aired on primetime national radio alongside the dulcet tones of Simon Bates (is that still on?  I'm old now and listen to Radio 4 so folk think I'm clever).

Anyway, the story behind 'our song' will not be aired here except to say that such was its romantic, sweet and innocent poignancy in the history in our relationship that we had it played on a CD player in the registry office as we signed on the dotted line, some 15 years, two marriages and four children after we'd first met (not, I hasten to clarify, all with each other).

Imagine my, erm, shall we say, surprise, when I was in the kitchen the other day (cooking and listening to BBCR4) when I heard 'our song' floating out of the lounge where Daniel was watching TV.

It's a little known song, from an even littler known artist and is very rarely heard these days so I was intrigued and dashed into the lounge.

Right there, right then, every shred of romance was instantly ripped out 'our song' and we can safely say my heart will not be a'fluttering every time I hear the song in the future.  Instead, I will see red, literally!

There on the screen, as Harry Nilsson belted out his rousing chorus, were a dozen Dachshunds bounding across a field adoring hot dog baps on their backs and leaping into the arms of awaiting men wearing full-body lifesize bottles of the full plethora of sauces in the Heinz range.

On the upside, everytime Daniel squeezes a huge dollop of tommy sauce on his plate I can forever be reminded of my very own Mr W.

Romance, still very much alive and squirting in the Withdewrespect household!

That's all for now folks, ketchup with you later (sorry, couldn't resist).







Tuesday 18 April 2017

Status pending

Any discerning withdewrespect reader understands my love-hate (mainly the latter) relationship with Facebook but I was astounded this week to check my profile and spot that, according to the social media giant, my kinship / genetic association with my firstborn has a large question mark hanging over it.

It links my profile with that of Teddy Ferreira, detailing, Relationship: SON (pending).

Clearly my history of antics as a football mum are causing him to publically deny our blood bond.

I just don't understand it. For example, only last week I was perfectly dignified on the side-line.

I had bought myself a cup of tea from Costa on the way to his game.  While the teams were warming up, I sat in  my car and picked up the cup from the drink holder. Oddly, tea was streaming out of the bottom of the cup and soaked my legs, coat and seat before I opened the door and put the cup down on the floor outside the car. 

I cleared myself up the best I could, reached down to pick up the cup, got out and set off walking only to take two steps before squealing in pain as a sharp object pierced through my wellington boots, ski socks and inevitably, my skin.

I hopped around with the leaking cup of tea in one hand, trying to remove the sharp object from my flesh and pull off my boot and sock with my other hand;  I'm such a cool football mum.

The mysterious spikey object was from a stash of drawing pins that I keep in the car for displaying signage on my clients' noticeboards.
And, to add insult to clearly very un-di
gnified injury, it was the very same drawing pin that pierced the cup and then (after I put the tea on the floor) fell out of the cup and I pierced my foot as I stepped on it!

Once again in my quest to become super-cool-mum, I've gone and put my foot in it.

Looks like my bid to attain motherhood status will remain 'pending' for a while longer.

 

A pedestrian life

My part-time 'for the love of it' job in Box Office at my local theatre is a daily source of gems for withdewrespect, unfortunately most of them practically unprintable they are so ridiculous.
Here's a common one.

Customer: "I've got a query about my print-at-home ticket."
Me: "OK, how can I help?"
Customer: "Do I need to print it at home?"

Tip of a very big iceberg of customers with queries on a sliding scale from dumb to dumber.

Home is no respite from the bizarreness.

Daniel (the 9-year-old, hollering from his bedroom): "Mum, guess what? I don't have an egg to spawn a horse but I can ride on an out-of-control pig."
Me: "That's nice son."

By choice, I'm a pedestrian more often than a passenger or driver.

And I find that we're a dying breed, a rarity on the streets and very much second fiddle to the chunks of metal with whom we share the highways and byways.

Cars reluctantly and impatiently slam on their brakes at pedestrian crossings, their drivers glaring as you cross the road in front of them.  The risk of getting caught on camera and penalty points on their licence being the only reason they hold back from ploughing you down for having impeded their journey.  The fact that you've been stood there for ten minutes in the pouring rain, repeatedly and ineffectively pressing the button is of no matter.  Traffic light settings are always biased towards keeping the traffic moving and the pedestrian waiting.

And don't get me started about pavement parking where drivers think the 'kerb' is just a small step to a great place to park, or at times, even drive.

Even the word pedestrian has a derogatory co-usage, the adjective meaning 'lacking inspiration or excitement, dull with synonyms including plodding, tedious, monotonous, tiresome, lifeless, unimaginative, uncreative and dry'.

Seems harsh, I just like walking.

I'm thinking of taking up Nordic Walking,  both as a way to keep fit and to ensure my children have just one more reason to be thoroughly embarrassed by their mum.  See next blog for further examples.

I like the sound of any activity which requires equipment and prompts a trip to Go Outdoors.  This is commonly and swiftly followed by a week spent on Ebay selling all the impractical items I have purchased (for further reference read my previous blogs of a Carry on Camping nature, or should I correctly re-order, a right 'camping carry on'!)