Voyages

Twas the week before Christmas...

2011-12-17T08:14:00.002Z

Okay, nothing from me in 18 months and then two posts in as many days! I was going to try and do a bit of a catch up but actually I don't wish to be responsible for any readers falling into a catatonic state so suffice to say life has gone on, the house is still a tip, the diet needs re-starting and I'm back on anti-depressants. Plus ca change and all that. Mind you, one thing that has changed, and for the better I think, is my photography. I really started to explore it more and get into it and although I have vast amounts still to learn, I'm loving the whole process, so much so that in August I went back to college and I'm now studying for an HNC in Photography. We no longer have a dining room as I've taken it over as a study so that I have somewhere quiet to work (or blog!) and any spare cash going seems to find its way into a Jessops shopping basket.

So, what to do with this blog. Well, one thing's for sure, the diet element of it needs to be re-addressed. It's mortifying to read back through this and see that in the last year alone I have ballooned back up to where I was in 2008. I've been busy blaming my mother's house move and the stress involved in that (and yes, it was very stressful) but she will have been sort-of-happily ensconced in her new house for a year this time next week and it doesn't seem reasonable to keep blaming something that happened a year ago for what I'm insisting on eating and drinking now. I do think that my eating and drinking are directly related to how I'm feeling though and mum's house move coincided with my annual winter blues last year. I don't think they ever really went away and a couple of months ago the doctor put me back on pills for depression. I was adamant that he was wrong and after a few weeks didn't go back to see him. I'm feeling worse again now and so I think it may be time to face facts and accept that actually yes, my head isn't in a good place and I need some help. Perhaps if I can do that I may be able to address the food issues better.

So yes, this can be a diet blog again. But I'd like it to be more than that. I think my photography is improving all the time so perhaps I'll share some of that here. And as a family we're all having adventures that I'd like to keep recording. It was rather wonderful to read back through some of these posts here and recall the things that prompted them. There's nothing to record the last 18 months and that's a shame because it hasn't all been doom and gloom, so my pre-New Year's Resolution is to do a much better blogging job - diet/head/photos/adventures and possibly some more recipes. A bit of a mish mash. Just like me then!

Mmmm - I remember this!

2011-12-16T11:40:00.002Z

Well, this is embarrassing. It is so long since I added anything to this blog that I almost forgot I had it, and I certainly forgot the password. Still, it's a bit like riding a bike, surely? Once you get back into it you feel like you were never away. Or some other mixed metaphor.

Actually, things have moved on a lot since I last wrote here - probably more than I can cover in one short post, especially as I'm full of cold and had just determined to return to bed with the electric blanket firmly switched to maximum toastiness and kindle at the ready. Suffice to say, there's a lot of catching up to do and I have my new friends at A Kitten Called Betty to thank for giving me a shove back towards blogland. Here's hoping something positive comes of it!

2010-06-08T23:25:00.001+01:00

Woo hoo! Now I really have no excuse for not keeping up to date with my blog...The Man I married was one of those keen types to be found outside the Apple Store at O'Dark-Thirty on the day the iPad made it to these shores. So yes, this is my first post using a blogger app on an iPad. Just trying to think how far back in time we'd have to go for that sentence to make no sense to anyone whatsoever!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Unchartered Territory

2010-05-01T07:53:00.002+01:00

I made one of those spur of the moment decisions the other day and signed up to join the newly opened Curves gym in town.

I did once join a gym. It was staffed by muscular blokes in too-tight t-shirts and surprisingly small feet. The gentleman who showed me how to use the equipment kept checking himself out in the mirror. Given that I was doing my level best to avoid checking myself out in the mirror at that point, it was all a bit disconcerting. Perhaps I was intended to check him out instead? He'd have liked that. But for all his well-defined pecs he had a problem with nasal hair that couldn't be overlooked.

