I will hunt you down and christ you've aged badly

You know when it is going to be one of those days don't you.  The day you wake with a hangover and you've not had a drink for over 3 months ( how does that happen?!)

The day you pick your mother up and the conversation starts 'did I tell you about....'  and your answer 'yes, many times' is conveniently not heard and the pace of repeated stories continues until your head is going to explode.

The day you follow a large car into a car park with a roof top box and you know it won't fit under the barrier. The barrier is on chains and you watch it drag along the top of the car in front and then swing precariously on its chains and you wonder if it will fall off and hit you as you pass underneath.  It slowly creeps up the ramp missing the concrete ceiling by millimetres and scraping every sign.

You parp your horn at it 3 times. The first to say 'dude, you're going to lose your box on the roof.' The second to say 'Hey idiot, if you're happy to lose your box on the roof could you hurry up and get on with it'. The third time to say 'hey, twat for brains at least pull over and let the rest of us come by you'.  On the disabled parking floor (which is entirely empty with large lanes and wide bays - so a huge empty space) you go around the car at about 10 miles an hour and the other driver looks at you like you are drag racing.

You get into the theatre and immediately bump into people you really would prefer not to. The person your age whose complete set of GCSE results you can still remember better than your own because they are the ones you were compared against by your mother continually for weeks after results day. The snooty partner  of said person who looked down their nose at you for years at school and then the misery of the years when they continued to do it as you ended up in the same workplace: 'Oh yes, haven't you done well, large house and stables.  Lovely.  Yes, how dreadful you couldn't ride the hunt this year because of injuries, I'm so sorry.' And the only thought carrying me through the excruciating conversation is 'Christ you've aged badly, you used to be gorgeous!' - yes, I am THAT shallow.

The theatre show is mediocre at best, Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are sat 2 seats away from you on the same row 'Yes, yes, marvellous isn't it, oh amazing voices, yes I'm really enjoying it' I hear myself saying whilst thinking cockroach eating is feeling like a pleasant alternative to this.

Your mother insists that you can't leave the theatre until the queuing traffic outside has cleared 'Because we may as well sit here enjoying conversation as sit in a queue of traffic. Have I told you about....'  Dear Lord, kill me now.

And you finally arrive back to your car in a completely empty car park to find a note saying 'if you ever put my child's life at risk again I will hunt you down, I have your registration number and I have reported you to the police'

There's lovely then. I wonder if the violent threat was their advice?

Joy to the World.

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What did one sign post say to the other?!

I wandered up to the end of a camp site to read what the yellow sign said.  "keep out"

As did the sign opposite it.

A complete sign stand off.

You keep out.
No, you keep out.
No, you keep out.

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My patience is an elastic band

My patience gland is an elastic band which may be sometimes inextricably linked directly to my uterus, but don't you dare ask me if I have my period whilst I'm yelling, ok.

Sooooooo, if my stretchy patience band is already rather taut then there's not much slack left to play with people. A week where a chmod 750 / spilled off my rooty finger tips if you don't understand this, just believe it's a bad thing to do is going to be a taut band week. Especially when I'd thrown up twice at work just before said mistake happened and I got my period that afternoon.

Sooooo, I pick up the home phone to:

"This is Sainsburys ringing about your home grocery delivery, but before I go on I need to take you through some security"
"Uh-huh"
"Can you tell me your phone number"
"That'll be the one you just rang"
"Yes, can you tell me the number"
"You want me to tell you the number you just dialled so you can tell that I'm the person you think I am, do you see the flaw in that logic"
"It's for security"
"Security isn't really in this ball park today is it, I'm not playing this game."
"This isn't a game madam,this is Sainsburys ringing about your grocery order, but I need to go through security first"
"Go on then, ask me a security question"
"Can you tell me the phone number"
"Nope,  have a real hard think about what you might ask me that only the person you rang might know"
After being put on hold for a while, he came back
"What's the email address registered against the account?"
Well, it was a better effort, so I told him.
"Thank you, you'll be pleased to hear I calling to tell you about an offer we have on for your delivery slot........"
Oh FFS

I wonder if my band had not already been new knicker elastic tight, would I have cut him just a little bit of slack?

