Stop the World, I Want to Get Off!

Tonight is my first quiet, and early night in for a long time. I am shattered!

My life is pretty high octane at the best of times. I certainly can't be accused of just letting life pass me by. However, sometimes it does occur to me that it would be nice to hop off the world for a day or two, recover and then hop back on. And that is how I feel at the moment. So tonight is my night for chilling, blogging, reading and generally just vegging out. I can hear the PJ's calling me already!

I'm lucky really. I'm just as happy in my own company as in a group situation. In fact if I'm totally honest, sometimes I crave being by myself surrounded by books and music. Sometimes I don't want to speak to anyone and I have been known to ignore the phone at times like this. Sometimes I just want to have nothing to do with the outside world!

Fortunately, these feelings don't last for long. A good night's sleep generally cures me.

Hopefully this time tomorrow I'll be fired up and ready to go. I'd better be - I'm off to see Powderfinger in Manchester!

Yin and Yang

What is going on with the weather??!!!

For the record, it's June 1st. Therefore, it is supposed to be summer! I think someone forget to tell the weather system.

Deciding what to wear is fraught. Especially for me. My clothes are currently split between London home and Southport home. And whichever location I happen to be in always seems to be the one with the winter clothes when it's 90 degrees or summer clothes when it's freezing!

When I drove up this weekend, I didn't even bring a coat. Mistake! Instead I am huddled up in jumpers, layers and a scratty old cardie that is fulfilling the role of jacket.

In just 7 weeks, I'll be leaving London for good. All my clothes will finally be in one place. As for the rest of my possessions - your guess is as good as mine! It all depends on how quickly I sell my flat and find a house up here. The prospect of packing up my furniture and putting it all in storage is not one I'm really looking forward to. And of course, the thought of moving all my CD's and having nowhere to keep them is stressing me out just a tad!

I have to be completely honest, my emotions are a bit of a loose cannon at the moment. I'm very excited about moving home. I can't wait to embark on the next part of my journey. I can't wait to spend more time with people who mean a lot to me up here. I can't wait to enjoy the changes that are going to happen to some of my friendships once the distance is no longer an issue. I can't wait to enjoy the sea air on a daily basis. I can't wait to enjoy a better quality of life.

But the other side of the coin also has to be considered. I'm dreading my last few weeks in school. Our school is amalgamating in September so by the end of July, St. Helen's Infants will no longer exist. Our wonderful headteacher also moves on this year after 8 years of dedicated hard work. He has done so much for the school and his presence will be sorely missed.

We are planning farewells and goodbyes and parties and celebrations. The feeling of family unity at my school is unique. We really do laugh, cry, share, celebrate and commiserate together. And my God will we all cry in those last few weeks!

It probably sounds ridiculous but I woke up in tears this morning after a vivid dream about my last day at this magical place. Unfortunately this dream is actually going to be real. I know I will find it hard to keep it together. Even now as I think about what it will be like to leave these wonderful people behind, I am welling up. Although I don't want my time at the school to end, part of me wishes that it was over with quickly. These people have touched my life and I know they will continue to do so (even from 250 miles away).

The Yin and Yang of life, the good and bad, the ups and downs. I know moving back up north is the right thing for me. I know that I'm ready to embrace my new life with enthusiasm but it won't stop me missing the old one too.

So if you see me with red eyes and runny nose, please don't ask me what the matter is unless you want to end up with a wet shoulder. Instead give me a tissue and leave me to cry for the people I will miss. Eventually the happy tears will take over and I'll be able to face my new life up here with a smile.

And Who Says Romance is Dead?

A male friend of mine asked for some dating advice the other day. Yeah, I know it's laughable isn't it? Not only am I single but I'm not even a regular girl! Now don't get me wrong, I have all the physical attributes in the right places but I'm just not very conventional in many other ways. I don't get the whole don't call for three days rule. If you like someone....call them! I don't understand why high maintenance women are seen as even remotely attractive. If I'm totally honest, I just don't understand the dating game. So good luck to my friend following my advice!

Anyway, this little foray into dating advice got me thinking about romance in general. What does romance mean these days? For centuries men and women have been conditioned to see certain actions as the only way to be romantic. Just look at all those knights in shining armour slaying dragons and rescuing damsels in distress from huge towers. Men are expected to save and protect, women to swoon into their arms and be thankful. Times have changed (thank goodness) and these days women are more likely to fend off the dragons with their steely sharp and deadly heeled Jimmy Choos before making an escape rope from their vast selection of clothing than to wait around for some bloke to turn up and save them.

So what does romance look like in these modern times? It's hard to pinpoint exactly. Everyone has their own ideas I suppose. So I'm going to start with a list of what is definitely NOT romantic.

It is NOT in the slightest bit romantic to do any of the following:-

1. Declare undying love after the first date - it's just scary!
2. Serenade your loved one at 3am with a tone deaf rendition of Lady in Red - I am still in therapy!
3. Arrive home at 3am, drunk as a lord, switch on the bedroom light and announce in what you think is a romantic tone 'I weeallly loooovvvvveeeee you!' Guys please note this point is never, ever, EVER romantic!!!!
4. Take your loved one to a vastly over priced and crowded restaurant on Valentines Day - it's just not original
5. Tattooing your loved one's name across your chest
6. Buying flowers from the garage - ever!
7. Buying cheap and nasty, tacky and tarty lingerie


Having read that list you are probably thinking this girl is having a laugh - she's more high maintenance than the lot! But I like to consider it as just fussy! So what does this non-conventional, fussy female see as romantic?

It is the epitome of romance to do any of the following:-

1. Buy gig tickets for a favourite band
2. Buy a book that you think your loved one will like
3. Buy flowers just because...not because it is their birthday/you are saying sorry/they were on special in the bargain basement (see point 6 above)
4. Make dinner
5. Make a cuppa and take it to them in bed
6. Organise a surprise weekend in Bruges,Venice, Prague or Iceland (to see the Volcanic ash for yourselves). Actually just organise a surprise weekend anywhere should do it.
7. Take them to the theatre
8. To arrive home at 3am blind drunk, quietly crawl into bed and pass out (see point 3 above)


There, simple really. But that of course is just my opinion. I'm sure there are plenty of girls who would love to be rescued by a knight so they could swoon seductively into their arms. I on the other hand am fully aware that if I attempted such a thing I would inevitably miss his arms and end up with concussion and that really wouldn't be romantic at all!

Nanny Liverpool

Today would have been my Nan's birthday. If she was still with us, she would have been 96!! As it happens she made it to the grand old age of 94!!

My Nan was a real character. She was a fiercely proud Liverpudlian - NOT Scouse (the only Scouse she ever named was her famous stew). She was full of fun and energy. She was hilariously funny with the most infectious laugh. Although to be fair her humour was often very unintentional but she joined in with us as we laughed at her as well as with her! And God help you if she got a fit of the giggles because you would succumb too - no matter where you where.

I have so many wonderful memories of my 'Nanny Liverpool'. In many ways she was a typical Gemini. Sometimes, she was as easy to read as a book yet at other times, the still waters ran deeper than the ocean. She flipped from happy to low in the blink of an eye. She flitted from conversation topic to conversation topic and believe me, keeping up could be exhausting. She was incredibly protective of her loved ones and loved her children and grandchildren dearly.

Of all the memories to choose from, the one that stands out for me is her 90th birthday party. My nan was a dancer. After my Grandad Lennon died (before I was even born) she joined a Modern Sequence club and never looked back. She went on holidays with them, she went on cruises with them, she went on days out with them. Dancing was very important to her (it's where I get it from).

And I truly believe it's one of the reasons she stayed so young at heart. If there was a party or night out, Nan would be the last to leave. And her 90th was no exception. Having rounded up her dancing pals, family and friends she hired out a local venue and proceeded to have a ball.