I tried to give them the benefit of the doubt on three separate occasions before coming to the conclusion that it just wasn't my thang. I wallowed in guilt for a while at the money wasted and that's when I bought the cheap exercise bike that has been so instrumental to my weight loss campaign these last few months. (Oh yes. The exercise bike has been an integral part of the furniture for much longer than I've actually been using it. At one point, The Man I Married suggested that we just put it in the attic, but in much the same way as everything looks somewhat strange once you remove the Christmas decorations, the room looked bare without its brooding presence in the corner.)

So, Curves. I know someone who has used this gym before although I have to be honest I have no idea if she's still using it, but it was her description of a women-only environment that tugged at me. A lack of narcissistic, body-building, disproportionately-footed neanderthals in need of a nose trim had to be appealing!

On the day I signed up it was being staffed by Lynne. Her nose looked just fine. She explained the way that Curves was run and showed me some of the equipment. Then she weighed me, measured me, made me hold a fat monitor and asked a whole bunch of rather personal questions. The net result of all this is that inspite of shifting four stone of extra me I'm still carrying too much fat. Not by much admittedly, but we need more muscle! I agreed to come back the next day for my first full session and the start of my new adventure - not to get thinner, but to become fitter.

When Lynne explained the Curves circuit to me, I had decided that perhaps this was going to be a bit easy. Thirty seconds on each machine and then move on to the next one? Thirty seconds is nothing. How pathetic would you have to be if you couldn't manage thirty seconds? Even the prospect of doing the circuit three times didn't seem that daunting.

We started. Don't ask me what these machines are all called. There's a website that probably explains it. I started with an arm pusher thing. You use the first six machines in the circle to warm up and every so often you're asked to check your pulse rate. I was aiming to maintain mine, according to their chart on the wall, between 20 and 24 over a ten second period. I started out with a resting pulse of 10. After the warm up (arm pushing, leg kicks, stomach yanking, arm-waving, leg-stretching, can-can) this had risen to 19. She decided I wasn't working hard enough and encouraged me to push myself round the rest of the circuit (squats, calf-raises, arm-pumping, jogging on the spot, something that looked like milking a cow, more squats, I don't even remember the half of it now) I was pumping away at 24, sweating like a very hot person and thinking that I'd pay money not to have to do this again.

You use the last six machines to cool down again and then you head for the stretching station. Blessed relief at last! And then that was it. I'd done it. I hadn't felt like cringing, I hadn't fainted, I had actually worked bloody hard and almost, almost enjoyed it in a masochistic manner. At least, I'm resolved to return on Monday and do it all again so it can't have been that bad!

Long Haul

2010-04-29T07:55:00.009+01:00

Sometimes it's not the journey, it's the getting there.

Mother apparently needs a new coat. And a "nice top". So, with a familiar sense of fear and loathing I gave her some money for her birthday and promised to take her shopping with me yesterday. We've done this once or twice before and it's fair to say that it is not an experience to relish. I just kept focusing on the fact that it couldn't go on forever. It had to end at some point.

I have heard tell that some people enjoy Mother-Daughter, girly type shopping expeditions. Some mothers actually like the company of their daughters and look on it as an excuse to treat their offspring with some small frippery or other, or indulge in a sneaky lunchtime glass of wine, or perhaps a cake. That's not us. Oh no.

Mother hadn't spent the money that I gave her for Christmas. Lest anyone think I lack imagination in the gift department I should explain that Mother isn't the easiest person to buy for. Sometimes on forums you see posts saying "What can I buy my 65 year old father for his birthday? He likes photography, travel, music and film, going out for dinner and reading magazines." And I think "If only."

Mother is 71, plays bridge (competitive, not social) and wallows in widowhood. She doesn't wear perfume, or makeup beyond a dab of Rimmel lipstick. She doesn't have her ears pierced, wear necklaces, bangles or rings apart from her wedding ring. She loathes the idea of a massage, has never shaved her legs, doesn't paint her nails. Although she worries constantly about the fact that she has lost weight since my Dear Departed Dad did his departing, she doesn't really appreciate the joy to be found in a box of chocolates, preferring instead to ration them out. She eats chocolates as if they were worming tablets - a necessary evil.