 How about British Gas, a company sent to try the patience of saints. I rang to book my boiler service as there was only one date coming up on line for the following month.
"Yes madam, that's the only slot available"
"In the next 6 weeks you only have one date available for a service"
"Servicing is not our priority madam"
"You don't say that in your advertising or when I pay you, what next date have you got?"
"The end of Dec, we are very busy madam"

Maybe you would like to hear the tale of the Rangers at the planning meeting where we openly discussed whether they wanted to meet in half term.  "yes, yes, definitely" they said.  4 weeks later 2 of them can't remember being at the planning meeting but are on holiday at half term.  4 more do remember being at the meeting but have also now informed me they are on holiday.  Of all the girls at the planning meeting, only one now is able to come....Cog.

SNAP

And so endeth yet another day with another snapped patience band.  It heals over night, it gets a fresh start most days. You would have thought that across the years it would have flexed sufficiently to give infinite stretch, it seems not, it is not a muscle strengthened by use.

I'm going to quote old Baden-Powell again:

"Patience has more to do with the success than almost any other quality except honesty of purpose"

I am sadly found lacking, oh I start with good intentions every time, I feel the rise of the irritation, the bite of annoyance and my reasoning side tries to understand, tries to ask 'does this really matter'.  And then I hear the words extending from my mouth "I don't belieeeeeeeve it" - well actually, it's usually FFS but what's a few swear words amongst friends.

It seems that I have become Victor Meldrew, although part of me suspects I always was.

I relate so much better to this.

Than this.

But I hope, should I reach a fine old age, that like a fine wine, I may start to mature.

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Crunch

I like to run in sunglasses.  Tight mirrored glasses, it stops the glare and I feel good.  They look pretty stupid, but that's a look I achieve regularly and easily so I don't let it hold me back.

On the occasion of a run my glasses fell apart in my hands.  HWMBO said he would stick them back together.  This invoked a strop a toddler would have been in awe of, with me announcing that I did not work the hours I worked to wear stuck together sunnies and if I wanted a pair of sunnies I would buy a pair of sunnies. I flounced out of the house Miranda style.

Why do shops think I want to buy my autumn clothes in July, my winter shoes in August and assume I will grab a spare pair of sunglasses in bloody February.  Oh yes my friends, it would appear buying sunglasses in August is not the squint in the park it might seem.  But finally an overpriced pair of suitably stupid looking glasses were found and acquired.

I was happy.

The occassion of a run happened again, part way round my earphone felt strange, it hadn't been so sunny so I had pushed my glasses onto my head out of the way, maybe they had knocked my earphone, no my head felt strange.  I patted my head a few times just so any passing cars or walkers could be fully assured that the local nutter was out again.  Yup, the glasses were gone.

No stress, I can run back the way I came and look for them I thought, turning around ready to go again......


CRUNCH

Oh FFS.

Have you got ANY idea how hard it is to buy sun glasses in August around here?!

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Chasing Cows

Well mainly they are chasing me and I've had enough of the stress of it to be honest. Oh yes, rural living has it's stresses you know.

I was having a lovely run, in the sun, I decided to go an extra mile or 2 across some fields I've not been in for a while.  I avoid them mainly, the cows can be a bit of a pain but I was brave.

Wrong.

The damn things were having calves faster than rabbits do what rabbits do and there were at least 60 of them in the first field, right near the gate to the second field holding about another 60 and each half were keener than keen to get into each others field.  Two bulls were either side of the gate having some sort of bellowy stand off.

The little calves, wobbly on their legs, were curious and peeked at me, the older calves were delighted to come and check me out which upset their mums who started bellowing at me.

Excuse me for not taking photos as a straddled the style shouting GEEEEEEERCHAAAAA as loud as a I could with more cows than I could eat in a life time closer than I would ever want a sodding cow to be.  I decided the best thing to do would be to run for it.

Wrong.

They can run awfully fast when frightened by someone trying to make a run for it and they run at all angles.  I headed up a steep incline that was dreadfully thistly but less get-trodden-ony and watched them all bolt to the end of the field that I needed to be to get out.

Again, excuse me for not taking photos as I was thistle scratched and nettle stung to smithereens as I picked my way along the edge of the field, over a fence, through an unfootpathed field and over a gate to get around them.

