Seeing double but not seeing red

I was amazed to see a Sheffield Wednesday game make it to the dizzy heights of appearing on Yahoo's world news page (other search engines are available....I'd better say that as my blog is powered by Google!). 
Well, the footie itself didn't make headlines, it was a referee gaff which proved newsworthy.  The silly Billy ref showed a player two yellow cards but didn't follow this with a compulsory red and poker straight arm with angry finger pointing towards the changing rooms.
See, I was right after all, it's the little things that make football interesting, like sending off errors and sprinklers coming on! (see previous blog)
As I know you are now on tenterhooks, I'll put you out of your misery.  Well, firstly a match day weather report.  It was blooming cold; or a 'trousers AND tights day' as me and a dear friend and fellow ex-pat in Portugal used to joke as we reminisced about the chilly UK climes.
The Owls played Huddersfield Town at Town's John Smith's Stadium, formerly the Galpharm, (nb. other breweries and non-prescription medication suppliers are available) and drew O - O.
Yawn.
The highlight for me at this game wasn't the pie this time (see previous blog), it was singing along with 4,000 other Wednesdayites:
      'I've got a shed, as big as this, (repeat)
      It's got a door and a window, 
      I've got a shed as big as this.' 
(sung to the tune of 'When all the Saints').
Tee hee.
And I always find it funny when the rival Terriers and the Owls fans join their voices in unison at this fiercely fought Yorkshire derby for the uplifting chorus of, 'we all hate Leeds'.
As usual at away games, I learned some new, shall we say 'grown-up' words.  Mind you, what are grown-up words these days?  My five-year-old runs around singing, 'hey, sexy lady, oopa is gangnam style' and thrusting his non-existent hips, and he knows all the lyrics to Candy and other 'pop' songs that would have resulted in a straight red card and a sending to my room if I had dared to sing them when I was five!

The ref sees only yellow (not red)

The one where I get a bit tipsy

Just thought I'd step back in time to the week before last, and slightly further, into the Middle Ages......

With not a fork in sight, it was a true test of how far we are prepared to go to cast off our inbred good manners in polite company.  And it was a bloody good night (excuse my French) in aid of a good cause (Combat Stress).
The reason for the costume-donning (see picture below) was a Medieval charity ball complete with trestle tables and benches and a live Medieval band (which seems in itself, unlikely).
It was a case of quickly breaking the silence with the strangers on each side of you to organise synchronised nudging forward, or wearing your soup.  We plumped for nudging.
However, although spoons were thankfully provided for the soup, they were cleared away before we had time to spot the absence of forks for the main meal.  It was alright chomping Medieval-style on our spare ribs and chicken legs, but the potato salad proved interesting.  We were all sneaking looks around the table to see who had resorted to cheating and using their pudding spoon to scoop up the potatoes.
As one would expect on a night associated with Medieval merry-making, the booze flowed.  I'm  not a seasoned drinker and it wasn't long before, in the style of an AA attendee, I was revealing to anyone who cared to listen (and those that didn't) that I never clean my windows, or my oven.
Now, although clearly not as meaningful as publicly declaring a potentially life-threatening addiction, anyone who knows me knows that, as the Channel 4 documentary title went, I'm a little bit OCD in a Monica from Friends kind of way.  Declaring that I don't clean my windows is akin to the episode when Chandler discovers Monica's secret junk room. 
I then just did some dodgy dancing to some dodgy music and was spotted begging for the Time Warp and singing Hang the DJ when the playlist went down hill.
Shocked at my tactless behaviour the next day I asked my husband if I had really been so rude to the DJ.  He said, 'yes, but it's OK, everyone just ignored you'.


OK, two blogs in one day, I'm exhausted and off to relax.  Now, who has moved my label maker?

A night of knights and fair maidens

Did you have a good one?

It's Boxing Day and it seems we've moved on to stock seasonal phrase number 2: - "Did you have a good one?"  (see previous blog re: "Are you ready for it?")

One day. One single day has passed and the amount of plastic which will have exchanged hands across the land would cover 10,357 football pitches.  (I just made that up by the way, but it sounds about right and people always use football pitches or double-decker buses in such 'cor blimey' comparisons of mass and distance)
We even had 'plastic that didn't work' plastic, care of Amazon, otherwise known as 'Ama-too much hassle to send back-zon'. Twenty quids worth of Bop It which is slightly useless cos the sound doesn't work! 

Between the four of us we amassed 87 Christmas cards which, if stood on end, would be as high as four double-deckers.  Actually, I have no idea how high a bus is but the number of cards IS a true statistic, how popular are we!?  Thankful as I am for the well wishes, it's now Boxing Day so I'm chopping them up to make next year's gift tags.....and you thought I wasn't a yummy mummy!  Mind you, Jack Dee's idea of having a shredder attached to behind the letter box also appeals.