She hates travelling anywhere at all, is terrified of driving, panics on trains. Her new bionic hips mean that walking isn't much of an option either. She doesn't like to go to the cinema. She doesn't own a DVD player and wouldn't want one anyway. She only listens to music if it happens to be playing on Radio 4. She reads, but only other people's cast-offs. The very idea of going into a bookshop and browsing fills her with contempt.

So, no toiletries, no food, no music, no books, no films. No weekend breaks, no magazine subscriptions, no jewellery, no spa days. No meals out, no meals in. Cold hard cash on the other hand...

Mother's idea of a shopping day out is to march (or in her case hobble) straight into Marks and Sparks and then go home. The nearest large shopping centre to my house is only a forty minute drive away but yesterday it felt like a very long slog.

We parked close to the entrance and walked directly into the midst of their Classic Range. This is the section designed pretty much with my mother in mind; sensible twin sets, not so much trousers as crease-resistant slacks, raincoats. Within two minutes she had dismissed it all as being "fuddy duddy", with the one exception of a rather pretty blouse that they only had in my size. I did ask the assistant if they had any more but was told it was the last one. I secretively picked it up.

There was a sale rail ahead. Now this is possibly the one uniting factor between us: we do both love a bargain. I quickly snapped up a pink coat and a pair of shoes. Mother found precisely nothing. We ventured to full price items in Per Una, Limited Collection, Portfolio and Autograph. Nothing doing. And the sense of deja vu was immediate and immense. Every time I take her shopping it's the same.

"I need a new jacket. And a nice top. That's not a jacket it's a coat. That's not long enough. Too long. I don't like double breasted. The buttons are dull. It's too tight across the shoulders. It's baggy. I need a higher neckline than this. Not a polo neck. That would be nice if it were green and half the price. Not that kind of green. Too old. Too young. It's a bit casual. I don't want anything that smart. They don't design their clothes with me in mind. Too busy. A bit of pattern would perk it up. Will it wash? I hate linen. I don't like manmade fibres. Cotton is too lightweight. It's not really my style. It's a bit plain. That looks like what I'm wearing. I have four like that already and I never wear them. It's all too young. I'm not being too fussy am I?"

I wouldn't mind this monologue so much if it weren't for the tone in which it is delivered. I fully agree that sometimes it's hard to find just what you're looking for, and there's no point buying something for the sake of it. But I actually enjoy the process of hunting down an elusive item and although it can sometimes be a little frustrating if you have a particular style or colour in mind but can't find it, there is at least the opportunity to ruffle through rails of pretty things and pleasure to be had from the whole shopping experience whether you buy or not. But Mother dispenses her condemnation of the Marks and Spencer Spring/Summer stock in a voice dripping with accusation and I'm left in no shadow of a doubt that it's somehow my fault.

We give up on the idea of Mother parting with any of my hard-earned cash and elect instead for lunch. Only Mother, who was brought up in the aftermath of WW2 doesn't like to be extravagant with lunch. "We'll share a sandwich. I'm not very hungry." She might not have been, but having missed breakfast I was ravenous and one cup of coffee and half an egg and cress wasn't really cutting it to my mind. No wonder she can't put weight on. However, I indulged her parsimony on my behalf (yes, this was supposed to be her birthday lunch so I was paying. I dread to think what we'd have eaten if she'd been flashing the cash) and then drove home. Forty minutes. You wouldn't believe how long that can be.

London, Paris, New York. Part 2.

2010-04-27T14:04:00.008+01:00

Last Christmas, I hit upon the brilliant idea of giving The Man I Married tickets to a London Show for Christmas. I even sorted out flights, hotel accommodation and a dinner reservation. This year, we decided to do it again, only we thought we'd go one better and add in a special Wedding Anniversary gift of a trip to Paris too.