So I was not best impressed on my most recent outing to have this set of curious cows that I had 'gercha'd on the way out of the village, blocking my exit on the way back.

I couldn't retreat as the cubs that had been up the wood on their meeting night were coming back across the field, I know those leaders, I was not going to show a scared Guider face.  So I bravely marched onto the cows and widened my arms and made noises and ...

...the damn things came at me.  Again, excuse me for not taking photos as I was surrounded by them. As I turned one way to scare some, some another way walked closer to me and just as I thought things couldn't get any worse some of COGS school friends arrived at the gate.

Now I have to be a 'do not show me up what ever you do' mum and a 'do not show a scared face to the scouts' Guider and to be quite frank I'd had a-bloody-nuff.  I GEEEEERCHA'd for my life and the damn things panicked and ran for it and luckily not in the direction of the cubs.

I'm staying out of cow fields for a while.

I'm failing in the photography stakes.  This little muntjack and I stood looking at each other for quite a while before I decided to take his picture and he decided he was camera shy.

Sometimes it's just better to stand and stare.

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The lifeblood that is tea

This week's gallery is 'drink'.

 

One of reasons I like the Senior Section camp is because you can do this:

 

Fish and Chips eaten in a pub garden with a pint of lager for the GIC.

 

Yes it was 'risk assessed'! We were the only people mad enough to sit in the garden on such a cold, snowy day and we had permission from the landlady but you couldn't do that with your Brownies on Pack Holiday, no sireeee, not without a complaint letter from a grumbly parent anyhoo.



But when that same cold weather means that the water in the kettle froze overnight and the gas in the can is also too cold to get a decent flame up....

















...and we don't have a super duper alley ooper stove like one of these to magic me up a kettle of hot water in seconds, then I am not a happy Tigger in the morning.

There is no getting away from the fact that I NEED a cup of tea to get me going, see me through, warm me up, help me relax, help me to think, solve a problem, fill some time, something to do when there is nothing to do, something to do when you just don't know what else could make things better, give me a second wind, wind me down before I go to bed, something comforting to hold, something social.....basically if I'm awake, I NEED tea.

Pack Holiday has a kettle that plugs in, this makes me happy.

If this camping lark is to continue could someone please send me a super dooper alley ooper bounce of a boiler that makes me tea pronto....

....oooh, and a Ranger to bring it to me.  Thank you muchly.

 

Or I will be resorting to the alternative form.....brandy decanted in the tea pot!

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Driving at the age of 200

Recently HWMBO, after an abstinence of at least 6 years, has managed to pick up a speeding ticket.  He has done well considering the miles he does on the road each year, the fact that he has a foot made of lead and once even managed to pick up 3 tickets in a 2 week holiday in Australia, 2 of which were in a double demerit period.

The British police are considerably more lenient than the Australian law enforcement officers.

Actually I'll bump a tangent here to tell you that I am convinced the first 6 weeks of Australian Police training is how to lose your sense of humour, common sense and be a total arsehole.  We went through a speed trap once as we were accelerating on the slip road to join the freeway.  The officer pulled us over on the slip road which left us about 10 yards to join the damn thing, with ticket in hand, when he'd finally finished lecturing us.  Whenever we have been approached by the Police in Australia, which is more often than in the UK would ever be due to random breathalysing, road stops etc, HWMBO always says to me 'shut up, do NOT say a word, don't even breathe out loud'.  Here, in the UK, you can successfully talk your way out of a red light hop and a rather dreadful road manoeuvre, both of which I put my sorry hands up to but the lovely, lovely police really don't like paper work if they can explain and educate.  The Australians just want to see you squirm and pay.

It is also noted that Australian Police won't even smile at a child in an airport to put them at ease, even though a very little COG was clearly frightened by the 6 of them marching in with guns for nothing other than show.  Whereas the British gun toting police at St Pancras say hello and will stand with tourists to have a photo taken.  As we returned from Perth into Birmingham on the trip that the Aussies had scared the heck out of COG, I collared the first armed policeman I saw at the airport and asked him to have a chat with her to chill her back out again.  He was totally lovely and after a smile, chat and a wink, she skipped back to me saying 'it's ok mum, they are nice here aren't they'.  The British Police seem to have after school classes in being nice to general Joe Public and extra tuition in patience with utter idiots otherwise known as me.

