My name is Jude and I'm addicted to cars!
My obsession with cars started at an early age. I'm so sad I can re-call all the registration plates for our family cars starting with LCW 93T, (a Mark 2 Cortina in fire engine red) and ending in the current VW. I couldn't wait to get on the road and once the test was passed, and I was given a spare key, I was off!
Since learning to drive, I've owned about 13 cars of varying ages, styles and states. The first being a lovely little X reg Honda Civic in silver whom I called Hetty and was a true delight. However, many of my cars were bought for a few hundred quid from the local auction houses in the North West. When you pay peanuts, you generally get monkeys and some of my cars were no exception. I fondly remember the white C reg VW Jetta whose suspension was so shot it meant you never really knew where you would end up if you drove over a cats eye. And as for the huge and stately E reg Rover 820 in metallic mint and complete with walnut dash; I was definitely the only student to be seen driving one of those around campus! These days I drive a Polo which is nippy, fun and more importantly, small and agile enough to negotiate the London traffic and squeeze into most parking spaces in this mad city.
I think it's fair to say, I love driving! Give me a great car on an open road, sun roof open, music blaring and I am a truly happy bunny. If the all elusive Lottery ticket ever comes up big I would have no hesitation in knowing what to spend it on: an Aston Martin DB5, Jaguar E-type Roadster, Dino Ferrari, VW Kombi and possibly a Bugatti (but I don't want to be greedy). I also have ambitions to fly to Poland, buy an original Fiat 500 and drive it back just because I think it would be a whole heap of fun.
I love watching Motor Sport too. Now there are two distinct camps in the world of fast cars, the first being Formula 1. Now I've been to the Grand Prix in Montreal. It was a great day out, picnic in the sun, great company but the actual race...not so much. Back then Schumaker was constantly on top of the podium and was even contemplating making his own brand of champagne (Ok I made that bit up but I think it would have been a big hit!). This meant that the whole race was, well, you know, a little bit, YAWN!!!
The second camp for fast cars belongs to rallying. Now you're talking! Fast, furious, dirty, muddy, unpredictable and exciting. And as for the noise! Nothing sounds better than a rally car at full throttle. Whereas an F1 car sounds like a whiny woman screeching about her straighteners not working, a rally car sounds like a growling tiger! Guaranteed to get the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention.
I'm the first to admit, my rally knowledge is limited. I watch it when it's on although coverage seems somewhat sparse compared to when I was a kid and I know of some of the key players. Sebastian Loeb is a driver of phenomenal skill and Mikko Hirvonen is doing his best to snap at his heels. Peta Solberg is also up there and of course I followed the late and great Colin Macrae until his tragic death a few years ago. And a while back, I actually got to sit in a rally car and was taken around the track by Dave Birkbeck at his rally school. Absolute adrenalin rush! I have been dying to get behind the wheel and have a go ever since but various hints that a red letter day voucher for rally school would make the perfect gift for me appear to have fallen on deaf ears (HINT, HINT!).
So imagine my excitement when my mate Simmo (ok so his real name is Tony Simpson and I guess his cover in earlier blogs is now blown!) told me about his latest venture. He has joined forces with Colin Clark and James Muir to set up an on line radio show at totalrally.com. A radio show that is devoted to the fun and excitement of rallying. A radio show that interviews drivers from all around the world. A radio show that keeps you up to date on the rallying calendar and events. And if that wasn't good enough, they also offer banter and comedy (mostly intended but also some accidental yet pure gold moments) to wash it down with. Seriously, what more could you want?
So if you are even remotely interested in rallying and Motor Sport and your Wednesday evenings need to be filled, try tuning in at 8pm UK time. www.totalrally.com - it does exactly what it says on the tin!
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Saturday, 27 February 2010
Can't Get No Sleep!
Clouds With Legs
Clock watching,
Counting sheep;
the room is full of them!
Wool, tickling my nose
fluffy, cute sheep
But still NO sleep!
It's 6am and I've been awake since 4.45! Insomnia is something that has bugged me for years - fourteen to be exact! (I may touch on the reasons why in a future blog but for now, lets return to the point in hand.) And although the Faithless' dance classic Insomnia was written about coming down after a drug fuelled night of raving, I can relate to the sentiment and frustration in the lyrics. Insomnia is irritating, emotionally draining and bloody exhausting!
I don't suffer it constantly but it does come along like an unwelcome guest on a fairly regular basis. It stays for weeks at a time, eats and drinks me out of house and home and then promises to return in the near future. And return it does! I've tried all sorts of remedies over the years with mixed results. I took some herbal stuff once that recommended no more than 3 tablets at a time. I hate taking medicine be it herbal or conventional, so I went for a cautious 2 tablets with a nice warm drink. But to no avail - I lay awake ALL night!
So now I find that music, reading and writing are the best ways to deal with it. They don't make me sleep but they sure as hell help me relax which is, admittedly a poor second, but better than lying there stressed to the max!
Music has been a vital part of my life since I was tiny. Some of my earliest memories are of my mum singing to me, or listening to records. And I mean records, not CD's. The wonderful scratchy noise of the needle dragging the lyrics off the vinyl is something I miss in this digitally enhanced era.
Music is one of the few things I have OCD tendencies about (the other is my shoe collection!). Much to the amusement of my brother who thinks I am anal beyond belief, my collection of over 350 CD's is arranged alphabetically; starting with Abba, ending with the Zutons and a whole motley collection in the middle! And this makes selecting my 'going to sleep' music much easier.
With so much great music to choose from it's hard to nail down the ultimate 'Sleep' album but hey I've had plenty of time to ponder this during the many sleepless nights I've had. Regular bed time companions include Carole King's 'Tapestry', Missy Higgins 'Sound of White', Little Wing's 'Alchemy in the Garden', Zero 7 'Simple Things', Royksopp 'The Understanding', Jason Mraz 'We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things' and anything by Simon and Garfunkel or Neil Young. But for me, the best of the best is as follows:-
Air 'Moon Safari' - a sublime piece of musicianship whose opening track La Femme D'Argent with it's falling rain and bass, can take me to a happy, calm and chilled out place in seconds. But for me track 3 'All I Need' is a stunning song of love and one of my all time favourites. The lyrics, the melody and Beth Hirsch's vocals have created a masterpiece. From start to finish, it is the ultimate album to relax and escape to - and if I'm really lucky, even fall asleep to!