I don't want to plagiarise the pros, but did anyone see Michael McIntyre's Christmas show with his hilarious take on 'getting out of the house'; without kids 'v' with kids?  It was superb.  First case scenario, without kids; he simply walks a few steps, opens a pretend door, goes through then closes it behind him.  'With kids' is a hilarious scene of utter chaos with Michael ranting and gesticulating wildly as he mimes the daily scene of bedlam AND mayhem which takes place in his, and most child-rearing households across the land!  Hilarious.
I digress, where was I?
You know, friends have likened the manner in which I recount a tale to that of Ronnie Corbett sat in his Mastermind-style black recliner. I don't know what on earth they mean!?

That's right, I was going to tell my own comedy encounter at the Co-Op on Christmas Eve. Well, me and the little lad had just been to a lovely Christingle and had to leg it to the supermarket to grab some milk.  I begged to be let in as the manager was literally closing the doors.  We hoofed it up the chiller aisle and arrived back at the check-out with lightening speed.  The manager looked at us, sighed and said, 'just excuse me a minute'.  He then slowly leaned towards the tannoy microphone and declared over the airwaves to the deserted aisles: "Can all remaining customers please make their way to the check-out as the store is now closing, thank you".
I looked around me with sit-com-worthy melodrama and then pointed out to the manager that he knew full well there was just me and the little lad left in the building, and we were standing right in front of him!
Like the Jet2 operative (previous blog), I think it may be a while until he sees the funny side.

The serious business of present opening

Merry Christmas to one and all

If one more person asks me, "am I ready for it", I may scream.
It always makes me wonder what exactly I need to be "ready" for; should I boil a kettle and get some fresh towels handy?
As a Christian, I do get a bit 'bah humbug' about the ever-increasing commercialisation and spending insanity which seems to, quite frankly, over-shadow Christmas, especially when it starts in September!
Year round, I just pootle off to Church when I get the chance and do my bit for the PCC and as a Foundation Governor, and it's not something I get on my soap-box about really.

.....EXCEPT when Christmas comes around and everyone starts emptying the supermarket shelves like there's a war on, spending obscene amounts of money on things in a gift box which will be half price next week and.....calling it Xmas!

Mind you, it was lovely to see my son in his first ever nativity, complete with a sweet-smiling Mary, a sobbing Joseph (obviously overcome by the occasion), a nodding donkey (literally, bless him, he fell fast asleep) and baby X in a manger!
My gorgeous little lad was a narrator and I thought my heart was going to beat its way out of my chest as he delivered his pivotal line, 'so there in the stable, before it was dawn, a beautiful baby was wonderfully born'.
One of the proudest moments in my life which I will never forget.  (I did wonder however, whether Mary would have come up with the word 'wonderful' to describe the birthing process, it's not a word that springs to my mind.)

As me and the boys send money to Sheffield Children's Hospital in lieu of buying Christmas cards, (and I don't know where you all live anyway), I just wanted to send my seasons greetings to everyone who is taking the time to read my ramblings and wish you all the very best for 2013.
Thank you for reading....."and there's more" (as Jimmy Cricket would say).

PS. For my footie mad readers, I came out with another cringe-worthy sideline mum howler on Saturday.  Half way through the under 10s match a helicoper flew over so I shouted, 'look lively lads, Sky Sports is here.'  I think eventually my son will beg me not to come to matches.

PPS. I was interested to read on good-old Wikipedia that the jury is out on whether Xmas is blasphemous or actually originates in the Church's history books.  I just think it's not too difficult to go with the extra five letters, is it really?
Merry Christmas one and all. XXX

It's a game of two halves (apparently)

This is nice, I'm writing 'on demand' today.   A reader e.mailed to complain that I hadn't put pen to paper, or fingers to keys, for a week.  So I'm getting 'my finger out' as I was told to!
It's funny, this particular reader, a friend and fellow Sheffield Wednesday supporter (other teams are available; ones that actually score goals apparently), asked if I was going to be blogging about the mighty Owls.
Well, I guess I would if it weren't for a number of reasons (I feel one of my lists coming on)......

• I know absolutely nothing about the game of football (I can hear all you Leeds/Huddersfield/Sheff Utd fans shout in unison....."oh, is that why you support Wednesday?!")
• I just go to games for an afternoon out, a nice pie and a cup of hot chocolate (I'm a cheap date!)
• Really, there are no more reasons, I just don't know anything about football
• As a side-line mum watching the Under 10s, I've been known to shout such helpful technical tips as 'stop bunching boys' and when my son scored a hat-trick in new boots, I shouted, 'well that was £34.99 well spent!'  (he's still not speaking to me, two years later)

Back in the summer of 2005 and working in Portugal as a freelance journalist, I was asked to write a live match report for the UEFA website. It might have been FC Porto versus Deportivo la Coruna, I really don't remember, it was a long time ago and an evening I've frankly tried hard to etch from my memory.