Anyhoo, as I was saying, the British pole-eeece are more lenient and have offered HWMBO another speeding course.  Brilliant news.  I did one, it was really informative, not at all condescending and taught driving skills for sticking to the speed limits.  That's a limit not a target!

So it's even better news that the police are giving HWMBO another 183 years to make sure he completes the course.  It's vital that he act immediately and book that course for the 28th Feb 2196.  Wouldn't want to not get a place.  Ah bless those programmers.

I wonder if it would stand up in court?!

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Why are parents so damned embarrassing?

So daughter and friend were booked into a Centre Parcs 90 minute cupcake decorating class.

If, as a parent of a toddler you think you get precious little time alone, wait until you have a teen and find out you get none unless you let them lie I'm bed all day and even then they will popup at precisely the wrong time. Sooooo 90 mins was ours, all ours.....or so we thought.

'Come back after an hour' said the master decorator who looked no older than many of my Rangers 'it's a small class, we may finish early'.  I gave her the full force of my 'for God's sake relieve me of these teens for the full time look' to no avail. But heyho we don't do tantric so we cycled back to the chalet to find the maid in the process of changing the sofa covers and not looking like she was going anywhere else fast.

Giving up on the idea of sex what else is there to do but loaf around and cause a nuisance.  I relate very well to teen culture.

It was (un)fortunate that the cupcake class was in a room with 2 glass walls. It was even more (un)fortunate that the master decorator had her back to the glass wall whilst COG and friend faced it.

It started with the simple wave and thumbs up but once you've had that first hit high you need more for the thrill.  A few 'face pressed against the glass gurns' weren't enough.  A shuffle past the class room.  A fully fledged running race back and we were ready to sand dance. HWMBO and I were a coordinated dream....

....at which point I realised Starbucks also has an open wall and we were being watched from both sides.

COG was mortified.

This is her best  'why can't you just behave or be like normal parents' look.  Perfect for this week's Gallery 'expressions'.

 

Well firstly I don't do normal, never have. Normal makes me feel caged. But my desire to be spotty car'd, all dancing in the supermarket, singing at the bus stop, talking on the tube blimey rebellious or what mortifies COG more and more every year. I've explained over and over that all parents are embarrassing and at least I give her good reason instead of just bog standard teen self consciousness but its still not cutting the mustard.

 

She really should have had me adopted.

 

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Marital Coercion

The whole Vicky Price and Chris Huhne affair has left me thinking a lot about marital coercion.  I don't think it has a place as it currently stands as a defence in court.  It being sexist and totally out of date.  But that doesn't mean that marital coercion of some form doesn't exist in most partnerships.

coercion
the act of compelling by force of authority

ok, maybe that is the wrong word then.

cartel
A coalition or cooperative arrangement between political parties to promote a mutual interest

how about:

collective 
Assembled into or viewed as a whole.
Of, relating to, characteristic of, or made by a number of people acting as a group: a collective decision.

Often in marriage we do things that we probably wouldn't rationally choose to do if we lived alone.  Just think of the films you have watched with your partner that you would never have done if you were in your Bridget Jones pants (what is the man equivalent?) slobbed out on the sofa alone.

 

We eat meals based on what the family will all eat together.  We ask about what plays the other might like to see or whether they like the blue cushions.  We constantly compromise. Usually about things that don't have life changing consequences.

 

So when faced with a dilemma that threatens the course of current life plans it seems natural that as a couple a compromise will be sort.  No matter how sensible, logical, intelligent or independent either half of the partnership may be, a natural course of thought would be 'am I selfish if I don't do what seems right for my family unit right now'.  Perhaps at that point Vicky Pryce's marriage wasn't quite down the pan, but perhaps it had wavered.  What if she felt that by not taking the speeding points she was giving him an excuse to leave her or simply to like her a little bit less. What if by taking the points she thought he might love her just a little bit more. 

 

There is no well educated, affluent, power women thinking to be had in the 'will this help hold my family together' moment.  I don't believe for one moment either that this is a female thing.  I can imagine there are many times when a man will compromise his independent, sensible thinking self for the sake of his family unit.