Clock watching,
Counting sheep;
the room is full of them!
Wool, tickling my nose
fluffy, cute sheep
But still NO sleep!
It's 6am and I've been awake since 4.45! Insomnia is something that has bugged me for years - fourteen to be exact! (I may touch on the reasons why in a future blog but for now, lets return to the point in hand.) And although the Faithless' dance classic Insomnia was written about coming down after a drug fuelled night of raving, I can relate to the sentiment and frustration in the lyrics. Insomnia is irritating, emotionally draining and bloody exhausting!
I don't suffer it constantly but it does come along like an unwelcome guest on a fairly regular basis. It stays for weeks at a time, eats and drinks me out of house and home and then promises to return in the near future. And return it does! I've tried all sorts of remedies over the years with mixed results. I took some herbal stuff once that recommended no more than 3 tablets at a time. I hate taking medicine be it herbal or conventional, so I went for a cautious 2 tablets with a nice warm drink. But to no avail - I lay awake ALL night!
So now I find that music, reading and writing are the best ways to deal with it. They don't make me sleep but they sure as hell help me relax which is, admittedly a poor second, but better than lying there stressed to the max!
Music has been a vital part of my life since I was tiny. Some of my earliest memories are of my mum singing to me, or listening to records. And I mean records, not CD's. The wonderful scratchy noise of the needle dragging the lyrics off the vinyl is something I miss in this digitally enhanced era.
Music is one of the few things I have OCD tendencies about (the other is my shoe collection!). Much to the amusement of my brother who thinks I am anal beyond belief, my collection of over 350 CD's is arranged alphabetically; starting with Abba, ending with the Zutons and a whole motley collection in the middle! And this makes selecting my 'going to sleep' music much easier.
With so much great music to choose from it's hard to nail down the ultimate 'Sleep' album but hey I've had plenty of time to ponder this during the many sleepless nights I've had. Regular bed time companions include Carole King's 'Tapestry', Missy Higgins 'Sound of White', Little Wing's 'Alchemy in the Garden', Zero 7 'Simple Things', Royksopp 'The Understanding', Jason Mraz 'We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things' and anything by Simon and Garfunkel or Neil Young. But for me, the best of the best is as follows:-
Air 'Moon Safari' - a sublime piece of musicianship whose opening track La Femme D'Argent with it's falling rain and bass, can take me to a happy, calm and chilled out place in seconds. But for me track 3 'All I Need' is a stunning song of love and one of my all time favourites. The lyrics, the melody and Beth Hirsch's vocals have created a masterpiece. From start to finish, it is the ultimate album to relax and escape to - and if I'm really lucky, even fall asleep to!
Friday, 26 February 2010
The Singleton Diaries
Tonight is my first quiet Friday for about seven weeks and I fully intend to enjoy every minute of it! Count down to PJ's, TV dinner and hot chocolate has begun.
Having reached the scarifying age of 35, I am still husband and child free. Which obviously makes me something of a social leper in the eyes of some people. I however see it as the ultimate freedom! Not for me the hideous school run followed by chicken nuggets and then a mad dash to Brownies, Cubs, football, ballet or the million and one other hobbies that most children have these days. Not for me the dreaded maths homework or school challenges that prevent families from actually spending any quality weekend time together. Not for me the drunken "I really love you" as the front door crashes open at 3am. Not for me the "But we can't go away this weekend it's the footy". And for that I heave a sigh of relief!
It's fair to say I lead the ultimate singleton life. I have a good, stable job, my own place, a varied group of friends, and I'm always up to something interesting most weekends. Primarily gig going (but more of that in a future blog).
"I don't know how you have the energy" enquire mystified colleagues and friends.
The answer is glaringly obvious I'd have thought...no kids, no husband/boyfriend = lots of time for me. If I want to get home from work and get straight into my PJ's (which will occur in about oh ten minutes) then I can. If I decide that cooking is off the menu and cheese on toast is that's also fine. If I decide to watch re-runs of Friends and my Twilight DVD til I know it word perfect (also happening in about 10minutes), that is completely and utterly acceptable. It's a win win situation if you ask me!
Now before you start thinking I'm one of these deranged feminists who claims to hate the male population while secretly being absolutely desparate to catch Mr Right, let me put the record straight.
Did I ever imagine that at the age of 35 I'd still be single with no kids? Of course not. Girls are conditioned from an early age by society and films (just look at Cinderella et al) to expect that Prince Charming is out there for everyone and that true fulfillment comes with a husband and children. Although I don't buy completely into this I think it's fair to say that girls are definitley conditioned to believe that having a man in your life is a good thing, something to strive for. And in that respect, I'm no different from most females. In fact if we're all going to be completely honest, I'm no different from most people. Human beings are not programmed to be by themselves. Of course there are the exceptions to the rules but in the main, nobody likes to think of themselves as getting old and grey alone.
I have several good friends and acquaintances who are very keen for me to settle down with some guy and have babies. However, I'm not always convinced that they want me to find Mr Right but just Mr He'll Do! Well I'm sorry but that's not good enough for me. Why should I have to compromise on something so important just coz I'm not 25 anymore?
A lovely couple asked me just the other night "Do you NEED a man?"
NO!! Sure I'd like to have a guy to spoil me, laugh with, go on holiday with, go gigging with, explore new places with and have dinner with. Plus, I've got a problem with my extractor fan that could probably be sorted by a bloke whacking it with a hammer or some such thing. And let me tell you, when you are ill and have no one to make you a cuppa or even check you are ok, it's pretty damn miserable.
But to be totally honest as much as I would like to have a funny, smart, caring guy in my life it would have to be on my terms!
I'm used to being by myself; used to having total control of the remote; used to possession of all of the duvet; used to coming and going as I please without having to check the joint diary; used to changing plans on a whim; used to buying as many shoes as I like without having to hide them in the back of the cupboard from preying eyes. I think it's fair to say, I've got pretty used to life by myself.
And now it has just dawned on me: something even more scary than being single and 35...I have become the ultimate Bachelor! Bring on the mid-life crisis!