The events kicked off at 4pm with the Compere from her Dance club taking to the mic. Witness a room full of gleaming white heads, twirling and swirling in perfect time and rhythm. I can see why my Nan thought that youngsters can't dance. In comparison to that we look like gangly, new born calves. Anyway, back to the evening. Not content with an afternoon dance, my Nan had also booked a DJ for the evening proceedings. These continued until 11pm with Nan on the dance floor for most of that time. She put us youngies to shame!

Nan often spoke of that night as a real highlight for her. Unfortunately, not long after that, her age started to catch up with her. But I will always hold those memories dearly. As a snapshot of my Nan and her attitude to everything in life it was the perfect portrait.

When Nan finally decided she'd enjoyed the party on earth for long enough I wrote a few words for her funeral. My Nan's side of the family are not huge fans of poetry unless it rhymes, so the ditty I wrote does just that. It probably sounds a little bit twee to outsiders but to those of us in the Lennon clan it says it all.




Nanny Liverpool

Our dancing Nan
So full of fun.
Always laughing;
never glum

Cream cakes and biscuits,
an ice cream or three.
Whisky and water,
'a good cup of tea'

Laughter and giggles,
dancing all night.
She may have been tiny
but she made up for that!

These are our memories
the ones we will keep
Of a lady who loved life
and who's now at peace




Wherever my Nan has ended up now, I am certain she is sipping a scotch and water before taking to the dancefloor with her beloved Jim (my Grandad Lennon). Now that really would be her idea of heaven!

Honesty isn't always the best policy

The little people I work with are a constant joy! I can go into work feeling rubbish and one smile, one giggle and one funny statement is enough to banish the rubbish feelings and make me feel like laughing again.

I have been told I look like a princess. I've been told my hair looks pretty. And I've been told I am their 'best teacher'. It's moments like this that help to brighten my day.

However, on the flip side, these wonderful little humans can also be blunt, tactless, and too honest for their own good.

Take today as a case in point.

It's lunch time and the children are lining up. One little cherub is finding it hard to line up without bumping into his classmates. I take him aside for a quiet word and remind him that he needs to do the right thing. I ask if he understands and he nods.

Just as I'm about to get up from the back killing crouch I have adopted he well and truly takes the wind out of my sails.

"Miss Lennon, what is that on your head?"

Now I'm used to being covered in glue, paint and glitter. If I get home without some dubious substance attached to my clothes I consider it a good day at the office. So with some misgiving I turn to my colleague and ask her what's there. She reassures me that (for once), there's nothing there. Feeling relieved, I turn to the Cherub and announce with great confidence

"It's alright sweetheart, there's nothing there"

"Yes there is!" replies cherub with feeling. And to back the statement up, he jabs me in the forehead with his finger. "It's there"

Realisation dawns on me with ego-crushing effect.

There's only one way to reply to such honesty...

"Ah" I say with resignation "That is a wrinkle" And the cherub who is highly satisfied with my answer goes off to eat his lunch.

I on the other hand am a broken woman. Turning to my colleague I whimper "If you need me this afternoon, I'll be in the cupboard - crying, loudly"

I'm sure there's a saying somewhere about not working with children.....

T-REX

Today was our school trip. I was responsible for getting 100 small children to The Natural History Museum in one piece and then all the way back too.

School trips are exhausting - there really is no other way to describe them. Parents trust you with their most precious possessions and you've got to ensure they are safe, secure and happy. I spend the whole day counting like a lunatic, checking children are present, making sure children are safe and making sure they have a good time. And all without time for a cup of tea!!

This year we decided to visit the Dinosaurs to tie in with our topic on...you guessed it...dinosaurs.

Having held meetings with the volunteer helpers and made up info packs for them all; having done a risk assessment to check any possible dangers; having organised 100 goodie bags to be collected in the shop so parents don't have to go through the nightmare that is negotiating the gift shop with a measly £2 to spend; having considered every possible event that could or would or might happen it was finally time to go.

Despite the headaches, stress and worry I wouldn't miss these days for anything. For some children it is the only time they go on a day out. There are children who have never experienced a trip to the park, the zoo or a farm. There are children who spend their weekends glued to the telly or in a supermarket. There are children who have no stimulating or exciting events to look forward to. For one little boy today, the highlight was eating his lunch on a 'real picnic'. He would have been quite happy to have got back on the coach after this monumental event. It really does break your heart and make you realise how lucky you were to be brought up by parents who thought regular days out and excursions should be part of the upbringing process.

Once you have negotiated the busy roads, coach steps, lunch time, museum steps and crowds of secondary kids who seem like giants in comparison the real reason for the trip is ready to be enjoyed. And when you take your little companions to look at the life size, roaring and moving T-Rex any stress and worries are all forgotten.

"Wow!" is the silmultaneous word that emerges from their little mouths. The children were truly awe struck.

"Can we take him home?" enquired one little girl.

"I'd love to but the coach is full" I told her.

And lucky for me it was - there and back!

Edith

As you travel on life's little journey you gather more and more memories. More dates to remember, more photos, more people to add to your address book. Unfortunately, the circle of life being what it is, you also start to lose people too. This weekend marks yet another anniversary.

After my Mum died, understandably I was devastated. I felt like a leaf on top of a madly rushing river. Pulled this way and that by the tide but no control over where it took me or what I bumped into. One of the many people who tried to keep me sane during the following weeks, months, years was my Grandma (mum's mum).

My Grandma was an amazing woman. In fact the whole of my maternal side is full of strong, amazing, selfless and wonderful women - it's quite something to live upto believe me. But for now, let's return to Grandma.

Her life had been far from rosy. Her first husband was a violent alcoholic who broke most of the bones in her body in his drunken rages. Back then society was less supportive. It was just after the second world war and many women had lost their husbands. The general consensus was that my Grandma should be grateful - at least he had come back! And so she continued to take the knocks for more years than she should have done.

Because of his drunken behaviour, my Grandma had to bring up her kids with no money (it went on booze) as he would spend his wages before he came home and then take it out on her when there was no food to cook! One day she even came home to find that he had sold every stick of furniture in the house just so he could buy his latest fix. 'Even the children's beds' she told me once in disgust.

Grandma spoilt her grandchildren rotten. Birthday's, Christmases and special occasions were something to celebrate. My Grandma could put on the best spread at a party so I'm sure it must have killed her not being able to provide a decent meal for her children. It must have broken her heart not being able to buy them proper presents for their birthdays.

Eventually she got rid of him and married the man who to all intents and purposes was my Grandpa. A lovely, kind, gentle man who cherished her and would have wrapped her in cotton wool to protect her from the East wind if he could.

But Grandma's knocks in life had not ended. In January 1996, my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer and then in November 1997, her eldest daughter, died from the dreaded C. My aunt was a Matron and kept her illness secret from the family. She didn't want any fuss, didn't want to be treated with all kinds of drugs and so she kept quiet. To this day, I'm not entirely certain what kind of cancer she had but I think it was lung. This was a devastating blow. I cannot imagine anything worse than having to bury your own child. It goes against the law of nature. Parents are not supposed to outlive their offspring. Grandma did not let this break her.

Nor did she let it break her when in 2001, my Mum also lost her long battle against cancer. And this was despite my Grandpa's Alzheimers taking hold with a vengeance. Talk about timing. On the morning my mum died, my Grandpa (the gentle, lovely man) descended into the worst part of Alzheimer induced confusion. He accused Grandma of lying about about mum's illness so she wouldn't have to spend time with him. And then to top it off, he threw his zimmer at her. She was 82, frail with acute Angina (and though we didn't know at the time, riddled with bladder cancer) - the eternal creaky gate. So as well as dealing with everything else that day, we also had to contend with getting my Grandpa out of the house and into a nursing home so he could no longer be a threat to my Grandma. I've got to be honest it was pretty damn horrific.