 

Perverting the course of justice is a serious crime and we must stand by our laws, obviously. We cannot pick and choose which we will follow.  Even though we feel thoroughly put out when caught speeding. We talk about 'cash cows', 'stealth tax' and being 'trapped' by them like it is an unfair thing and it is generally socially acceptable to hate the speed camera. 

 

What they did as a couple was wrong but I can understand how it can happen as a couple, how a "strong minded, strong willed women who has spent her life making important choices" could end up in this position. 

 

This leads me to also understand how the first jury ended up asking so many questions, I know they have been ridiculed but the question of marital coercion as it stands now does not seem straight forward.  And the difference between coerced in the dictionary sense and the coercion of being part of a marriage collective or cartel seems to me to be quite complicated.

 

I think theirs is a sad story, a bit of a mess really.  There is a lot to be said for walking away from a divorce with your held held high and your private dirty laundry still buried deeply in the bowels of the basket neither of you really wanted to gain custody of. 

 

Had he have ended his marriage with respect before moving onto bed sheets new, he may have still been sleeping in silk.  And if she had held the moral high ground, which if you read the emails she did not,  she too could have been enjoying a more comfortable night.

 

We share so much in a marriage, so many things we would never tell anyone else. Should never tell anyone else.  No matter how loud it is screaming in your head.

 

Coercion is a constant and subtle part of a partnership, it is hidden in compromise through love.  It can force out something it shouldn't whether through violence, threats, passive aggression or simply the desire to 'do what seems right for the partnership' at the time.  I think the judge missed, or was not allowed to take into account, that part entirely.

 

A bit of a mess really.

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It has to look like an accident

I may not have mentioned that I'm having a pretty torrid time of life at the moment.

I have changed jobs, it's a bit of a stress and to be quite frank at the moment I think I have made a bad decision.

COG is about to change schools, she will not be attending the same school as most of her friends and the one she has chosen is possibly not as good as theirs. To be quite frank I think we may have made a bad decision.

I seen to have spend quite a lot of time recently bag packing, raffling, sourcing, making, selling and generally working my butt off for fundraising a project in which I now have no personal vested interest.  I feel thoroughly taken for granted and to be quite  frank I think the day I said yes was a bad decision.

My marriage appears to be suffering under the stress of all the stress. 

And the Goldfish died today.

Sometimes things seem to get a bit difficult.

I got a letter last week saying the little girl I sponsor is missing in a flood.  It makes me feel bad that i feel so bad but I know that if all the world's problems were thrown onto a pile I would quickly grab my own back.  I know my troubles are probably very few. 

But sometimes it's not the size of them that make them so difficult to manage, it's the constant grinding down from each little thing.  It's the daily happy interactions that are important, they are the things that keep us going and carry us through the crappy bits and pieces.  Mine are missing and that's what my life is missing.

I often seem to stumble from failure to bad decision, tripping over a little pile of regret here and there.  But I can usually look around and know that my Valley of Vung is ok.  It's not anymore.

Do you ever feel trapped? Trapped by life, by schooling, by .......

I need a break from life, from family, from everything, just for a bit.  I have a month of on-call to get through then I'm off.  Somewhere.

Totally unrelated, this really tickles me.  Maybe all is not lost.

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The Melee Starts

Oh, Ok I don't actually mean melee at all but it feels like it right now.

Yet again, my life has turned true blue.  Just when I thought there was no more room to squeeze in another drop of Guiding, I was wrong.

Do you recall the story of the science teacher who fills a glass with golf balls, and then adds pebbles and then adds sand and finally pours in the coffee?   Well I've reached the coffee level now...stop...no more.

 The first planning meeting for the international trip I am doing in the summer happened.

We have to start planning.  I seem to be spending most of my evenings writing letters to people for help of some sort. 

But COG and a number of my Rangers are also fund raising for a completely different international trip. So this week I have spent 4 evenings either writing, meeting, baking or selling.

Busy, busy, busy....oh yes, someone decided Christmas has to bloody happen again this year so I have that to juggle into the mix that was already my sand filled cup........

 

please someone send me coffee.