It was an unseasonably chilly night in northern Spain and once I'd battled against the city's bizarre one-way loop system and stadium security with my vague credentials, I was given a press seat with a dodgy internet connection, to file a live report!  It went down hill from there.
The game commenced and, having watched Porto play many times, I thought I knew the players and the game reasonably well.  It turned out, I really did know nothing about football and I struggled to even work out who did what when, let alone write about it simultaneously and competently. 

It's the only time in my career, I'm pleased to report, that my submission to the editing team, was COMPLETELY re-written.  

Do I remember the score?  Not a chance!  The only thing I do remember is that a sprinkler popped up mid-game causing a few minutes of disruption.  For me this was the highlight of the evening as I actually understood what was happening. 

Anyway, needless to say, UEFA didn't come knocking on my door, or my inbox, again. 

So in answer to your question, no, I won't be blogging on SWFC games....unless of course, a sprinkler turns itself on and then it might be worth a few pars.


Here's the proof, me pictured at the la Coruna stadium on that fateful night in 2005 with a trusty pal who knew hell of a lot more about football (and plugging in a laptop) than me!!!
(Thank you D for scanning the prints for me - football AND computers, not my strong points!!)

Nag, nag, nag.....that's what makes them beautiful

I'm awful, aren't I?  I've just re-read my last post and have to admit my poor kids get a right blog bashing.  And you know what, to give them 'due respect', they were impeccably behaved on holiday and during the long flights and I'm so proud of them.  Mind you, I think was more down to the wonderful world of Apple Apps than anything I've done as a parent.
In fact, when the iPod Touches have run out of steam, it's then that the steam starts to come out of my ears.

I stupidly flushed £3.60 down the drain by purchasing Cosmo at the airport en route to our hols.  I finally got to open it on day five and made four attempts to read the opening paragraph of an article on One Direction:

Attempt number one:
"I need a wee."
"Ask your dad to take you."
Attempt number two:
"I want an icecream."
"Not until after your dinner."
Attempt number three:
"Come and push me on the turtle." (inflatable, not real)
"Ask your brother."
Attempt number four:
"I'm drowning, my brother has pushed me off the turtle."
"OK, hang on, I'm coming."

Darn it, now I'll have to wait until my children have left home to find out what Harry, Zayn, Louis, Niall and Liam are looking for in an ideal woman.  While I wait to discover, my initial guess is that their ideal woman's age would begin with a 1 or a 2 (at a push) and not a 4, so I didn't need to read the article anyway!
Yes, I know it's wrong, wrong, wrong and I'm old enough to be their mother.  But what's a girl to do, have you seen the pin-ups from my day these days?  I mean, did you see Limahl on I'm a Celebrity..... and his strategic, yet ultimately futile, attempts to disguise the onslaught of male pattern baldness?

Happy days

Of course, I always give in and push them around on the giant turtle.  Sadly however, the turtle is no more, having been part of our family holiday for many years, hauled along in its own 20kg suitcase.  I'm sorry to announce it was mercilessly slaughtered (well burst) by a three-year-old child.  What was it you taught me mum, 'never a lender or a borrower be'?  I kept telling the child to 'step away from the turtle' but he didn't seem to be listening to me (or his father) and dragged the poor defenseless creature around on the side of the pool until he sadly breathed his last breath, from a large gash in his leg joint.

"Muuuuuuum, a little boy has broken our turtle, can we go buy a new one?"
"NO, there's no spending money left and I have a suspicious feeling the boiler may need mending when we get home."

But, you know, it's funny isn't it?  Even though our kids don't give us a second's peace, we can't imagine life without them; not even for a split second.