And through all of this, my Grandma remained strong, brave and dignified. This is just a snap shot of the woman she was. Of the woman I adored. The woman who became my second mum. The woman who in so many ways read from the same page as me. It was amazing how in tune we so often were. So now you have got a glimpse of her we'll return to 3 years ago and the anniversary in question in this blog.

Once again, the Hospice had become a refuge for my relatives. Grandma had been taken in for some respite. She had finally been diagnosed with Bladder cancer after years of being fobbed off with tablets for cystitus about a year earlier. By now my brother was living in Newbury and I was still in London. We had the routine down to a T. When Grandma was taken in it was my cue to pack a bag and keep it in the boot of my car.

So when the phonecall came in at school telling us that we should probably get ready to say our goodbyes, I took to the tarmac (again) collecting Lenny on the way. Once again, we arrived at the Hospice and were shown through by the amazing staff. As we rounded the corner I stopped dead. Oh my God I thought she's in the same bed as mum was. It probaby seems like such a selfish thing to think of at such a time but all I could think was 'Bloody hell, I'm gonna end up there too'. Swallowing my fear, I walked to the bed.

It really was like de ja vu. A frail lady who looked vaguely like my Grandma lay there twitching on the sheets. She seemed to realise we had arrived and once more I was able to tell a wonderful woman I loved her. She seemed to understand and at that moment that was all that mattered. The twitching continued, as did the moments of lucid speech. After several hours Len and I decided we could take no more and we left my Uncle and Aunt there.

It probably sounds awful but I just couldn't do another bed side vigil waiting for someone to die. It is draining and awful and exhausting and the harsh reality is they no longer know you. They no longer recognise you. They no longer call your name or ask how your day was. I squeezed her hand, told her I loved her again and then had to walk away.

Yet again, true to the tradition of the females in my family (we are a stubborn, strong lot), Grandma didn't die that night. She held on til May 22nd. Lenny and I weren't there. We had made a joint decision that we would return to work and just wait for the news there. And this time, I didn't feel guilty. I'd done all I could. I'd told her I loved her. My Uncle and Aunt were with her. She wasn't alone.

And now I'm carrying on her tradition. My Granmda kept a blog but back then it was called a journal or a diary. She even started to type it up on her typewriter. It makes fascinating, funny, tragic and inspiring reading. And that's something else I'd like to live up to.....I can only keep trying.

High Tea at the Lanesborough

I've just got back from a lovely afternoon in the Lanesborough Hotel. A few months ago I came up with a plan 'Ten Things to do Before Leaving London'. As usual the months have flown by and I am now left with mere weeks to cram everything in. Obviously this isn't going to happen and many things on my wish list will have to remain unfulfilled.

Luckily, I got pro-active in January and actually booked a table at the Lanesborough for afternoon tea. I've been meaning to go for Afternoon Tea in a lovely London hotel since moving down here and it's only taken 11 years to get it sorted.

But I'm mighty glad I did.

The Lanesborough is a beautiful, exquisite, tasteful and refined hotel. Their afternoon tea is meant to be amongst the best. So seven of us set off to find out if this accolade is deserved.

Aside from the gorgeous setting the tea and food were absolutely amazing. The tea is served piping hot in solid silver teapots. The teapots are kept on special stands at the side of the table and the waiters top you up on regular intervals. I'm used to people giving me scornful looks when I order my Hippy Rooibos but here it is deemed a delicate and tasteful tea. So there!

The food is presented beautifully and is delicious. There is a lovely array of sandwiches (all with crusts removed) and although it all looks very delicate it is actually really filling.

And then the cakes....Oh my word. The cakes are something to behold. Two tiers on the cake stand full of mouth watering, tasty and no doubt highly calorific goodies. And then they brought out scones, toasted teacakes, clotted cream, lemon curd and strawberry jam. Yum, yum and more yum!

It probably sounds quite extravagant to spend £35 on an Afternoon Tea which is essentially a few sandwiches, cakes and a pot of tea. But the whole experience is so much more than that. It really is luxurious and as a treat I think it's pretty good value.

So there's the first event from my Ten Things to do. Only 9 more to fit in....

F.E.A.R

I've got to admit, I'm feeling a bit stressed out! Actually, if I'm totally honest, I'm feeling more than that: anxious, nervous and worried will do for starters. But the over riding emotion is Fear.

As I've said on several occasions, I love my job. And (more importantly for the children involved) I appear to be quite good at it. Living and working in this mad, amazing and crazy city has done wonders for my career. I've worked with some brilliant people who have taught me so much. I've taught some great children who have overcome hurdles higher than any I have ever had to clear. I've worked for some excellent Headteachers (and some not so great) who have encouraged me and allowed my creative mind the freedom to teach the children in a fun and imaginative way. In many ways, I'm a lucky girl.

So why the fear?

At the end of July my time in London will be at an end. I'm moving lock, stock and barrel back up North. But isn't this what you want I hear you shout in frustration!?

Yes, absolutely I want to live somewhere less hectic; somewhere I can actually afford to buy a house, somewhere with fresh air and open spaces. Plus if I'm honest, being a single girl in this city can be a pretty lonely experience. I would like to meet a nice guy. Actually forget that last statement 'nice' is a bit too bland. I'd like to meet a funny, exciting, creative, romantic (but not sick inducing!) imaginative, fun, dependable, adventure seeking guy who wouldn't think twice about heading off around the world if we won the lottery. Oh and own hair and teeth are also essential! Not much to ask for...

At the moment, there's just one flaw in my careful plan - I HAVE NO JOB!!!! For the last few weeks I've done nothing but fill in application forms, write letters of application and sit with my fingers crossed. Without wishing to sound like a big head, my CV is pretty good. I have a wealth of experience in the classroom and on the management team. I'm dedicated and hard working. I have a great rapport with children (kind of essential really). And yet Nada, nothing as yet!

I have a couple of theories about this.

1. I'm too expensive! I may well have worked my way up the professional ladder. I may have all this experience to offer. I may have excellent references but this counts for nothing in this economic down time. At the end of the day I cost too much!

2. I'm just not right for the jobs that have been advertised.

Either way, it's a lowering thought. I've built up a reasonably comfortable life style with a busy social life and a great mix of friends and hobbies. I think nothing of going out for dinner or the cinema (or even both) once a week. I splash out on gigs and theatre tickets without a thought. I have got used to this way of life. Whatever happens, I won't be out of work. I never have been. Even if it means getting a job in Tesco, I'll find something. But it's not what I want to do. I want to teach. I was born to teach. I love teaching! Plus I've got used to a certain standard of living. If I'm blunt, I've become quite spoilt.

So there's the fear right there. Fear that I won't get a job. Fear that all my plans of moving North for a better lifestyle will come crumbling down around my ears. Fear that I'll be living back at the family home for the next 5 years (not a prospect that either Dad or I would relish). Fear that my career will take a nose dive. Fear that my terribly Middle Class existence will become a little frayed around the edges. Fear that despite moving North, Mr Right will still remain as elusive as the Scarlett Pimpernell.

And breathe Jude! Once again in times of stress I turn to music to try and retain my hold on sanity and rational thought. My signature tune at the moment is a classic by Ian Brown. F.E.A.R....For Everything A Reason.

And that is what I keep trying to tell myself.

'And the sign on the door said long haired freaky people need not apply'

I had all kinds of great plans for this evening.

I was going to have a long, relaxing bubble bath. I am the expert at these and have to get several things sorted in order to maximise the relaxation experience.