Having reached the scarifying age of 35, I am still husband and child free. Which obviously makes me something of a social leper in the eyes of some people. I however see it as the ultimate freedom! Not for me the hideous school run followed by chicken nuggets and then a mad dash to Brownies, Cubs, football, ballet or the million and one other hobbies that most children have these days. Not for me the dreaded maths homework or school challenges that prevent families from actually spending any quality weekend time together. Not for me the drunken "I really love you" as the front door crashes open at 3am. Not for me the "But we can't go away this weekend it's the footy". And for that I heave a sigh of relief!
It's fair to say I lead the ultimate singleton life. I have a good, stable job, my own place, a varied group of friends, and I'm always up to something interesting most weekends. Primarily gig going (but more of that in a future blog).
"I don't know how you have the energy" enquire mystified colleagues and friends.
The answer is glaringly obvious I'd have thought...no kids, no husband/boyfriend = lots of time for me. If I want to get home from work and get straight into my PJ's (which will occur in about oh ten minutes) then I can. If I decide that cooking is off the menu and cheese on toast is that's also fine. If I decide to watch re-runs of Friends and my Twilight DVD til I know it word perfect (also happening in about 10minutes), that is completely and utterly acceptable. It's a win win situation if you ask me!
Now before you start thinking I'm one of these deranged feminists who claims to hate the male population while secretly being absolutely desparate to catch Mr Right, let me put the record straight.
Did I ever imagine that at the age of 35 I'd still be single with no kids? Of course not. Girls are conditioned from an early age by society and films (just look at Cinderella et al) to expect that Prince Charming is out there for everyone and that true fulfillment comes with a husband and children. Although I don't buy completely into this I think it's fair to say that girls are definitley conditioned to believe that having a man in your life is a good thing, something to strive for. And in that respect, I'm no different from most females. In fact if we're all going to be completely honest, I'm no different from most people. Human beings are not programmed to be by themselves. Of course there are the exceptions to the rules but in the main, nobody likes to think of themselves as getting old and grey alone.
I have several good friends and acquaintances who are very keen for me to settle down with some guy and have babies. However, I'm not always convinced that they want me to find Mr Right but just Mr He'll Do! Well I'm sorry but that's not good enough for me. Why should I have to compromise on something so important just coz I'm not 25 anymore?
A lovely couple asked me just the other night "Do you NEED a man?"
NO!! Sure I'd like to have a guy to spoil me, laugh with, go on holiday with, go gigging with, explore new places with and have dinner with. Plus, I've got a problem with my extractor fan that could probably be sorted by a bloke whacking it with a hammer or some such thing. And let me tell you, when you are ill and have no one to make you a cuppa or even check you are ok, it's pretty damn miserable.
But to be totally honest as much as I would like to have a funny, smart, caring guy in my life it would have to be on my terms!
I'm used to being by myself; used to having total control of the remote; used to possession of all of the duvet; used to coming and going as I please without having to check the joint diary; used to changing plans on a whim; used to buying as many shoes as I like without having to hide them in the back of the cupboard from preying eyes. I think it's fair to say, I've got pretty used to life by myself.
And now it has just dawned on me: something even more scary than being single and 35...I have become the ultimate Bachelor! Bring on the mid-life crisis!
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
The Road to Hell
It's fair to say that getting to work everyday is a little like the assault course on the Krypton Factor! Let me explain...
I'm 'lucky' enough to drive to work on one of the most dangerous stretches of road in the UK. Now for those of you not in the know, the A406 which skirts around the top of London is pretty full on at the best of times. And the little stretch that sees the M11, A406 and the slip road from Charlie Brown's roundabout converge is nothing short of a mobile lunatic asylum. Five lanes of fast and furious traffic hurtle along the pot hole ridden surface trying to switch from lane 1 to 5 or 4 to 2 without crashing. There is a fine art to it that basically consists of everyone for themselves and foot to the floor. You can tell the people new to the area or lacking in confidence or those who just really shouldn't have a license by the shriek of brakes, beeping horns, flashing lights and the unique sign language that follows them!
Now, I'm lucky enough to have visited some wonderful and fascinating countries around the world. And it has to be said that some of these said countries' approach to driving could have competed with my daily commute. Arriving in Hanoi (the capital of North Vietnam) was an eye opener. And that's after London! I stood on the pavement with my then partner outside the hotel for 10 minutes. Neither of us could move; the traffic (mostly mopeds holding 2,3 sometimes 4 people plus the weekly shop and the family goat) would zoom around any obstacle that happened to be in the way. We stood there perplexed. We only had 3 weeks in Vietnam and really didn't fancy spending all of it trying to cross one road. Shamefaced, we crept back to the Hotel reception.
"Er... how exactly do we cross the road?".
Fortunately we're obviously not the first Western tourists to ask. The gorgeous (they are all gorgeous in Vietnam) young thing smiled and said - I kid you not
"Just step off the pavement and walk. Don't worry, they'll go round you!"
So that solves that then. Just step off the pavement into the flow of upto 10 lanes of mopeds heading in a million different directions, with only one thing in common - great speed! We're back on the edge of the pavement clutching each others hands. We look into each others eyes and whisper the three little words... "Let us live!" and with that we plunge off the pavement and cross the road. And would you believe it? The girl was right! We walk, the mopeds drive and amazingly we arrive unscathed on the other side of the road.
The next stop was Cambodia and boy did we think we'd have it sussed. Step off pavement without so much as a glance, walk at consistent speed and arrive at other side of road in one piece. Yeah well, Cambodia had other ideas! Having survived a truly horrific flight that saw all the local people applaud when we landed we clambered into our first Cambodian taxi. After a few minutes it dawned on us that there were cars quite literally going in all directions and on any side of the road. Leaning forward I asked the question
"So what side of the road do you drive on in Cambodia?"
The taxi driver slewed his neck round and without even half an eye on the road ahead said
"Officially? Er I think it's the left but we don't really mind. Whichever side is quieter" (for the benefit of understanding I have translated this far more fluently than he told it. There was far more gesticulation which, inevitably, involved hands AND eyes being away from the road ahead).
We will NEVER, EVER complain about the driving in London again I thought!
Ok, so I lied!
