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!