1. The music is carefully selected with chilling out firmly in mind. I generally find that Air, Carole King, Zero 7, Fleet Foxes, Joni Mitchell or Beth Rowley do the trick.

2. The bubbles are added to the hot water which is left to run whilst I put the kettle on.

3. Make a cup of tea

4. Find book of the moment (I've normally put it down in some random place as I tend to read on the move as well as sitting or lying down)

5. Take tea and book to bathroom and sink into bubbles.

6. Remain here til wrinkly!

It's quite simple really. And that was my plan for the evening. Followed by a mammoth blogging session, a bit of poetry writing, and catching up on phone calls.

HA! HA! HA!

As you may have worked out, things didn't go to plan!

Last March our school underwent the horrors of OFSTED. Basically put, inspectors come around and do their best to demoralise you and make you feel useless. Luckily, our school did incredibly well - outstanding in fact. Since then we have been waiting for the RE inspectors to pay their little visit too (I work in a Catholic school despite being non-Catholic).

So guess when the call came in to announce their little visit? Yes, that's right, today! They are coming Wednesday. Brilliant! So instead of my lovely, soothing bath, I've spent the evening reading books, sorting assessments, choosing children's work to put before them and trying to get my head around the feast of Pentecost which I will have to teach in front of the Inspectors. If I was religious, I'd be down on my knees begging for deliverance. But instead this Hippy, Pagan will have to rely on good luck.

I think I'd better just go and say a prayer to the God of Lost Causes!

Precious Bundles

It's official - I'm cross!!!

I work with young children. Precious little bundles who are like little sponges taking in every word, action and event with wide eyed wonder. Don't get me wrong, they can be exhausting. Nothing will tire you out more quickly than a day with a class of 4 and 5 year olds - mentally and physically.

But the benefits outweigh this in my humble opinion. Not a day goes by when they don't make me smile or laugh or enjoy my job. They are funny, smart, engaging, creative and inspiring little beings.

So when I hear about anyone hurting a child (emotionally or physically), it makes my blood run cold. There are so many ways to inspire children to do the right thing without resorting to more draconian methods. For the majority the old school Victorian attitude of children should be seen and not heard or else is thankfully a thing of the past. Unfortunately, for some, this is still the daily reality of their lives.

And my heart bleeds for these children. I have quite literally shed tears over the conditions some of these fragile little things live in.

So far, I have made the choice not to have children. I'm far too selfish at the moment. I enjoy my freedom, my independence, my carefree existence. I love the fact that if friends call me away for a last minute break, the only thing I need to consider is what to pack. But I also know that if I ever do have children I will have to change my way of life. I will have to make sacrifices. I will have to forget my own leisure pursuits in order to nurture theirs. I will have to devote time, energy, love, encouragement and probably a copious amount of money to them. And if that day comes, I'll do the best job I can. What I won't do is take out my resentment on the child. I won't lash out at them because I am sick of having no life. I won't attack them verbally for ruining my life.

Children don't choose to be born, we choose to have them. And having chosen them, the least we can do is bring them up without hurting them. Even if that does mean giving up certain things. Afterall, that's what being a parent is all about.

Yellow, Green, Red, Blue?

I don't often get political, but if I can't do it now while election fever is firmly amongst us I never will. So here goes...

Please whoever gets in take a minute to consider the words of a hardworking, overstretched teacher. My demands for education aren't many but they are important and would make a world of difference.

1. Cut class sizes to 24. 30 small children in a small box is bordering on cruelty. Children need space. Especially those who live in cramped, crowded living conditions. And far more of them live this way than you could possibly imagine. Part of my role is to visit children in their homes before they start school. Some of these children live in conditions I would deem unsuitable for a dog. So the least we can do when they come to school is give them a bit of space to play in!

2. Pay our hardworking and terribly underpaid support staff more. Without them our jobs would be impossible. Plus the government has implemented many changes in the last few years which has meant more hours, more responsibility and more work for people who earn just above minimum wage. It's criminal!

3. Allow teachers to teach! Forget the stupid exams for 7 year olds. Forget teaching children how to work out equations by the age of 8 (I've never ever needed to use this skill in my real life). Forget trying to force our children to grow up too soon!

4. Look to Scandinavia and follow their example. There, children are allowed to learn through God forbid PLAY. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you are a child? There results are some of the the best in the world and yet they don't start formal education until 7. Until then, the child is allowed to learn by touching, exploring, investigating. It's what most of us do in our adult lives too.

5. Give power back to teachers, heads and schools. The mob mentality of some parents has been allowed to take over for so long and with frightening consequences. We now live in a society where a 15 year old pupil (who can to all intents and purposes be as big as a full grown man) can attack teachers verbally and physically and the teacher has to stand there and take it. There are thousands of violent attacks towards teachers every year. The job should not need to carry a health warning!

So there you go. Hardly rocket science. Hardly revolutionary stuff. But important just the same. Now if only I could convince the big wigs of Downing Street (whoever the heck they are going to be)....

Walking With Dinosaurs

In two weeks I will be in charge of a party of school children on a day out to the Natural History Museum. Being in charge of a class of 30 on a daily basis carries stresses and strains. However, these pale into insignificance when compared to the overwhelming responsibilities that come with co-ordinating 100 small children (3-5 year olds) and 39 adults. Parents entrust us with their precious bundles of joy and it's my job to make sure that the same number come back as go! No pressure then!

To control damage limitation we do a risk assessment to check out things like toilets, uneven flooring, steps etc etc. This probably sounds over the top to people who don't work with children but believe me when it comes to being in charge of other people's children in a huge and busy London Museum, no risk assessment can be too thorough.

And so my two colleagues and I made our way to the museum to assess the suitability of the venue.

I should point out that our topic is Dinosaurs hence the visit to the museum. If you haven't been can I take a minute to recommend that you do. We only looked around the Dinosaur section and I can honestly say it was amazing.

The last time I was in this museum, I was 15. The only dinosaur I remembered being there was the huge skeleton in the main entrance hall. Don't be alarmed, he's still there looking huge and majestic. But now there is also a whole exhibition devoted to the walking giants of the past. This room is dripping with skeletons that have been found all around the world. The most bizarre being in a Belgian Coal Mine where they found 34 dinosaur skeletons just lying around waiting to be found. There are small models of moving dinosaurs perched at regular intervals. And, even more exciting in one room there is a HUGE, life size replica of T-Rex complete with sound effects and fake blood dripping from his sabre like teeth. If the kids aren't terrified I expect a refund!

Whilst wandering around this wonderful exhibition, it dawned on me that really, history is pretty amazing. Millions of years ago, these huge creatures ruled the blue and green sphere that we know as earth. Millions of years ago these huge creatures were in charge. And although they died out (for reasons still not fully explained or understood), they have left their legacy. All modern day reptiles are descended from them. A dinosaur nest complete with eggs was discovered in South America (I think) and unbelievably, the nesting set up is identical to the one used by reptiles today. Pretty cool huh? Well I think so.

I know the children will have a ball. For some of them, it will be the first time they've been on a day out; the first time they've been on a coach; the first time they've had a picnic lunch. Yes these days are exhausting! It's draining beyond belief to be constantly counting, constantly checking, constantly looking. I generally get back to school with a banging headache, aching feet and an exhausted body. But I wouldn't give days like this up for anything. Every child should have the opportunity to see these wonderful things. And if I am the only way that will be possible so be it!

Flick your goddam hair!

I've just driven back from town. My route home takes me through the picturesque and quaint village of Churchtown. It's a pretty little place with white thatched cottages, the local gentry manor, pretty village church (where my parents were married and my brother and I were Christened), cute shops and the all important village pubs.