 

Oh and if you want to buy advertising space, guest blog space, my soul, it's all for sale in the name of international trip fund raising....get in quick though because once these trips are over I am...I am....I am.....probably moving straight onto the next manic event....did someone just remind me I've got a weekend in London with the Brownies in the spring....

 

please send a jug of coffee.

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The Yorkshire Pudding Debate

One of the origins of Yorkshire Pudding was as a cheap course to fill up the hungry men before they made it to the expensive meat course. Whilst the price of meat is going through the roof again, we aren't quite at the premeat course arena but we are a split household.

HWMBO likes his Yorkshire 'PUDDING' yes pudding dear, pudding with his main course, to be filled with meat and potato and gravy. 

It should of course be eaten as a dessert with,  according to COG, honey.  Whereas, I am perfectly right in saying that pre bought Yorkshire puddings go best with Golden Syrup. 

I normally make my own and home cooked go best with chocolate spread melting into them.  But today Aunt Bessie sent me a sample of her best and golden syrup was the order of the day.

I find my home cooked are heavier and need to be eaten immediately as they come out of the oven.  These Aunt Bessie's hold up for longer and are considerably better quality than the ones I recall from years ago.  The batter market must have moved on.
 
Did you know the first ever Aunt Bessie’s Yorkshire Pudding was created for a Butlins holiday camp in 1974.  I would like to know more about this history but beyond the mini fact, I can't track down more, do you know anything...if you do please leave me a comment.

But what Aunt Bessie's, for all their history are still getting wrong, is the picture on the front of the pack...it is a Yorkshire pudding full of gravy....the world isn't listening to me.

Are you a sweet Yorkshire syrupy gal or a manly pudding with gravy eater?

Vote Here:

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Teenager chores win:win

Will you do the floors for me honey before x-factor, if you do it'll cover the £3 you  owe me from earlier.

I'd rather not, I'll pay you out of my pocket money

That seems like a reasonable discussion except I'd got the clean the floors as well as the other jobs I'd got planned.

'honey would you mind calling grandma to see if I can take that box up to her, I'd do it myself but I'm doing the floor'
'honey would you open the side gate and bring the plants through for me, I would do it but it might be dark when I've finished the floors'
'would you fetch the next load of washing down for me, I'd get it but I'm still mopping'

OH started to laugh, he could see exactly what was going on. She got rightly frustrated by him laughing.

I refused to tell her why until later. She fetched me her £3 and then told her she'd still done the chores but had paid me £3 for the privilege.

'no worries, I'm happy with that, I just didn't want to do the floor, would you like me to come to a grandmas with you'

Win:Win

I wonder how much longer all this happy family can last, surely the teenage hormones must kick in soon. Oh hang on, the penny has just dropped. I'll be taking odds on what she is after

1) restart riding lessons 12:1
2) new DS.                     7:1
3) highlights.                   3:1
4) iPad for Xmas.             Evens

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The Picasso Euphemism

"Do you like art?" He said
"Yes I do"  thinking I enjoy a walk around a gallery, and even my blogger profile says 'likes art'
"Do you like photography?"
"Yes, definitely" thinking I take photos all the time
"I've got some books you would love to borrow"
"Fantastic" thinking, ooooh God, this is going to end in disaster
"You can look at my Picassos too"
Thinking: oh ecky thump

A few days later at Tennis drop off:

"Come on then, come and get those books"
"What now? At your house?!"
"Well how else can you look at my Picassos?"
I was wondering whether to text friend so the police will at least have a lead should I fail to return!

I have a problem with retaining information, remembering names and facts. It doesn't worry me too much. I find the goldfish pleasure of relearning over and over quite pleasant.

"And this one is by......" he says again 

I'm hearing white noise

"You have heard of .....haven't you?"
"Probably!"
"I thought you said you liked art"
"I do"

But he looked disappointed. I hadn't mislead him. I hadn't lied. He had heard a yes and padded it out himself but I felt really mean, I had disappointed him. In fact I felt totally inadequate, uneducated and pretty useless.

Still he appears not to have given up. I borrowed the books for a respectful amount of time. Keeping them well wrapped for safety and I am invited to attend a number of gallery openings with him.

He has obviously decided to try to educate me. Ahhh bless. I give him until Christmas to realise its a dead loss!

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