I'm 'lucky' enough to drive to work on one of the most dangerous stretches of road in the UK. Now for those of you not in the know, the A406 which skirts around the top of London is pretty full on at the best of times. And the little stretch that sees the M11, A406 and the slip road from Charlie Brown's roundabout converge is nothing short of a mobile lunatic asylum. Five lanes of fast and furious traffic hurtle along the pot hole ridden surface trying to switch from lane 1 to 5 or 4 to 2 without crashing. There is a fine art to it that basically consists of everyone for themselves and foot to the floor. You can tell the people new to the area or lacking in confidence or those who just really shouldn't have a license by the shriek of brakes, beeping horns, flashing lights and the unique sign language that follows them!
Now, I'm lucky enough to have visited some wonderful and fascinating countries around the world. And it has to be said that some of these said countries' approach to driving could have competed with my daily commute. Arriving in Hanoi (the capital of North Vietnam) was an eye opener. And that's after London! I stood on the pavement with my then partner outside the hotel for 10 minutes. Neither of us could move; the traffic (mostly mopeds holding 2,3 sometimes 4 people plus the weekly shop and the family goat) would zoom around any obstacle that happened to be in the way. We stood there perplexed. We only had 3 weeks in Vietnam and really didn't fancy spending all of it trying to cross one road. Shamefaced, we crept back to the Hotel reception.
"Er... how exactly do we cross the road?".
Fortunately we're obviously not the first Western tourists to ask. The gorgeous (they are all gorgeous in Vietnam) young thing smiled and said - I kid you not
"Just step off the pavement and walk. Don't worry, they'll go round you!"
So that solves that then. Just step off the pavement into the flow of upto 10 lanes of mopeds heading in a million different directions, with only one thing in common - great speed! We're back on the edge of the pavement clutching each others hands. We look into each others eyes and whisper the three little words... "Let us live!" and with that we plunge off the pavement and cross the road. And would you believe it? The girl was right! We walk, the mopeds drive and amazingly we arrive unscathed on the other side of the road.
The next stop was Cambodia and boy did we think we'd have it sussed. Step off pavement without so much as a glance, walk at consistent speed and arrive at other side of road in one piece. Yeah well, Cambodia had other ideas! Having survived a truly horrific flight that saw all the local people applaud when we landed we clambered into our first Cambodian taxi. After a few minutes it dawned on us that there were cars quite literally going in all directions and on any side of the road. Leaning forward I asked the question
"So what side of the road do you drive on in Cambodia?"
The taxi driver slewed his neck round and without even half an eye on the road ahead said
"Officially? Er I think it's the left but we don't really mind. Whichever side is quieter" (for the benefit of understanding I have translated this far more fluently than he told it. There was far more gesticulation which, inevitably, involved hands AND eyes being away from the road ahead).
We will NEVER, EVER complain about the driving in London again I thought!
Ok, so I lied!
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
A Life Less Ordinary
I've often thought that my life is just a series of random events held together by food and sleep. I'm the kind of girl who attracts the drunken nutters on the train, the kind of girl who geeky IT blokes seem determine to pursue while I'd rather meet Rob Pattinson, the kind of girl who gets a fit of giggles at the most inappropriate time, the kind of girl who gets asked for ID at the age of 30 and has to get her dad to vouch for her age - you get the picture.
I went on a date with a guy from Wigan once. I'm sure Wigan is lovely and to be fair so was the guy but his idea of funny and interesting life experiences was so far removed from mine it was painful. "This is a funny story" he'd start an anecdote with. And so I waited for 10 minutes... The tale failed to build in momentum and was so painfully unfunny that to this day, I can't recall any of the details. I like to think I'm a nice, kind, person so when he started his next anecdote with "This is a funny story", I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He's from Wigan, I thought, maybe funny is another way of saying strange there. 10 more minutes rolled by dragging a healthy clump of tumbleweed with it! All I can say is if that's what he calls funny and strange he wants to try living in my world for a while and he'd soon realise the difference. To help him gain some perspective, I told him of my time at Uni and how I had lived with some very 'interesting' people culminating in the lesbian nun who had left the Nunnery to become a teacher and a month later moved her girlfriend (who hadn't left the Nunnery and arrived in full Nun regalia) into our student house. We lived in a tiny village and were the talk of the town. Poor guy looked appalled and that was the end of that not so promising relationship!
I don't know why I should find life so full of amusement, random events and downright strange occurances but I think it's a combination of two things. The first being my ability to find the funny side to most situations and the second could well be the nature of my job.
I'm lucky enough to love my job! Don't get me wrong, if I won the Lottery, I'd pack my bags and set about finding a house with a big enough garage to hold all the classic, fast and beautiful cars that money could buy, but as I don't even purchase lottery tickets I'm not holding my breath. To return to the job, I'm a teacher. More specifically, I teach 4 and 5 year olds. This normally evokes two responses a) - oh how cute! or b) I don't know how you have the patience! My working day generally consists of a mix of the two!
People who work with small children will back me up on this. No two minutes are alike never mind two days. There is NO possibility of getting bored. You have to think on your feet, be prepared to laugh (mostly at yourself) and to be unfazed by anything the day throws at you. Strange, weird, funny, bizarre are all words that could describe most days. These tiny people keep you on your toes in a way that Red Bull can only dream of. Only today, I've been climbing ladders to hang space rockets from the ceiling, singing songs, discussing Tchaicovsky, dealing with arguments, fastening zips, writing menus and reading Charlie and Lola. The conversation is never dull either. I've been given a word for word run down on the Michael Jackson Thriller video (complete with dance moves that would make any Jacko fan proud), been told about a family holiday over half term (that for legal reasons I couldn't possibly disclose) and most thrilling of all, been told by one little darling "Miss Sunshine, I'm going to do a poo in the toilet". Lovely, you crack on!
A life less ordinary - no thanks, I like the one I've got!
I went on a date with a guy from Wigan once. I'm sure Wigan is lovely and to be fair so was the guy but his idea of funny and interesting life experiences was so far removed from mine it was painful. "This is a funny story" he'd start an anecdote with. And so I waited for 10 minutes... The tale failed to build in momentum and was so painfully unfunny that to this day, I can't recall any of the details. I like to think I'm a nice, kind, person so when he started his next anecdote with "This is a funny story", I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He's from Wigan, I thought, maybe funny is another way of saying strange there. 10 more minutes rolled by dragging a healthy clump of tumbleweed with it! All I can say is if that's what he calls funny and strange he wants to try living in my world for a while and he'd soon realise the difference. To help him gain some perspective, I told him of my time at Uni and how I had lived with some very 'interesting' people culminating in the lesbian nun who had left the Nunnery to become a teacher and a month later moved her girlfriend (who hadn't left the Nunnery and arrived in full Nun regalia) into our student house. We lived in a tiny village and were the talk of the town. Poor guy looked appalled and that was the end of that not so promising relationship!