There are two of these said village pubs on offer here, one either side of the church. They are always fairly busy but come this time of year they become a mecca for those people searching for an outdoor bench in the summer sun.

Although the weather today is less than warm, it is bank holiday and it isn't raining - yet - so the pubs were fairly bustling with people enjoying an al fresco pint.

Now some men will tell you that summer begins when the ladies start to wear less when they go out during the day. Forget the clocks going forward and the BBQ being fired up, ladies in short skirts, cute dresses and skimpy tops are a more meaningful benchmark for some.

And today was no exception. As I drove up to the junction with the church and the aforementioned pubs I became aware of a sort of stir. On both sides of the road from a distance of 100 metres and in both of the pub gardens there were men of all ages and backgrounds standing still with tongues hanging out. Tumbleweed drifted past as time stood still for the dumbfounded male species. One man even forget to get his pint glass as far as his mouth -surely an unheard of event!

I followed the gaze of the bedazzled menfolk of Churchtown and there they were...3 undoubtedly gorgeous young things. All tall and leggy, all blonde and gorgeous, all looking like something from a Timotei advert. And all dressed for an evening clubbing rather than a quiet pint down the local. The poor men didn't' stand a chance!

Some girls have this ability - you know the one that causes grown men to forget the power of speech. The one that makes all men turn gooey. The one that gives even the hottest men an inferiority complex. I have never had it - being short, brunette, a bit of a tomboy/hippy and nowhere near glamorous enough. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't suffer the odd pang of envy when these gorgeous creatures walk down the road and quite literally stop traffic. But on reflection I really wouldn't want to be like them anyway. Just think how exhausting it would be to have to spend all those hours looking fabulous before you could even go out for a lunch time drink.

I'll leave the traffic stopping to them and get myself to the bar instead. After all that's what you should be doing on a lunch time drink in the pub!

The Big Sell

I am in the process of filling in job application form after job application form. And yet again, my blog is proving to be a work avoidance strategy!

I hate the whole process. Filling in form after tedious form (although at least applying on line has made it slightly easier) is just no fun. Like everyone in teaching I have my own Professional Development Folder. This is the place where I am supposed to file all the useful information that will help to make job applications easier. I should put all my course confirmations in here, paperwork from courses, certificates etc. Unfortunately, like most busy people, I have not always remembered to do so. Which is a bit of a bummer when I am trying to recall useful and relevant courses to put in my applications. If I had to write my own report it would definitely say 'must try harder!'

And then you have to do the 'big sell' in the supporting letter. You know the type of thing: say how brilliant you are and how they'd be mad not to employ you and all without sounding smug, arrogant or desperate!

That's exactly what I should be doing at the moment. So I'm going to practice here. Please give me a job, I'm great! How can they possibly refuse?!

Circles and Bags

My long standing companion Insomnia has well and truly taken hold this week! The circles under my eyes are black and the bags are something that Louis Vuitton would be proud of! I'm grumpy, tired, moany, headachy and generally feeling out of sorts. But don't let that put you off reading!

What's really annoying is, I really thought I was starting to crack it. I've enjoyed nearly 3 months of glorious, regular, and undisturbed sleep patterns. I suppose it was too much to ask for this to continue!

In a way, I was prepared for this to happen and in this week of all weeks. Although I don't spend the day of the anniversary of mum's death slumped in a corner and sobbing, I would be less than human if I didn't give some thought to the events of 9 years ago on that day. The nights of the 26th/27th April have never been up there on my list of best nights sleep!

But this isn't the only reason for my insomnia at the moment. If I'm honest, I think the whole moving and re-locating process is starting to worry me too.

I'm lucky, very lucky. In these depressing economic times when the government seems determined to remove the Great from Great Britain I am in a lucky position. I have a good, stable, well paid job - and it's a job that I love. I never have to worry where the next pay cheque will come from, I never have to worry if my hours will suddenly be slashed, I never have to worry that my job could end tomorrow. But on July 21st that is exactly what will happen.

I will walk away from a school I love all in the name of Better Living. If everything works out well, I'll find a new school up here and be able to continue my selfish and on occasion adventure filled life style. But as the day draws ever closer I have to admit to some qualms and if I'm honest downright attacks of the wobbles. I'm a fiercely independent girl and the thought of losing that scares me, terrifies me and worries me.

Which is why having woken up at 1.42am, 3.15am and 5.31am. I decided to give up on the whole idea of sleep and just get up and write. It won't help me to sleep but it helps to keep me sane and in the absence of sleep that will just have to do...

Unfogettable, that's what you are

This time 9 years ago I was sitting by my Mum's bed in Queenscourt Hospice. At 11am I had taken a call from my brother. It was the last of many emergency calls I'd taken over the previous few weeks/months. I don't remember what was said and it may well be that there was no need for words. By then a phone call during work hours could only mean one thing.

And so once more I drove like a bat out of hell to reach Mum's side. The first time this happened (6 weeks earlier) Mum had rallied and emerged from her coma like sleep. We'd been able to chat and gossip - we even discussed what she wanted to wear when she was finally laid out, not really a conversation you want to have with your mum. But more importantly the chatting allowed me to tell her I loved her.
People who know us may be surprised that I'd never said this to her before. We were and still are a huggy, tactile family. Nobody looking in from the outside would doubt the depth of feeling we all have for one another. And yet we'd just never done the whole 'love you' every night before bedtime. Typical British upper lip I guess. But I'm so relieved I finally got the chance.

So this time when I arrived at the Hospice I knew there was little hope of another such rally. Mum had declined into a coma like sleep once more. We sat around her bed for the rest of the day watching and waiting. Mum had always said 'don't treat me like a watched pot' and here we were doing exactly that.

Watching anyone go through the final stages of cancer is awful and to watch a loved one suffer in this way is magnified by a million. Ironically enough it isn't the cancer that kills, it is the drugs that are given as a cure. In effect, my mum died as a drug addict with her system pumped so full of pain numbing drugs that the body and vital organs started to shut down. As the body does this, the limbs start to twitch and react to the morphine. The twitches become full on jerks and spasms. The Hospice staff had done there best to prepare us for this. But to be honest, you get to the point where you can't take anymore information. Instead you sit there watching every move, flicker and reaction. I lost track of the times I drifted off and then jerked back awake to check she was still breathing.

Having sat there for hour after hour, it got to the point where Dad and my brother urged me to get some sleep in the other room. The Hospice think of everything and have a bedroom set up for family members who need to snatch a few minutes rest.

Unfortunately, my few minutes turned into a couple of hours and the next thing I knew was a nurse waking me to tell me she'd gone. I ran through but of course I was too late. At 5.30am on April 27th my Mum's long and dignified battle with cancer had finally come to an end and I hadn't been there for it.

For years this has bothered me. For years I've suffered dreadfully with insomnia because of it. For years I have never mentioned this to my dad or brother. For years I have been angry with myself for letting her down. I've been to counselling sessions and written page after page in journals to try and face this recurring nightmare. And now, finally, writing this blog seems to have set me free. I no longer feel I should hide away the hurt, it's nothing to be ashamed of. This blog has set me free in a way I didn't think possible. And for so many reasons...

Mum was such an incredibly strong woman and facially I'm very, very like her. Before she died everybody always told me how alike we were but after she died nobody ever mentioned the resemblance. This probably sounds odd but part of me felt as if I had died too. It was as if people didn't really see me Jude, they had only ever seen me as Carol and now she was gone. Plus so many people had told me how proud she would have been because I was coping and being so strong. I'm sure they felt they were doing the right thing and helping but the reality is somewhat different. What choice did that leave me? I HAD to be strong, couldn't break down, couldn't cry in front of people because if I did I'd let her down. Thankfully, I've come to realise how unhealthy this was. I had every right to cry and scream, to shout and weep. I'd lost my mum, to cancer and I was only 26, if that isn't a reason to cry I don't know what is.