See you around..... for the next million years

So, the boiler is mended and we're telling the kids that Santa is implementing austerity measures to offset fuel price hikes (it wasn't a good harvest due to the wet summer......think about it.....)
But speaking of the kids, it's been great to spend quality time with them on the windy isle (it turns out) of Lanzarote. Well, when I say 'quality'.....
It's like the old cannabalistic adage goes, 'I love kids, but I couldn't eat a whole one'.  I DO love my kids, but 24/7 and I suddenly appreciated even more the value of that excellent child-care provider; 'school'.
With a chilly breeze blowing in rain-cloud after rain-cloud, there was quite a lot of 'entertaining' to be done.  The only time we sat down was when Karate Kid came on in English!  (Disney in Spanish had started to grate on the old eardrums so the TV didn't provide much distraction.)
Also as it was term-time, the Jet2-delivered raft of fellow ee-by-gum, Geordie and Brummy-accented holiday-makers included very few school-age youngsters to entertain our boys.
So with yet another downpour we headed to the Lanzarote Aquarium.  At €40 for four it wasn't cheap but killed an hour and turned out to be quite educational.
The tanks were full of colourful and interesting species of ocean life and some shark eggs with the soon-to-be-hatched babies squirming around inside them was a highlight.
But the display which brought a tear to my eye and I hope reinforced the lesson I'm always banging into the kids featured a very different species; human filth.  A display of a commonly-spotted sea dwellers such as plastic bags, coke cans and wine bottles, made us all stop and think.  It explained how many years it takes for each piece of trash to decompose, ranging from 30 years for a carrier bag to millions of years, or probably never, for a glass bottle.
It's not rocket science is it?  The more crap we fail to recycle in the correct manner and the more we consume, the fuller our land, and our seas, will be with dangerous waste.
That same day for lunch I discovered some cheese slices were contained in a thick plastic package with a thinner plastic layer within.  Once through these two layers, I found each wafer thin slice of shiny cheese was wrapped in yet another plastic pouch.
I shudder for my children's (and their children's) futures as we become a plastic-wrapped world seemingly without the brains to either abandon the need for triple-plastic packed cheese or without the systems or the will to educate/force consumers to recycle effectively or suffer the consequences.

The boys at the Lanzarote Aquarium

Baby sharks about to hatch

Great weather......for wind surfers!

To end on a lighter note '6 o'clock news'-style, and to neatly link to another packaging bug-bear, namely those stupid tiny milk cartons with a dribble of milk.  The wind was so bad on our departure the plane could either take off with half a tank of fuel or hit a volcano.  So the pilot opted, on our behalf, for the first option and we dropped into the Algarve to refuel.  Whilst on the tarmac at Faro, an air steward left the plane and returned with a box of mini milk cartons.  As he passed, I questioned whether we had just stopped to re-stock the milk supplies!?  To which  he replied, "no madam, we needed fuel!" and walked off leaving me red-faced at my failed attempt at comedy.  He later returned and said: "I'm so sorry, I get your joke now!"  But I think the moment had passed.

Read.....then step away from your computer!!!!!!!

Just arrived back from a week in Lanzarote to find our boiler has conked out on the coldest day of the year so far, my fingers are frozen and I'm fed up so it's a quickie today.
I'm also in a bad mood after dredging through dozens of spam e.mails and going eight rounds with Next Directory, having to repeat my full name, address and date of birth to five different departments on their darn rip-off 0844 complaints line.  Grrrrrrrr.
But what's mainly on my mind is the fact that during a week away from communications technology, we've met some amazing people and had conversations that could never happen via the internet or telephone.  We've had the privilege to meet a charming elderly couple from Newcastle, coping with the aftermath of a disabling stroke and still smiling, world-class athletes and all-round lovely people Ironman couple Stephen and Bella Bayliss and their adorable son Charlie www.theironcouple.com, currently living and training at Sands Beach in Lanzarote, and an elderly Christian teacher who has travelled around the world 122 times but told us 'there's no place like home'.  It's true; back home after a lovely break (more on that when my fingers have de-frosted and a man called Alan has fitted a new circuit board in our boiler), dear friends took the unexpected trouble to fetch us from the airport (and arm us with bow-wrapped Lemsip, LOL) and our adorable Brazilian neighbour brought round home-made soup and warmed rolls the very second we wearily stepped out of the car.  (It was a long flight, more on that later as well!)
I was just thinking about all these people when I came across an e.mail from Twitter saying, 'we've found some people you may know on twitter'.  I say, who cares!?  I've already found some 'real' people  that we may never have known if we hadn't got off our backsides, stepped out of cyberspace, out of the front door and into the real world (even if it is a bit chilly sometimes!).

Here endeth today's lesson!!!
I'll be back with the usual banter soon to tell you about our flight diversion and running out of milk - mid-air.....

The  boys enjoying the beach

How do I find the time?

I sometimes wonder where I will find the inspiration for my next episode of rambling but it always seems to just appear out of the blue.
This week a friend, recently introduced to my blog, questioned how I find the time to write.
Like me, she's a working mum and therefore couldn't believe there was enough spare nano-seconds in the day to sit down and write, just for the sake of  it.
Well, I may have mentioned I can type really, really fast so that side isn't a problem although I have moved my desk into the kitchen so I can dash to and fro from the vegetable stir fry and the jigsaw I'm doing with my little lad.
In fact, I remember once wiping my little boy's bum while doing a live and very serious telephone interview for Radio Norfolk.  Now that's multi-tasking!  In fact, if us mums step back and look at our weekly tasks, it's a wonder we have time to sleep. I recall years ago seeing the 'MUM'S TAXI' bumper sticker and not understanding it.  I do now.  In a normal week, our family activities include: -