I don't know why I should find life so full of amusement, random events and downright strange occurances but I think it's a combination of two things. The first being my ability to find the funny side to most situations and the second could well be the nature of my job.
I'm lucky enough to love my job! Don't get me wrong, if I won the Lottery, I'd pack my bags and set about finding a house with a big enough garage to hold all the classic, fast and beautiful cars that money could buy, but as I don't even purchase lottery tickets I'm not holding my breath. To return to the job, I'm a teacher. More specifically, I teach 4 and 5 year olds. This normally evokes two responses a) - oh how cute! or b) I don't know how you have the patience! My working day generally consists of a mix of the two!
People who work with small children will back me up on this. No two minutes are alike never mind two days. There is NO possibility of getting bored. You have to think on your feet, be prepared to laugh (mostly at yourself) and to be unfazed by anything the day throws at you. Strange, weird, funny, bizarre are all words that could describe most days. These tiny people keep you on your toes in a way that Red Bull can only dream of. Only today, I've been climbing ladders to hang space rockets from the ceiling, singing songs, discussing Tchaicovsky, dealing with arguments, fastening zips, writing menus and reading Charlie and Lola. The conversation is never dull either. I've been given a word for word run down on the Michael Jackson Thriller video (complete with dance moves that would make any Jacko fan proud), been told about a family holiday over half term (that for legal reasons I couldn't possibly disclose) and most thrilling of all, been told by one little darling "Miss Sunshine, I'm going to do a poo in the toilet". Lovely, you crack on!
A life less ordinary - no thanks, I like the one I've got!
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Always take spare clothes!
Having negotiated the motorway network of the UK, I have returned back down south following half term. Due to a week away and an incredibly busy 2 weeks leading up to it, my cupboards were bearer than Mrs Hubbard (terrible cliche I know but what's a girl to do?). This means a trip to the dreaded supermarket to stock up.
Now I HATE shopping at the best of the times but supermarket shopping reaches an all time low on the list of things I'd rather do in life. Sticking pins in my eyes, listening to Katie Melua and watching football beats it hands down. Nevertheless, it has to be done so I steel myself for the ordeal and prepare for battle with a trolley.
I'm not sure if the phenomenon I'm about to describe is a National thing or whether it's just confined to this strange little part of London I currently call my address. Everywhere I looked there were families on what looked suspiciously like a day out! Why? Why? Why? would you take your family to Sainsco for a Sunday afternoon treat? Now before the single parents prepare to lynch me, I realise that there are many people who have no choice but to drag their children around the supermarket, attacking my ankles with pushchairs and remaining blissfully unaware of the pick and mix that has been steadily consumed by their offspring. And this rant is clearly not meant at them (although if you could prevent your buggy causing permanent ankle damage I would be very grateful!). No, I'm referring to the whole families, all three generations of them who arrive on mass in the people carriers. Granparents, parents, children, family dog, budgie (ok I made the budgie up) who all disembark from the vehicle and prepare themselves for a jolly spiffing afternoon in the frozen food ailse!
When I was a child our family days out were somewhat different. For starters we tended to head for places like the park, the forest, the hills, the beach. In fact anywhere that had vast open space, fresh air and ideally water (but more of that later). My mum was a truly amazing lady who veered eratically from complete organsiation to downright chaos and the fun was you never knew which was going to happen next. For example, she would lovingly prepare sandwiches of all varieties and keep them in the freezer ready for our frequent Sunday trips out. However, remembering to remove them from the freezer the night before always seemed fraught with problems. Resulting in screaming sensitive teeth as you found your way into the middle of a still frozen ham and pickle butty half way up Rivington Pike.
Sometimes these said butties were actually consumed in true picnic style: on a rug, with the sun shining and the birds singing. But most of the time the convoy of family cars (yes we took all generations too) had to park close enough to enable windows to be rolled down and sandwiches to be hurled through the rain in the general direction of the occupants of the other car. Don't you just love the British Weather? It never deterred us though and if there were an olympic medal for the family most determined to enjoy a picnic no matter what, the family Little Miss Sunshine would definitely have beaten everyone else. Even when we returned to the cars in the little village of Lagharne and found that a flash flood was in danger of washing them away, we still managed to smile.
These frequent days out were always filled with laughter and maybe this is nostalgia creeping in now but I can honestly say that the adults appeared to enjoy it just as much as the kids. We lost countless footballs up in trees and our spare clothes would inevitably be used as myself and to be fair, more often my brother would find a stretch of water, stream, lake, puddle, mud slide to explore. No day out was complete without a change of clothes. And to this day my brother feels hard done by if he has a day out that doesn't involve getting either very dirty or very wet!
Whatever the weather, we certainly had more fun than those families shuffling around Asdrose trying to decide between chickpeas or cake. So take my advice and spend your Sunday afternoon on a family day out - not in a supermarket.
Just don't forget your spare clothes!
Now I HATE shopping at the best of the times but supermarket shopping reaches an all time low on the list of things I'd rather do in life. Sticking pins in my eyes, listening to Katie Melua and watching football beats it hands down. Nevertheless, it has to be done so I steel myself for the ordeal and prepare for battle with a trolley.
I'm not sure if the phenomenon I'm about to describe is a National thing or whether it's just confined to this strange little part of London I currently call my address. Everywhere I looked there were families on what looked suspiciously like a day out! Why? Why? Why? would you take your family to Sainsco for a Sunday afternoon treat? Now before the single parents prepare to lynch me, I realise that there are many people who have no choice but to drag their children around the supermarket, attacking my ankles with pushchairs and remaining blissfully unaware of the pick and mix that has been steadily consumed by their offspring. And this rant is clearly not meant at them (although if you could prevent your buggy causing permanent ankle damage I would be very grateful!). No, I'm referring to the whole families, all three generations of them who arrive on mass in the people carriers. Granparents, parents, children, family dog, budgie (ok I made the budgie up) who all disembark from the vehicle and prepare themselves for a jolly spiffing afternoon in the frozen food ailse!