Nothing will ever erase the pain of mum's death. Nothing will make me forget those last few hours. Nothing will take away the nightmares that still haunt me from time to time. Nothing will ever bring her back. But equally nothing will ever take away the many happy and wonderful memories I have of her.

In the words of Nat King Cole she really was Unforgettable and it was a fitting tribute that this was the final song played at her funeral. An unforgettable song for a truly unforgettable lady and a lady that I was lucky enough to call mum.

Busy Bee

I'm used to a life that's bursting with activities, events, plans and arrangements. It can be a little tiring at times but I just can't bring myself to waste my life by sitting in front of my telly. Don't get me wrong, occasionally I have a real craving for exactly that. When I feel that way, I refuse to answer the phone, I hunker down on the sofa and watch DVD's or Friends re-runs until I can take no more.

But lets return to my normal state of affairs - busy, busy, busy!

As mentioned in previous blogs, I'm leaving London at the end of July. This has prompted even more frenetic plans than usual. A few months ago, I vowed to pack in 'Ten Things to do Before Leaving London'. Of course, as always happens, life has gone into fast forward leaving me with just 3 short months to try to pack this all into.

It's not looking good I've got to be honest. This morning alone is a prime example of the difficulties ahead. By 11am I had managed to book myself out for the whole of June! Not one weekend available which now leaves me with 2 months to fit everything in! At this rate, my ten things to do will have to be reduced...to one!

So, if I had to choose just one thing to do before leaving London, what would it be? That's a tough one...suggestions on a postcard please! And hopefully, if I get time, I may even fit it in!

Kate's Wish

I follow a few blogs and one of them is written by someone called Kate. If you get a chance check out her blog diamonds and coal, it's really very good.

Anyway she has asked all her readers to re-post the sixth photo they uploaded onto their profile site so here is mine.

It was taken on Ainsdale Beach near Southport and features my good friend Mushy's dog Sadie. She's daft as a brush but utterly gorgeous and loveable. Mushy also has a blog -Classic Album Review by Paul Robert Mullen which is also very good.

So if you haven't yet discovered Kate or Paul's blog do it now. And while you're at it, why not upload your sixth picture too!

Little Brother Knows Best...sometimes!

Just six months ago, I was sitting in my brother's flat in Manchester. Like me, he always has music on and like me his taste is eclectic. Over the years we have recommended various bands and albums to each other. Mostly, our taste runs along a similar road excluding 80's pop and Rap - what he has against Duran Duran and Spandau and what he sees in rap I'll never know! We have attended numerous gigs and festivals together and it's fair to say he is as obsessed by music as I am. Mind you, even he draws the line at storing his CD's alphabetically, a system that I feel would revolutionise his life (or certainly his girlfriends)!

Whilst having a catch up with a cheeky beer Lenny selected a new CD to put on the stereo - "I think you'll like this" he said with confidence.

He was right! The dulcet and haunting tones of The XX filled the flat and I was instantly hooked. The vocals and bass are vaguely reminiscent of Air. It's not that this band sound like them, they just evoke a similar feeling in me - chilled, relaxed, slightly mournful. It's one of the albums of 2009 in my humble opinion.

So when I found myself in the same flat with a similar bottle of beer the other week I had a feeling De ja vu may well occur, and it did! "Give this a listen, I think you will like it". And once again, he was right! Don't you just hate it when your little brother does that?!

This CD is very different from The XX. There are no haunting and mournful lyrics on offer here. Instead you get a folksy, rocky, Beatles influenced, upbeat, vaguely hippy mix courtesy of The Monsters of Folk. What a great little album this is. I was so impressed with my brother's taste that I headed straight to the record shop the next day. And since then, the CD has been a frequent guest for my stereo.

So there you have it, Jude's Album tips for the week. If you don't already have a copy of The XX (self titled) and Monsters of Folk (also self-titled) then shame on you. But there is a solution - nip out and buy them you won't be disappointed.

Seven Have Fun in France!

Last Thursday the UK ground to a halt. Was this due to Terrorist attacks or BA staff striking? No! For once the human race was not to blame. Up in Iceland, a volcano had erupted - not an uncommon occurance in this part of the world admittedly but due to wind/air conditions and other things that I can't even begin to understand or explain the ash has proved somewhat problematic.

I feel incredibly sorry for the people who have had their holiday plans ruined. The papers are full of stories that could genuinely make you cry. Brides and grooms unable to fly to their weddings, fathers unable to get back for the birth of their children, people stranded with small children in airports around the world. It must be awful!

However, it has to be said that since Thursday, the weather has been glorious. The skies are clear, the pollution in London seems to be reduced and the constant sound of aeroplanes has totally disappeared.

Sometimes it takes something like this to make you realise the true impact that air travel has on our daily lives. Yes it is a convenient way to get about. Yes it gets us across the globe in record time. But the impact on the environment and our quality of life needs to be considered.

At the weekend I was lucky enough to make a successful auction bid on a holiday home in the Dordoign. August 7th sees seven of us heading to a beautiful house in a gorgeous medieval town. We intend to chill out, eat bread and cheese and sample the local wines and beers. Perfect!

Before the Volcano incident we would have automatically booked flights to get out there. But the ash has made us re-consider. Our carbon footprint will be considerably reduced by our chosen method of transport - Eurostar and Hire Car.

So how smug are we feeling? Very! Not only have we secured a great holiday but all the proceeds have gone to the Hospice and we are doing our bit for the environment.

Zut Alors! That calls for a cheeky glass of Vino to celebrate..salut!

When you walk through a storm...

21 years ago tragedy struck. At Hillsborough, 96 Liverpool fans were crushed to death in one of football's biggest disasters.

I remember it clearly. I was in the drive down the side of our house when mum came out to tell us that about 20 people had been killed. At the time, I didn't really comprehend but as the day wore on and the number rose the realisation started to sink in. The footage on the telly was the stuff of nightmares: bodies being laid out across the pitch, people gasping for breath with their faces squashed against the mesh. I'm sure we weren't the only household to watch the news in silent tears that night.

I have to admit here that I HATE football. I don't understand why grown men get paid an obscene amount of money to kick a ball around a field. I don't understand why people get into fights over a game. I don't understand why so called fans are prepared to travel the world just to cause trouble and vandalise. I don't understand why society still won't allow homosexual players to come out for fear of their lives (and seriously, don't try to tell me there are no gay footballers because statistically that is just impossible!). I don't understand the hero worship that is reserved for these players who behave like wild animals instead of gentlemen but that's just my opinion.

Despite my dislike of the sport and how it affects some people I will never forget the horror of Hillsborough. My home town is a mere 25 miles from Liverpool, I'm half Scouse and if push comes to shove, Liverpool is my team. Football is an intrinsic part of this thriving city. You are either Everton (like my Dad and brother) or Liverpool. The rivalry between the two teams is intense. Families and loved ones can bicker for hours about the merits of their chosen team. And yet one day a year this is set aside. April 15th is truce day. A day to reflect upon those 96 people who lost their lives on what should have been a great day out.

Last year I happened to be in Liverpool picking up a friend from the station. We found ourselves in the Catholic Cathedral (known locally and with affection as Paddy's Wigwam) as the time approached 3pm. I'm not religious in a conventional sense. I believe we should treat others as we wish to be treated. I don't like to be pigeon holed but I see myself as a spiritual, hippy, pagan with Buddhist tendencies (make of that what you will as I'm still confused!) And yet there was something deeply moving about being in the Cathedral that day. The Priest stepped forward and said a few words before the bells started their toll for the dead - 96, one for each soul lost.