• Playing football
• Streeet dancing
• Football training
• Ballet / tap dancing (not at the same time, obviously)
• Pilates / running (again, separate activities)
• Playing tennis
• Watching football (on TV and SWFC live and chilly from the terraces)
• School / homework / work (running a shop which only ever closes on Christmas Day)
• Cooking / cleaning / washing / ironing / shopping yadder, yadder
• Visiting far-flung family (well, Brid is fairly well 'flung')
• Did I mention football?
• Community activities - school governor / www.businessbistro.co.uk/

So how do I switch off when I'm not dashing around like a mad woman or writing?  Well, reality TV of course.
My super-brainy friend recently questioned my guilty pleasure and I challenged her to watch just one episode  of X Factor or I'm a Celebrity....  But it didn't turn out too well; she instantly challenged me back to watch just one episode of Newsnight and I conceded defeat. (well there's some MP or other on I'm a Celebrity...., isn't that enough politics for anybody?).

NB: I made a pledge with myself to always be honest in my blog (and indeed, in life). I therefore confess, the vegetable stir-fry and jigsaw comment was a ruse to make me sound like a yummy mummy.  What I really meant was I stick frozen chicken nuggets and chips in the oven, leave the kids on Minecraft and then get writing.

Did I mention the football?

Abbey Dashing

One hour, four minutes and 13 seconds, 10km and a very happy lady!

On a glorious day in the heart of Yorkshire, I finally (see earlier blog) overtook little old ladies (I think the correct term is veterans) and this F40 category lady even managed to finish before the road re-opened!
What a fantastic experience to be part of a 9,000-strong throng of running folk, all there for a gazzillion different reasons; to raise money for good causes (I raised £316 for Age UK), to keep fit and healthy, for the sheer joy of running, to remember loved ones or just to run as fast as they could and try and be in the winnings (darn them and their 10km sprint!).  It was a low moment when the front-running podium-bound gents and ladies legged it past us on the other side of the route on their homeward stretch, when we were barely off the starting line!
I think the secret is not chatting so much, the winners certainly weren't bemoaning the price of butter on their way round!
With just the sound of panting breath and Adidas rubber pounding the pavement all around us, we ran chatting past a lady who rasped at us: "I can't believe you're still managing to talk!"
But actually, I think the secret is chatting so much.  I would have been bored and turned around at about 3km if we weren't putting the world to rights as we pootled along.

It's such a buzz to pass the finishing line with my eye already on the next race and trying to beat my time!
Looks like I've got the bug!

Eat less, move more, simples!

My computer has turned into Fort Knox and I'll be suing Norton when I pile on the pounds again as it's not letting me open my Weight Watchers site!  I can touch type faster than the wind but I'm hopeless at IT and it seems I've fire-walled myself to the hilt.

Before

Speaking of the weight watching, it's thanks to www.weightwatchers.co.uk that I shed nearly two stone last year, and also thanks to my neighbour.  A chance conversation with her at a kids cricket match soon after my 40th prompted me to give it a go.  She hadn't ever looked overweight and I couldn't believe she'd shed pounds.  I was in the same boat, not overly over-weight but a bit chunky (as my husband would put it!!).
But I ultimately signed up for me, to look and feel better about myself, and it worked.  Within six months on the Pro Points plan and I was nearly two stone lighter and a 10/12 instead of a 14/16. Thank you WW.  Blimey, I've gone all serious today haven't I? Don't worry, it won't last.
Anyway, I took the route of most WW graduates and took up running.  Well, it started out as strolling a bit faster than usual; little old ladies with zimmer frames would overtake me and I'd just make it to the Co-Op and back before I collapsed in a sweating heap.  However, I stuck to it and am very proud that I'm doing my first 10K and have raised £316 for Age UK.
There's a bitter sweet irony in the fact that I'm running in aid of the Winter Warmth campaign and this week I've caught my first bloody cough 'n' cold of the year and had to stop training!  Darn it.  I'll let you know how I get on.
For now, I must dash; need to bleach my teeth in case I'm on Look North's coverage of the Abbey Dash, grimacing for the camera as they open the road again and shoppers and little old ladies stroll past me, laughing!

After

There's money in them there qwerty keys

This blogging lark is making me happier than I could have imagined. Getting back to my writing roots is wonderful following the rather abrupt thwarting of my career (maybe more of that later, once I've checked the terms of the NDA!).
The response has been great, people are actually reading these ramblings. Only this morning a friend and fellow school-run mum shouted, 'love your blog' across the playground and my therapist said it was 'awesome' and made me cry (hence the need for the therapist).
My husband's only comment has been, 'have you mentioned the shop?'  So here goes;  he runs a wonderful little on-course golf shop in West Yorkshire with competitive prices and first class service for all your golfing needs, shoes and clothing, hardware, accessories, lessons and custom fitting (01924 350102).  Yadder, yadder, yadder.  There you go dear, you got a mention, can I get on with waffling now please?!