When I was a child our family days out were somewhat different. For starters we tended to head for places like the park, the forest, the hills, the beach. In fact anywhere that had vast open space, fresh air and ideally water (but more of that later). My mum was a truly amazing lady who veered eratically from complete organsiation to downright chaos and the fun was you never knew which was going to happen next. For example, she would lovingly prepare sandwiches of all varieties and keep them in the freezer ready for our frequent Sunday trips out. However, remembering to remove them from the freezer the night before always seemed fraught with problems. Resulting in screaming sensitive teeth as you found your way into the middle of a still frozen ham and pickle butty half way up Rivington Pike.
Sometimes these said butties were actually consumed in true picnic style: on a rug, with the sun shining and the birds singing. But most of the time the convoy of family cars (yes we took all generations too) had to park close enough to enable windows to be rolled down and sandwiches to be hurled through the rain in the general direction of the occupants of the other car. Don't you just love the British Weather? It never deterred us though and if there were an olympic medal for the family most determined to enjoy a picnic no matter what, the family Little Miss Sunshine would definitely have beaten everyone else. Even when we returned to the cars in the little village of Lagharne and found that a flash flood was in danger of washing them away, we still managed to smile.
These frequent days out were always filled with laughter and maybe this is nostalgia creeping in now but I can honestly say that the adults appeared to enjoy it just as much as the kids. We lost countless footballs up in trees and our spare clothes would inevitably be used as myself and to be fair, more often my brother would find a stretch of water, stream, lake, puddle, mud slide to explore. No day out was complete without a change of clothes. And to this day my brother feels hard done by if he has a day out that doesn't involve getting either very dirty or very wet!
Whatever the weather, we certainly had more fun than those families shuffling around Asdrose trying to decide between chickpeas or cake. So take my advice and spend your Sunday afternoon on a family day out - not in a supermarket.
Just don't forget your spare clothes!
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Tea for Two at Pizza Average
It's Saturday night and I've just had dinner with my mate (lets call him Simmo) at Pizza Average.
The evening as expected was both fun and a little random. Simmo is a funny guy and qualifies for this rarely given acolade by being a) Scouse and b) a dabbler in the world of stand up comedy. Wonderful, I just have to sit back, enjoy the food and be entertained - easy! And the fact that I managed to lure him over here from the bright lights of Liverpool says far less about my amazingly witty company and far more about the 2-4-1 offer on the food!
We've ploughed our way through the Dough Balls and topics of conversation as random as cars and rockets and St. Helen's (the place) and Jordan (also the place) when Simmo's eyes glaze over and I can tell he's no longer in the zone. Just as I'm thinking that my conversation skills need work Simmo announces with a kind of everyday nonchalance "there's a dragon over there!" Of course there is I think, wondering exactly what sort of mushrooms he ordered on his pizza.
I turn round and to my amusement and slight bewilderment there really is a dragon over there. It's not Puff and he's not fighting St. George. This is a Chinese Dragon obviously in the throws of the dance for Chinese New Year. I could have sworn Chinese New Year was last week but never mind, sometimes the north is slow to catch on! Conversation stops as we both watch the said dragon (actually if we're going to be pedantic and of course, I am, it's actually a lion who does the special dance in the Chinese New Year celebrations) perform a very shortlived dance before entering the restaurant. Cue second random statement from Simmo "Oh look, he's left his legs behind" I'm beginning to regret not ordering the mushrooms for myself!
For the second time, I turn around and with even more amusement and bewilderment see that yes indeed there are 3 men dressed as the Lion/Dragon legs just hanging around outside with a man and some drums. Nobody else in Pizza Average appears to have noticed but we are enthralled and eagerly await the end of this little saga. But like most New Years, it was a bit of an anti-climax. The Lion/Dragon reappeared briefly before collecting his legs and disappearing without so much as a Hokey Cokey in sight.
The North West has it all - Witches on Tuesday and Dragons today. If I'm going to be swept into the world of fantasy and supernatural can I please put in a request for Edward Cullen! I believe he likes petite, brunette Virgos who are slightly older than him...I'm in!
The evening as expected was both fun and a little random. Simmo is a funny guy and qualifies for this rarely given acolade by being a) Scouse and b) a dabbler in the world of stand up comedy. Wonderful, I just have to sit back, enjoy the food and be entertained - easy! And the fact that I managed to lure him over here from the bright lights of Liverpool says far less about my amazingly witty company and far more about the 2-4-1 offer on the food!
We've ploughed our way through the Dough Balls and topics of conversation as random as cars and rockets and St. Helen's (the place) and Jordan (also the place) when Simmo's eyes glaze over and I can tell he's no longer in the zone. Just as I'm thinking that my conversation skills need work Simmo announces with a kind of everyday nonchalance "there's a dragon over there!" Of course there is I think, wondering exactly what sort of mushrooms he ordered on his pizza.
I turn round and to my amusement and slight bewilderment there really is a dragon over there. It's not Puff and he's not fighting St. George. This is a Chinese Dragon obviously in the throws of the dance for Chinese New Year. I could have sworn Chinese New Year was last week but never mind, sometimes the north is slow to catch on! Conversation stops as we both watch the said dragon (actually if we're going to be pedantic and of course, I am, it's actually a lion who does the special dance in the Chinese New Year celebrations) perform a very shortlived dance before entering the restaurant. Cue second random statement from Simmo "Oh look, he's left his legs behind" I'm beginning to regret not ordering the mushrooms for myself!
For the second time, I turn around and with even more amusement and bewilderment see that yes indeed there are 3 men dressed as the Lion/Dragon legs just hanging around outside with a man and some drums. Nobody else in Pizza Average appears to have noticed but we are enthralled and eagerly await the end of this little saga. But like most New Years, it was a bit of an anti-climax. The Lion/Dragon reappeared briefly before collecting his legs and disappearing without so much as a Hokey Cokey in sight.
The North West has it all - Witches on Tuesday and Dragons today. If I'm going to be swept into the world of fantasy and supernatural can I please put in a request for Edward Cullen! I believe he likes petite, brunette Virgos who are slightly older than him...I'm in!