After consulting with friends, I sorted childcare out and booked tickets to see Priscilla Queen of the Desert (The Musical). The Man I Married booked hotel accommodation in London and flights to, and a hotel in, Paris. I booked us a table at our favourite Parisien restaurant. We had ongoing discussions as to which Gordon Ramsay establishment we would choose for lunch in London but apart from that we were all set for a weekend of utter fabulousness.

Disaster threatened when British Airways cabin crew started making noises about strikes. The Man I Married worried. He does that sometimes. It irritates me. "Oh, it'll be fine!" I said. Nonetheless he made alternative arrangements just in case. He booked a flight from Glasgow to London with EasyJet instead of BA. And he booked a fully flexible ticket on the Eurostar. He reserved a room at an hotel near St. Pancras in case we ended up not flying to France. Secretly I scoffed at all this caution and anal retentive planning activity but let him get on with it. He had folders with documents and tickets and reservations and was as happy as a happy boy. We had flights with two different airlines, hotel reservations with three different hotels, train tickets and theatre tickets. Still hadn't picked out a lunch venue.

Time rolled on as it tends to do and it began to look as if all the extra planning wouldn't be needed afterall. BA had gone fairly quiet and no noise had been made by the cabin crew with regard to further strike action. The Man I Married started to relax a bit and I tried not to look too smug.

You know what happened next. Big bangs in Iceland as Eyjafjallajokull chucked a shedload of volcanic ash into the sky and while that rained back down to earth chaos reigned in European airports as flights were immediately shelved and travellers the world over were just, well, stuck.

But not us. No. We were still on for Paris. I was going around calling it Serendipity but the fact is that The Man I Married had pulled an absolute coup! We would have to drive to London, and lunch from Gordon Ramsay had been swapped for lunch from Simply M&S on the M1 but we there was still going to be fabulousness in our lives.

The drive down to London was dull. That's the way I like it. You don't want too much excitement from your motorway driving, and someone on the other side had obviously had far too much of it as we drove past what must surely have been a fatal accident. I offered up a silent prayer that perhaps someone had survived, and that we would be safer and luckier than they had been. You don't want to take these things for granted.

Our London hotel was a step up from the Premier Inn by anyone's standards. They had a bellhop to take our bags to the room and while I checked us in I worried about how much to tip him. Sometimes it's just easier to do things yourself! We had room service for dinner before I snaffled the hotel's bubble bath and had a long leisurely soak in someone else's hot water ahead of the theatre.

We had decided to get all dolled up for the show. It seemed appropriate somehow and I felt my daft high heeled pink sandals and bright pink ruffled dress were the perfect get up to see a bunch of drag queens. I'm hoping that I didn't look like a drag queen, although actually, many of them do a much better job with their make up than I could ever hope to achieve.

The show was pure joy. Anyone wading through all this waffle that hasn't yet seen it should make it a top priority. It was joyous and I loved every minute of it.

Still high from the antics of Felicia, Mitzi and Bernadette, we set out the next day for Paris. The train ride is much more fun than being on a plane. It doesn't make me feel sick and dizzy with fear for a start and there's no need to calm my nerves with gin. And besides, when you disembark from a plane you still have to faff around luggage carousels and take a train to the city. With Eurostar you get off the train and you are there - right at Gare du Nord, right in the thick of things, no messing around. I love it!

I couldn't decide if it was because of the lack of planes in the sky or if rich people these days also prefer to travel by train, but there was a distinct odour of money in our carriage that day. I almost gasped out loud as I realised that the woman across the aisle from me had a weekend bag by Louis Vuitton. And a large handbag by Chanel. The distinctive Gucci logo was on the side of her sunglasses. LV provided the scarf that she casually knotted round her fingers. I vaguely recognised the enamel bangle round her wrist and I was sure I'd seen those sandals in a glossy magazine last month. I really did gasp though at the Versace necklace dripping into her non-fake-baked, surgically enhanced cleavage. I noticed that she took it off and slipped it into her handbag before leaving the safety of the train. How many labels could one woman wear at once? Quite a few by the looks of it!