Having only heard about blogging a few weeks ago (yes, I live in a hole) I decided to look at some on my Kindle last night (having finally (thank God) finished Fifty Shades of Drivel).
OMG, people pay to read blogs?!  And the one I bought, a similar mummy/housewife blog, was laden down with name-dropping, FOR WHICH SHE GETS FREE STUFF!  She got a bloody holiday at Center Parcs for 400 words!  That's worth about £3 a word during the school holidays / 50p a word in term time - don't you just love CP and their pricing policy; can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em?!!!
Stop it, I need to be nice if any free stuff is gonna land on my doorstep.  So here goes.....
I went shopping in Leeds last week and was looking in a shop window at Tag Heuer watches www.tagheuer.com when a SLK drove past (black please) www.mercedes-benz.co.uk driven by a lady wearing some lovely Prada sunglasses www.prada.com who was on her way to the airport for a Virgin Cruise in the Caribbean www.virginholidays.co.uk.

OK, even I'm bored now.  And it turns out the lady blogger getting free stuff was also getting 10,000 hits a month and I'm currently have a grand total of 57 so I'd better stick to the day job to try and pay the mortgage, I repeat, that's my FANTASTIC Woolwich mortgage www.woolwich.co.uk

PS

This is a PS to my last blog. I suddenly remembered something of a more serious note which happened after my rave antics.  I had also been at the rave with my journo hat on as raves were still quite controversial and I was writing a news article about it.
You will find my blog rantings largely self-deprecating.  However, (wait for the fanfare to finish); I am quite proud of the fact that bosses at media group EMAP, owners of the newspaper I wrote for at the time, sent a letter of commendation after I arrived at my desk 9am prompt the morning after the rave. With pot in place, I managed to type and take notes (and make coffee; well I was still a cub reporter) with only my left hand for weeks on end. That's dedication for you!

The good old days (!?)

A friend read my blog about flying fears and e.mailed to recall a time when, in an attempt to calm my nerves, she got me completely drunk on a flight to Greece.  Being, shall we say, 'in the mood for dancing', we got off the plane and went straight to the nightclub!  Oh, those were the days.  Last night, I went to bed with my hot water bottle before I'm a Celebrity had even finished!  How times have changed.

I know some of the 'young' people I work with would certainly identify me more as the 'warm drink and slippers' type rather than the 'party all night' type.  But hey, I used to party with the best of them, and I have the scars and bent wrist to prove it.

OK, I have the usual house-wife scars of the hand singed on the grill element and the elbow on the iron (don't ask).  But my arm breaking anecdotes are very rock and roll.....literally!

My first trip to casualty with my arm held at a jaunty angle was at around ten-years-old. I had an excellent plan to speed up my paper round by doing it on roller skates.  Kids, don't try this at home. The gigantic hi-vis paper bag (that's a bag with papers in, not a bag made of paper) didn't take long to overbalance me, pulling my wheels out from under me and landing me in a heap. Ouch.  

But the embarrassment stakes pale into insignificance alongside my late 80s wrist-snapping rave experience. Caught up in this heady drug-taking, lolly-sucking, stranger-loving, dance-your-pants-off era, all was well. Just think of Pulp's Sorted for Es and Wizz and you get the picture. Now, I didn't take drugs (and I'm not saying that just in case my mum's reading), I really didn't.  I was designated driver on our trips to raves in Brid, Morley and even Paris on one occasion. I guess you could say I was a conscientious objector, or perhaps a chicken.

However, one night I had just enjoyed my third half of Woodpecker (my chauffeuring services not being required) when it happened. Everyone danced around me high as kites, not a care in the world. Deciding to join a friend dancing on a podium I asked him to pull me up.  However, our sweating palms slipped and I headed floor-wards.  Crunch; my arm once again did not look exactly straight.  Alcohol clearly affecting my logical thinking, I mistook my wrist for a ball and socket joint and pushed my wrist further askew. Ouch.

Ironically, the police presence outside the just-about-to-be-raided rave, saved the day and I was whisked away to the local hospital in a squad car.

I vaguely recollect a kindly nurse covering up my hideously deformed wrist to distract my aghast gaze while I vehemently denied any drug-taking.  Again, the irony was that the doctor on call was my friend's dad (it was a small town) and, to throw in a bit of name-dropping, is now chairman of the BMA no less!  

I digress.  I ended up in hospital a week later for my arm to be properly re-set (double ouch).  But on that fateful night, the doc straightened my arm the best he could without knocking me out (due to the Woodpecker) and  I actually went back to the dying embers of the rave, well and truly plastered!  Now that's rock and roll!!