The Witching Hour
It's my mum's fault I'm interested in the Pendle witches. Pendle is a place she loved and as children, she would always solve our colds and sniffles with a herbal tissane boiled up on the stove. At Uni, I even ended up living in Pendle College although the only herbal tissanes I consumed there were pints in the S.U!
The females on my maternal side (and I wholeheartedly include myself in this) would definitely been burnt at the stake for witchcraft. Don't get me wrong, we don't make spells and turn people into frogs, we don't call down curses onto people who have annoyed us and threaten them with our witchy power but we do all have a healthy regard for herbal remedies and alternative therapies. Added to that, the fact that I have strange sixth sense thing (that of course never works when you need it to) have seen several weird and unaccounted sights, and have some ghostly pictures that I took in Australia and you can see that they would have been shoving me onto the fire with gusto!
So now I've totally freaked you out, I'm going to take you on a journey into the backwaters of Lancashire, through wind and snow to a place called Pendle Hill. It was a mighty cold day with a threat of snow in the air when I called for my mate. As I am going to spend some time making amusing comments at his expense lets call him Warlock for the purposes of this blog. So I arrive at Warlock's and as ever, he's not ready and to be honest it doesn't look as if he'll ever be ready for a hike up Pendle Hill which is our objective today. As ever, he is very smartly turned out but his chosen walking wardrobe consists of jeans, smart jacket and steel toe cap boots. He's a highly intelligent, Creative type so of course thinking about mundane things like being warm and dry on top of a hill don't always feature highly! Having persuaded him to at least bring a waterproof we finally set off.
Two minutes into the journey sees the snow flying at the windscreen like a witch on a broomstick. Must try harder on the weather spell I think as we head through Preston and out on the A59. Now people who know me, know that I have many skills and getting lost and being useless with directions is top of the skill list. It's been many years since I last ventured out this way and Warlock has never been so as my sixth sense has deserted me in my hour of need once more, we head off blindly in the general direction of Pendle Hill.
Once off the A59, the roads are very narrow and very bendy. "Surely this is a one way street" gasps Warlock in horror! As we round the bend and come face to face with another car it dawns on him that no, it is infact meant for two way traffic! Having negotiated the roads, we found ourselves in the tiny hamlet of Newchurch. The famous shop 'Witches Galore' is here. If you are after cauldrons, witches hats, posters, books, pentangles then this is the place for you. Thankfully, the owners stop short of dressing in costume although one of them did appear from nowhere like Mr Ben on one of his adventures - spooky! Having purchased a couple of books and a fine cup of tea we decided to explore the hamlet. Clearly this wouldn't take long...
A quick glance in the churchyard showed us an evil eye in the side of the church to ward away witches and a selection of gravestones one of which is supposed to belong to Alice Nutter, witch. Despite our best efforts, we couldn't see the witch gravestone so decided it was time to leave before we found ourselves trapped in a place that could well be like Brigadoon!
One mile of curving tarmac took us to Barley, the start of the walk up the hill. Now I can walk and walk, and walk. I love it! Get me out in the fresh air and as long as I am warm and have food I can walk for hours. Warlock I could see was less enthusiastic. However, he is a sportsman and although he no longer plays regularly he still has the sportsmans ethic - give them a challenge and they have to complete it. "I don't mind" I say innocently "But we can go to the top if you like" And of course, the gauntlet having been flung, well placed gently on the floor is scooped up and we're off up the path to the top of the hill.
The sun has come out, there is snow on the top of the peak, it is gorgeous! The path is clear and we're good to go. Now I like to think I'm reasonably fit but I was about to be proved somewhat wrong. Let me tell you, don't bother with an expensive gym membership just hike up Pendle Hill every day. It will do more for your fitness levels than any spin class or Legs, Bums and Tums. Warlock was struggling too but tried to hide it by stopping for frequent photo opportunities. Plus his less than suitable footwear must have added half a stone and made the challenge even more difficult.
Finally, after what seemed like hours we reached the summit. And with flag in hand we marched to the stone and became the first people to reach this spot! Well apart from the group who were clearly on Duke of Edinburgh training and who were over the moon to be on top of a hill in the snow when they could have been swigging cider in the local park.
Having glanced over the view and taken a couple of photos a huge cloud full of snow was starting to make its presence felt. Right, it's time to go. Warlock didn't need telling twice and set off down the path as if his life depended on it - maybe the thought of a pint in the local was the incentive. Either way, we both made it down in record time, the fact that we were virtually skiing over the treacherous, snow covered steps had nothing to do with it. Amazingly, neither of us fell over although Warlock's boots did protest on a couple of occasions and threatened to throw him to the ground amongst the sheep poo and mud.
"So how are your boots holding up?" I ask Warlock.
"Yeah not too bad considering they're not walking boots" he replies
"You want to get yourself to Millets and get yourself a pair" I tell him helpfully
"Oh I won't be doing this again!" he assures me with a fixed glare
Right, pub it is then! But disappointment awaits poor Warlock there too. There is a funeral party/wake/gathering in there. We are both filthy and tired and bedraggled and really don't feel they'll want us in their pub. And to be fair, who can blame them?
So it's back to the car and back through the tiny roads and somehow we've ended up in Yorkshire! Sixth sense working well again I see!! As usual, I'm chatting ten to the dozen even though poor Warlock is clearly trying to listen to Buffalo Springfield and forget the horror that he has just been put through. "The witches were tried at Lancaster Castle" I tell him (ever the font of useful info) "We can go if you like"
The response was unprintable.......
The females on my maternal side (and I wholeheartedly include myself in this) would definitely been burnt at the stake for witchcraft. Don't get me wrong, we don't make spells and turn people into frogs, we don't call down curses onto people who have annoyed us and threaten them with our witchy power but we do all have a healthy regard for herbal remedies and alternative therapies. Added to that, the fact that I have strange sixth sense thing (that of course never works when you need it to) have seen several weird and unaccounted sights, and have some ghostly pictures that I took in Australia and you can see that they would have been shoving me onto the fire with gusto!