The Cathedral held a mixed congregation. There were suited and booted types who had come from the office, there were tourists draped in Liverpool flags, there were Evertonian's in their strips but holding Liverpool scarves, there were people who were clearly remembering loved ones who didn't come back that day. It was a poignant and touching ceremony.

Across the city everything had stopped and I mean everything. Liverpool is a city that unites in times of trouble. Like a typical big family they can be tearing each others eyes out one minute but when push comes to shove they are all there when it matters. Nothing moved or spoke. The bells chimed simultaneously in the Catholic and Anglican Cathedrals (each church taking turns to ring) until all 96 tolls had completed.

We left the Catholic Cathedral and wandered down to the Anglican Cathedral. Although the bells and time for silence had finished the city was still unusually quiet. All around the Cathedrals were little bunches of flowers and groups of people there to grieve. There were as many Everton flags and scarves being laid down in remembrance and honour as Liverpool. Being a red or a blue had become insignificant.

Liverpool has a long memory and although the 96 men, women and children who lost their lives that day were taken tragically they will never be forgotten. Liverpool will never let them walk alone - and that is exactly as it should be.

Self-inflicted pressure

In just four days, I will be playing hostess at a charity do to raise money for the wonderful Queenscourt Hospice in Southport. As I've touched on before, this amazing place made my Mum and Grandma's last days as dignified and comfortable as possible. And when you are contending with an illness like cancer that can be incredibly difficult.

Cancer. One of the most dreaded and feared words in the world. Cancer has no regard for age, size, race, colour, belief or wealth. It has no sense of discrimination. Every one of us will be affected by this dreadful illness in our lives, whether it be directly or indirectly. Sad but unfortunately true.

Three years after Mum died I decided I needed to do something positive. As a family, the Hospice had given us so much in terms of medical, emotional and pastoral care. And I had an overwhelming desire to do give something back.

And so, the first Charity Event for the Hospice was born. Over the years, the themes have included School Disco, Gangsters and Molls, Think Pink, A Blue Ball and Woodstock. This year, I've gone with Ascot. We ladies love an excuse to get out our posh frocks and this seemed the perfect theme to encourage this.

As ever, I'm looking forward to the night. But I have to admit, I'm a little nervous too. You see, this year the event is very close to the anniversary (April 27th). Each year I get braver and braver. The first year my thank you speech was a pityful and nerve filled one minute of mumbled thanks. But as the years have gone on, I've grown in confidence (and of course, time has done a lot to heal). Last year I even managed to raise a glass in Mum's honour and mention her by name. Something I would never have been able to do a few years ago. So that brings us to this year's event. An event that will take place a mere 10 days before the anniversary of Mum's death 9 years ago. Yes it's an added pressure on a night that is emotionally charged but the Hospice is worth it, and so was Mum.

Friends for Life

There are many aspects about living in London that I cannot wait to leave behind - crime, dirt, pollution, crowds, traffic. Life can be really quite hard down here. There's no such thing as popping to the shops, it's a military operation that has to be timed precisely to avoid the traffic headaches of the day.

But the one thing I will most definitely miss are my fabulous friends. Some of them have shared my London adventure from the beginning. Many of them were there to support me through the trauma of losing my mum at the age of 26. That's still something I don't think I've fully come to terms with and probably never will, but these warm and kind people helped me as much as humanly possilbe. Some of them started as colleagues and turned into friends. Some of them have become part of my life since returning from travelling.

Like most people, my friends are an eclectic mix. Some are musical, some are artistic, some are creative, some are high flyers, some are following dreams and living a more nomadic life and some are now parents. The dynamics of my friendship groups have changed over the years. Life and responsiblities means that our all night parties may not be so regular anymore but when they do happen we make it good!

However, the one thing they all have in common is their wonderful love of life, and their amazing friendship which I have been lucky enough to be part of. If any of you are reading - thanks, you are fab and I'll see you all up here for the house warming! Theme to follow!!! :-) xx

Chippy Towers!

I've had a busy few days - even by my standards. In the last 6 days, I've been in Manchester, London, Portstmouth, back to London and now back in Southport! I'm tired just reading that list! But for the purposes of this blog, we are going to Portsmouth.

Well actually, if we're going to be accurate, Hayling Island. The purpose of the visit was the wedding of two lovely people who I've known since I moved to London 11 years ago. The day was perfect, the weather beautiful, the bride gorgeous and the ceremony very personal and intimate.

Having seen the happy couple exchange vows my friend Ben and I had a couple of hours to kill before the evening festivities so we headed to the seafront. Afterall, which wedding day is complete without fish and chips?!

If you are from Hayling Island, I apologise now. It is a very strange and weird little place. Most of the inhabitants appear to have escaped from those reality Fat Club shows and this combined with their Little Britain velour tracksuits helps to set the picture. In my posh frock and Ben in his suit we looked just ever so slightly out of place...

However we found a little fish and chip cafe and made our way inside. The staff were less than thrilled to be there and customer service was not exactly high on their list of priorities - Basil Fawlty looks positively 5 star in comparison! One man manned the fryer and never so much as looked up or exchanged a glance or word with his colleagues or customers; one lady manned the till, stabbing the buttons with an enthusiasm she certainly didn't reserve for the customers; and one poor lady who we'll call Doris seemed to be there to provide the till lady with someone to shout out.

We tentatively ordered our food and paid a whole £1 more for the treat of eating at a table. While waiting to pay Doris was asked for a tray and was told in more than strident tones "Doris! This one is wet!". Having paid for our order Ben and I hoped to slink off to a table to avoid further contact with the sweet and lovely till girl. However as we turned Doris was to be found grumbling loudly and with some reason to her daughter "Who does she think she is?" We declined to get involved and found a plastic table to hide at.

Doris continued to bustle - no I lie here, she stumbled and edged her unsteady way around the cafe distributing cups of tea and dinners with a toothy smile. And Ben unwisely decided to go and order a pot of curry to go with his dinner. As the Battleaxe at the till was frightening beyond belief he waited in a queue rather than face her wroth and ask if he could add something to the order. Finally arriving at the front of the queue he asked for the desired curry sauce. Doris bless her pointed out that there was only the dregs left. "Well?" replied Battleaxe "It's the best bit isn't it?" And what makes it worse the dregs only filled the pot half way and he still got charged full price!

Doris loaded up her tray and wobbled her way down the cafe to deliver our dinner. I asked for some red sauce "certainly lovey" Doris beamed "It's a £1 a bottle or 20p a sachet"! Seriously, they fill your curry pot half full and still want to charge you for a sachet of sauce. I was in desparate need of a napkin too but thought I may need to take out a loan to secure such a luxury item!

We ate quickly and made our way back to the evening do. Fawlty Towers had nothing on this place. But hey, it set us up for an evening of dancing. So if for some random reason you find yourself in Hayling Island, please pay poor Doris a visit - she needs someone to brighten her day!

Reasons to be cheerful...

I was lucky enough to grow up here....and this is why I'm coming back!

Making Your Mind Up!

I'm going to take you back - to a time when life was simpler, to a time when clothes were a glorious technicolour of neon, to a time when Britain conquered Europe with its music. In May 1981, a colourfully clad foursome called Bucks Fizz took to the stage at Eurovision...and won!