The simplest things

It's funny what makes us cry isn't it?
I'm at home, poorly and feeling sorry for myself and so far today I've cried at the following: -

• Pre-Facebook, and therefore highly dated, Ryan / Hanks rom-com You Got Mail
• An Asda Christmas advert
• Surprise, Surprise (bring back Cilla is all I can say)
• Finding youtube footage of a 60th birthday surprise for the man who saved my son's life, twice http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZiMPaJYiu0

My girl lollipop

It's a dirty job but somebody's gotta do it, as they say.  And I will start by saying that this blog perhaps best explains the meaning behind my blog title withdewrespect, or as my ten-year-old puts it, "I don't mean to be rude mum, but......" (the mis-spelt 'due' is personal!)

So, with due respect to lollipop ladies and gents and the great job they do ensuring the safety of our country's youngsters, THEY DO MY HEAD IN!!!!

I'll give you an example.  It's 8.45am, I start work at 9am in a town 30 minutes drive away.  It does not take a mathematical genius to calculate that I’m late.  Now I'm a stickler for speed limits so speeding is not an option (although, please don't check my paper driving license too closely, it may tell a different tale).  

So, I have to accept there is 'greatness to my lateness' (a Hugh Grant line from 4 Weddings) and take the flack.  However, my lateness is about to get just plain rude. 

Like I say, I'm not under-estimating the dedication and skill required to make it in the industry but can the fluorescent-coated, giant-sized sweet handler not see that I’m late. Obviously not.  She leaps into my path with a menacing grin.

Oh yes, she’s a lollipop lady on a mission; to make me late for work.  I breath deeply and try to focus on Chris Evans' early-morning ramblings but it’s no good, as far as I am concerned it's OK for Chris, he's already at work!

I am forced to focus on the portable street sign in the woman’s outstretched arm as the slow crocodile of not-a-care-in-the-world kiddy-winkles amble across the road.  Is it me or is she deliberately stopping each child for a quick re-counting of the seven times table and a chat about the antics of Kipper, Biff and Chip?  Finally there is not a child in sight, strain her eyes towards the horizon as she may.  I shove the gear into first, poised for my get-away.  But wait…..what’s that noise?  Little Finlay Smith's Power Rangers alarm has gone off, the rustle of his Cornflakes box is followed by the crunch of those golden flakes in his little chops. He lives at the other end of town!!!!  But oh no, the lollipop lady stands firm, Mexican stand-off style; she armed with a giant lolly, me with a tonne of Toyota steel.  Of course she wins.  We all wait patiently for little Fin to clean his teeth, don his coat, skip through town and have a quick catch-up about his role as a marrow in the nativity.  Beeping horns wake me from my slumber.  Finally, off I go. Well, that’s after I stall three times, much to the amusement of a certain lollipop lady!

Last call for Passenger Cowardy Custard

In years gone by, many expressed surprise that the world’s most home-loving, aeroplane-hating person would distance herself two hours away from home….that’s two hours if travelling 400mph at 35,000 feet.  It is still a puzzle to even me that this Yorkshire lass decided to live in Portugal.  My geography isn't great and I'd never even heard of Oporto so maybe I thought it was just a bus-ride away.

However, for several years I was often spotted at assorted British airports heading along the carpeted tube as if it were my journey to the Pearly Gates.  A smiling cap and polyester-suit-clad flight attendant would greet me with her 163rd ‘good evening, welcome aboard’.  I’d be momentarily pacified, reasoning that, ‘it’s her job, she wouldn’t get on if we were gonna die’.  I'd clutch at straws basically, not to mention the arm rest and my surprised neighbour’s hand.  There is a child in row D.  Well, that’s OK then. God wouldn’t let a little child die.  (Parents on my flight flight actually thanked me.  My fearful sobbing mesmerised surrounding youngsters and made them forget their own fears and popping ears.)  The air turbulence would actually shake the plane slightly less than my own quaking body.  En route from San Francisco to Hawaii, I recall a lady leaning over and soothingly saying, ‘your first time dear?’.  ‘No’, I replied, ‘my 27^th’.   I hated it but it was a means to an end, turns out Oporto is 'overseas'.   My pre-flight departure lounge dilemma was always which liquor I would order to drink myself into oblivion and thus block out the reality of impending doom.  The perfect solution.  Until, of course, my ‘reasoning’ brain cell would wake up.  When we plummeted Atlantic-ward in a ball of flames, I didn't want to be so drunk that I was too busy entertaining passengers with my rendition of ‘New York, New York’ to secure my life jacket in a double bow, remove my stilettos and shove a whistle into my mouth, now did I?!

Do I still fly?  Of course I do, I might be scared but let's face it, you need to get out of this country from time to time.  And of course, my souvenir from Portugal means I'm still often spotted at Gatwick queuing up at the Oporto check in.  Then I get back in the car and head back up the M1.  My brave, brave young son, with none of his mum's silly hang-ups, boards a plane like he's boarding a bus and smiles a nonchalant smile as the flight attendant says, 'good evening, welcome aboard.'