So now I've totally freaked you out, I'm going to take you on a journey into the backwaters of Lancashire, through wind and snow to a place called Pendle Hill. It was a mighty cold day with a threat of snow in the air when I called for my mate. As I am going to spend some time making amusing comments at his expense lets call him Warlock for the purposes of this blog. So I arrive at Warlock's and as ever, he's not ready and to be honest it doesn't look as if he'll ever be ready for a hike up Pendle Hill which is our objective today. As ever, he is very smartly turned out but his chosen walking wardrobe consists of jeans, smart jacket and steel toe cap boots. He's a highly intelligent, Creative type so of course thinking about mundane things like being warm and dry on top of a hill don't always feature highly! Having persuaded him to at least bring a waterproof we finally set off.
Two minutes into the journey sees the snow flying at the windscreen like a witch on a broomstick. Must try harder on the weather spell I think as we head through Preston and out on the A59. Now people who know me, know that I have many skills and getting lost and being useless with directions is top of the skill list. It's been many years since I last ventured out this way and Warlock has never been so as my sixth sense has deserted me in my hour of need once more, we head off blindly in the general direction of Pendle Hill.
Once off the A59, the roads are very narrow and very bendy. "Surely this is a one way street" gasps Warlock in horror! As we round the bend and come face to face with another car it dawns on him that no, it is infact meant for two way traffic! Having negotiated the roads, we found ourselves in the tiny hamlet of Newchurch. The famous shop 'Witches Galore' is here. If you are after cauldrons, witches hats, posters, books, pentangles then this is the place for you. Thankfully, the owners stop short of dressing in costume although one of them did appear from nowhere like Mr Ben on one of his adventures - spooky! Having purchased a couple of books and a fine cup of tea we decided to explore the hamlet. Clearly this wouldn't take long...
A quick glance in the churchyard showed us an evil eye in the side of the church to ward away witches and a selection of gravestones one of which is supposed to belong to Alice Nutter, witch. Despite our best efforts, we couldn't see the witch gravestone so decided it was time to leave before we found ourselves trapped in a place that could well be like Brigadoon!
One mile of curving tarmac took us to Barley, the start of the walk up the hill. Now I can walk and walk, and walk. I love it! Get me out in the fresh air and as long as I am warm and have food I can walk for hours. Warlock I could see was less enthusiastic. However, he is a sportsman and although he no longer plays regularly he still has the sportsmans ethic - give them a challenge and they have to complete it. "I don't mind" I say innocently "But we can go to the top if you like" And of course, the gauntlet having been flung, well placed gently on the floor is scooped up and we're off up the path to the top of the hill.
The sun has come out, there is snow on the top of the peak, it is gorgeous! The path is clear and we're good to go. Now I like to think I'm reasonably fit but I was about to be proved somewhat wrong. Let me tell you, don't bother with an expensive gym membership just hike up Pendle Hill every day. It will do more for your fitness levels than any spin class or Legs, Bums and Tums. Warlock was struggling too but tried to hide it by stopping for frequent photo opportunities. Plus his less than suitable footwear must have added half a stone and made the challenge even more difficult.
Finally, after what seemed like hours we reached the summit. And with flag in hand we marched to the stone and became the first people to reach this spot! Well apart from the group who were clearly on Duke of Edinburgh training and who were over the moon to be on top of a hill in the snow when they could have been swigging cider in the local park.
Having glanced over the view and taken a couple of photos a huge cloud full of snow was starting to make its presence felt. Right, it's time to go. Warlock didn't need telling twice and set off down the path as if his life depended on it - maybe the thought of a pint in the local was the incentive. Either way, we both made it down in record time, the fact that we were virtually skiing over the treacherous, snow covered steps had nothing to do with it. Amazingly, neither of us fell over although Warlock's boots did protest on a couple of occasions and threatened to throw him to the ground amongst the sheep poo and mud.
"So how are your boots holding up?" I ask Warlock.
"Yeah not too bad considering they're not walking boots" he replies
"You want to get yourself to Millets and get yourself a pair" I tell him helpfully
"Oh I won't be doing this again!" he assures me with a fixed glare
Right, pub it is then! But disappointment awaits poor Warlock there too. There is a funeral party/wake/gathering in there. We are both filthy and tired and bedraggled and really don't feel they'll want us in their pub. And to be fair, who can blame them?
So it's back to the car and back through the tiny roads and somehow we've ended up in Yorkshire! Sixth sense working well again I see!! As usual, I'm chatting ten to the dozen even though poor Warlock is clearly trying to listen to Buffalo Springfield and forget the horror that he has just been put through. "The witches were tried at Lancaster Castle" I tell him (ever the font of useful info) "We can go if you like"
The response was unprintable.......
Hello, good evening and welcome!
So why am I here at 8.20 on a freezing Saturday morning when by rights I should still be in bed? I guess that's the appeal of the written word! I'm not trying to become the next famous blogger, I'm just a girl who enjoys writing and passing remarks on the silly little things in life. It could well be that nobody else finds them remotely funny, silly or interesting but I'm gonna share them anyway.
I've always written stuff starting with the usual teenage diaries about boys and spots and spots and boys - cringe, cringe, cringe! And then when I started to travel I enthralled my friends and relatives alike with my regular updates from abroad - an email blog I suppose. And I've always written stories, poems, plays, Christmas productions etc for the little people I teach. A frustrated writer? I don't think so, I have no ambition to be the next JK Rowling or Stephanie Myers I just enjoy the freedom of writing. I love being able to watch the world go by and let the words fly around my brain before landing on the page.
As for me, there's not a huge amount to tell. I LOVE music and gigs, I enjoy skating and being out in the fresh air, I have a wide and varied group of friends who cross ages, backgrounds and locations and I think laughter is the answer to everything.
And now, I'm venturing into the world of blogging! Anything could happen now but it probably won't!
I've always written stuff starting with the usual teenage diaries about boys and spots and spots and boys - cringe, cringe, cringe! And then when I started to travel I enthralled my friends and relatives alike with my regular updates from abroad - an email blog I suppose. And I've always written stories, poems, plays, Christmas productions etc for the little people I teach. A frustrated writer? I don't think so, I have no ambition to be the next JK Rowling or Stephanie Myers I just enjoy the freedom of writing. I love being able to watch the world go by and let the words fly around my brain before landing on the page.
As for me, there's not a huge amount to tell. I LOVE music and gigs, I enjoy skating and being out in the fresh air, I have a wide and varied group of friends who cross ages, backgrounds and locations and I think laughter is the answer to everything.
And now, I'm venturing into the world of blogging! Anything could happen now but it probably won't!
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