Eurovision was a big deal in our house and I have to admit that one of my guilty pleasures to this day is watching (often with open jaw) the 'musical' offerings from Europe. As a child, Eurovision was one of those wonderful things that I was allowed to stay up for. Mum, Lenny and I would sit and watch (and laugh at) the contestents along with Terry Wogan. He was as entertaining as the actual contest. We would give our own versions of the points and wait with baited breath for the winner to be announced. Believe it or not, the contest actually held a little bit of crediblility back then. And of course, it has launched the careers of more than one competitor. It is only more recently that it has become a political point scoring fiasco. I mean seriously, Britain may be pretty poor at many things (football, sporting events in general) but we are steeped in a rich and wonderful musical culture. This is the land of The Beatles, The Who, The Stones, The Roses, and a million other great artists. We don't really need to worry about the results of Eurovision and that coupled with the dubious choices of some of our political leaders is the reason we'll probably never win again. But just for now let's return to that night 29 years ago and enjoy it!

I sat on the sofa in my pyjamas as the points were awarded and the result announced. After a closely fought battle with Germany, Bucks Fizz had won! As a child of 7 I was beside myself that these four gorgeously dressed people from my country had won. The song was undeniably catchy and I know I'm not the only girl of my era who wanted one of their skirts. For those of you not in the know, the girls (Cheryl in red and the other girl in yellow) wore lovely full satin skirts that fell to their mid calves. And then, just before the last chorus the top skirts were ripped off by the boys revealing cute little mini-skirts in the same colours. How I wanted a skirt like that! How my friends and I practiced the dance moves to perfect the 'ripping' action! How we wanted to be them! And although, Bucks Fizz may not have won mercury prizes for their lyrical content, they did change my life.

My life of gig-going was about to commence and all due to them.

In 1982, my mum took me to my first ever gig. Yes, you've guessed it, I went to see Bucks Fizz at the Floral Hall in Southport. I was in a frenzy of excitment and although I didn't have the much sought 'velcro' Bucks Fizz skirt, I do recall exactly what I wore that night - a navy polka dot dress. Ok, so there was no velcro and no skirt hidden underneath but it did billow out beautifully whenever I twirled. And I spent a lot of time twirling!

The show was everything that an exciteable 8 year old could have wished for. I had their album on cassette and it was highly prized and frequently played. I was word perfect on all of the tracks, not just the hits (yes they had quite a few!) and sang my heart out for the duration of the gig. Although the titles of the songs are no longer familiar I do remember them singing the Land of Make Believe and of course the ever popular Making Your Mind Up which, as ever, drew gasps of delight from the audience when the velcro was released.

And so my love affair with live music began. I'm sure people have got far cooler first gigs. And maybe some people wouldn't actually admit to Bucks Fizz being their first but I am proud to say it was mine. It may have been a lifetime ago but I can still remember it vividly - even down to the bag of sweets I had clutched in my hand when we first entered the auditorium. I remember we sat fairly near the front and to the left which funnily enough is still the side of the stage that I tend to head for when I go gigging now. And I remember having the time of my life! It's fair to say, Mum and I had a thoroughly enjoyable night out and although I never got my Bucks Fizz skirt, I can still do the moves...all I need is some velcro!

I am the Music Man

I wish I could play an instrument!

Back at secondary school, I played the cornet in the school band. I was never what you'd call brilliant but I did enjoy it. These days, I think I'd struggle to get a single note out of an instrument that I used to play every week (and even on occasion in tune and on time!)

However, the yearning to go back to my cornet playing days isn't strong. What I'd really like to do, have always wanted to do, is play the piano. It's ridiculous really, we had a piano in our house as I grew up. It's a huge, ancient black thing from the days of Queen Victoria's mourning when the whole country had to adopt black as the national colour. It is not what you'd call a pretty instrument, it's too fancy and the candelabra are just a touch too far. Really, it would be ideal for a funeral parlour. But at least it is a piano.

Piano lessons were one of those things that our parents would have got for us but spare cash would only allow for two hobbies/after school activities each. That meant swimming for both of us and ballet for me while my brother went to Judo. And neither of us regret those choices. My ballet classes gave me a love of dance that has remained with me to this day. I have dabbled in various dance forms over the years including flamenco, salsa, ballroom and belly dancing. All of them different, all of them enjoyable.

Now as a fully fledged grown up, I hope to embark upon some piano lessons once I have re-located back up north. I long to be able to sit down and lose myself in playing. I would love to be able to play some of the songs that have shaped me over the years. In fact, let's be honest, at the moment, I would love to be able to play anything rather than chopsticks!

So if you are a piano teacher in the Southport area, get in touch, I could well be your next pupil.

Is this living? I think so!

Despite it being a Bank Holiday weekend, the weather has been very kind.

I have been to the beach today! I have played with a gorgeous, stoooopid, lovely dog and it was sunny! Enough said!

Desert Island Discs, Books and Shoes

There are three things guaranteed to part me from my money quicker than a new tax initiative from the government: music, books and shoes!

Let's deal with the shoes first. I love them! At the last count, I had 100 pairs in different styles, colours, heights of heel etc. If that wasn't bad enough, they are all stored in special see through boxes on their own little shelves in colour groups. Yeah, I take sad to a whole new level. Why are women so obsessed with shoes? That's a discussion that could have a whole week of blogs devoted to it but in essence, shoes fit you no matter how many chocolate bars you consume. You may be having a 'fat' day, but those gorgeous 5 inch heels are still going to fit like a glove. And that is essentially, why so many women love them.

However, if I was stranded on a desert island and only allowed two luxuries the books and CD's would win! So let's move onto them...

Books are an integral part of my day and life. Currently, I have three books in various stages of being read. When I go out anywhere, there is always a good book and my writing journal tucked inside my bag. Many long and tedious hours in airports, ferry terminals and waiting rooms have been spent with a book. In fact I become so absorbed that I have to be careful not to miss my flight, boat or appointment.

I have a storage system for them too - they are grouped by genre, author and if possible in height order. I'm seriously wondering if I have a touch of OCD! There are books I read only once and then car boot, there are books I read a couple of times before exchanging with like minded friends and there are books that I will re-read and re-read until they need replacing.

The Twilight Saga falls firmly in the last category. If someone had told me two years ago that I would be enthralled by a tale of teenage romance involving Vampires and Werewolves I would have laughed - loudly and with scorn! Oh how the mighty fall. If for some bizarre reason, you have missed out on the world of Forks I urge you to delve in. They are written beautifully and are the most sensual and emotive books I've ever read. Stephanie Meyer has created a world we all want to live in and one that is described so well, that when you put the book down and return to this world, it seems somehow wrong. So that's my choice of books for the Desert Island sorted. If only I could arrange to be marooned on Ilse Esme my life would be complete!

And so to the music. I've written about music on numerous occasions on here so there's no need to tell you how important it is to me. My CD collection, you know, the one that is ordered alphabetically, grows on a weekly basis. Just yesterday found me in Quicksilver Music in Southport adding to the collection. Quicksilver Music is a little gem. It is a tiny shop around the back of the market that many people probably don't know is there. But let me urge you to seek it out. The man who owns it knows his stuff! He is devoted to finding great music and bringing it to the masses (well the discerning few who know where to find him). For a mere £14 I came away with David Bowie's Space Oddity (an album I have been meaning to acquire for so long it's embarrassing), Feist's The Reminder and Gomez's Abandoned Shopping Trolley Hotline.

Gomez are home grown talent. They went to the same Sixth Form College as me. I have been into their music from the beginning and have seen them live on several occasions. And yet it has taken me until yesterday to notice that one of the singers/guitarists Ben Ottewelle reminds me of John Martyn (vocally rather than lyrically). And that's the beauty of music, you discover something new every day!

As for my choice of Disc for Ilse Esme. That's a tough call, but if I'm allowed two and because I'm writing I say I am, it would have to be Air by Moon Safari and The White Album by the Beatles. I think!

So if you find a message in a bottle asking for help just send me some more books and another couple of CD's and I'll be good to go for another few months! And while you're at it, if there's space, some flip flops would be much appreciated too....