A bit of what you fancy

We've managed to survive another half term holiday so I decided to let the kids out of the coal shed.  (Only joking, please don't call Social Services.....I actually only lock them up during the summer holidays)
My blog is turning TripAdvisor today with my news and views from York and its recently-opened Chocolate Story.
Let's get over the first subject which TripAdvisors are largely whinging about.....it's not cheap!  But what is?  With an hour to spare, I took the kids into the Minster and it's nine quid to get in there these days!  Thankfully my friend slipped me her York Libraries card and we got in free. Hey, I'm a church-goer, I give my fair share to keep the CofE afloat. Perhaps its Commissioners could sell off some of its vast estate and then everyone could continue to enjoy the wonders of York Minster etc without having to re-mortgage the house.
Now, where was I?  Oh yes, the Chocolate Story entry fee.  Well, first piece of advice; buy online before you go. It's not rocket science.  The couple in front of us hadn't and the tours were full.  The couple not only let down their visibly upset daughter but also taught her some bad manners by taking their planning incompetence out on the ticket desk girl. Nice.
Anyway, it's £25 for a family online (2+2) with a guaranteed tour allocation or £28 on the door and risk not getting in. Simples.
Once inside, they'd got me from the get-go by handing out chocolate bars as we waited to start the tour.  Nice touch.
We were a 41-year-old, a 60-something-year-old and my boys at five and ten, and we all enjoyed it immensely.   It's a brief journey from the origins of chocolate and the cocoa pod through to its arrival and growth in York and on to an interactive demonstration of how it is made.  They've got it covered.
It's a rather potted history but with a five-year-old in tow it was suffice and cleverly combined the personal approach of a friendly tour guide with modern technology via wall-mounted screens masquerading as olde-worlde portraits.  It's a lovely touch when the guide converses with the 'portraits' to tell the story of York's confectionery families.
Then it's hands-on and you can design your own chocolate bar wrapper (pic below), create a lollipop (to take home) and watch chocolates being made, up-close, and then taste the wares.
Yes, it's expensive but I commend them for a great use of a relatively small space right in the heart of historic York and the ability to keep us all entertained for around an hour.
Then, of course, it's exit through the gift shop and cafe serving a mean hot chocolate as you would expect.
It's one of those conundrums.  The likes of Leeds Royal Armouries and the new Football Museum in Manchester are free to get in, which is great.  But once inside you pay to have a go at shooting; a gun or a football (i.e. depending on which museum you are in!).  At York's Chocolate Story, once you have paid to go in, all the activities, tasters and the chocolates you make are free so it's swings and roundabouts really.

Anyway, as the saying goes, a little of what you fancy does you good (even at £25 a pop!).
www.yorkschocolatestory.com

Meet my boys

With gorgeous boys like this the world is great!

Halloween

All Hallows' Eve.  Isn't it?  More like All Haribo's Eve as Americanised commercialism further throttles yet another biblical festival.  Probably wasn't a good idea to write my first ever blog on October 31, that can't be good luck, can it?!  Mind you, I've just been walking around in the pouring rain wearing my husband's jacket and a Zorro mask and knocking on neighbours' doors so my street cred, or should I say 'net-cred, can't really get any worse.
Is it just me or wasn't 'trick or treat' formerly the night before bonfire night and known as 'mischief night' in the good old days (by that I mean the 70s slash 80s)?  Am I getting confused; it does happen, must be all the Haribos! So, my first blog reveals I'm forty something (1 to be precise) and a mum.  Or did you think the Zorro mask was just something I normally indulge in of a Wednesday evening when there's nothing on the telly (which is often)?  No, I was accompanying my gorgeous little mini Zorro with matching mask, sword, white trainers (Antonio would not approve) and Harry Potter cape (shall I sign him up for split personality therapy now do you think?).
So Halloween has been and gone, well it's 8.30pm so as far as I'm concerned the day is done. Ah, I see the detectives among you have deciphered, if I'm knackered by 8.30pm I must have two children!  I do, two wonderful boys, but more of them in future blogs I'm sure. It is more than likely as well that I'll be delving into the past as a friend assured me that some 'pre-blogs' I wrote (i.e. with good old pen and paper in the nineties and noughties) were quite readable, so I may share them.  I'll try and go steady on the quote marks etc as another friend once advised me and there won't be a capital letter in sight unless appropriate such as a city name or a brand, i.e. Haribos.  Capital letters are SOOOO overused, it drives me BONKERS.
For now, over and out as it seems I've already started rambling, again, I blame the Haribo's, now being swished down with Blossom Hill, a cheeky combo!