We had originally booked ourselves into the french equivalent of good ol' Premier Inn. By some stroke of luck, The Man I Married remembered that he had amassed a huge number of "points' with Hilton hotels, and consequently we upgraded ourselves to the Hilton Arc De Triomphe. Oh man. This was luxury indeed. I wasn't sure that my M&S jacket and Boden handbag were up to the job. There was yet more Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Fendi and Prada in evidence here and it was hard not to feel a bit of a fraud! (This place was so posh that the "bell boy" took our bags up to our room without us and so the un-nerving question of how much to tip was neatly avoided completely!) However, it was still basically just a hotel room, even if they did turn down the bed and leave you chocolates on your pillow. We didn't do battle with striking cabin crew and Icelandic ash just to look at four (posh) walls. Oh no.

Paris was everything it should be. The sun shined warmly for us during our stay and as always, it felt like being back at home again. We walked everywhere, with frequent stops at cafes that appealed, for wine, water, coffee, beer, sometimes even food. Our favourite Parisien restaurant did not disappoint and we had a wonderful meal - goats cheese pressed with roasted vegetables followed by carpaccio of beef for me, thick black coffee and dark bitter chocolate to finish, while The Man I Married indulged himself with Roquefort and steak and finished off with the most sublime Creme Brulee. I only know this because there was one little bit that didn't look quite good enough and I was considerate enough to save him from eating it. Even that defective bit was heavenly!

We're home again now and I'm utterly grateful to my very dear friend for having The Offspring while we went on our super-luxe travels. I hope they behaved well enough that she'll do it again some day! I should just about have all the laundry taken care of before it's time to set off again. This time I'm leaving all my crew behind as I head for the bright lights of Edinburgh for a Hen Weekend. I'm part dreading it and part looking forward to the adventure. If nothing else, it will give me something to write about!

London, Paris, New York. Part 1.

2010-04-27T09:58:00.008+01:00

Okay, so not New York. Very much the old York. (Old, original and best? Maybe not.) And not in that order either. And actually, it was Harrogate with a day trip or two to York followed by London and then Paris. But you get the gist. I'm living the life of an international popstar. Or jet setter. Or tourist, depending on how you like to view these things.

Traditionally in our household, or so it seems, the company that employs The Man I Married, likes to send him off on long business trips right around about the school holidays. It's the reason we bought a tent, so that I could escape with his offspring and relieve the tension felt at being left behind while the other local offspring get to go off on fun family holidays. This year, I extracted two promises from him. 1. He would be available for at least SOME of the long Easter break this year. 2. This year, he's not to abandon me sans voiture in the depths of Normandy (not once, but twice) in the middle of our main summer break. He kept the first. I'll no doubt report back on the second at a later date.

So, being a complete family unit for the second week of the Easter Break, we figured we'd take advantage and organise a little trip away. Mother is incapacitated after her second hip operation, so there was no danger of her coming with us and it felt safe to venture back to Yorkshire. Just the five of us. Bliss.

If I haven't mentioned this before, since Dad died almost five years ago, I can't tell her I'm going anywhere without her wanting to cadge a lift too. I've starting lying about where we're going in the hope that she doesn't know anyone in (for instance) Stoke and won't nag endlessly about how helpless she is and how I'm her only means of travel and she never gets out. (We don't have trains in Scotland you see. Or at least, not ones that Mother is willing to travel on.) I should add that The Man I Married has regularly offered to drive her to her sister's house, or even to drive her halfway while my brother meets her and takes her the rest of the way. This is "too much" and she "couldn't" ask us to do that. But encroaching on every other trip we make is okay apparently. And I do sometimes wonder how it can be that a woman who "never gets out" is never available to do any babysitting because she's "out" or "away" that day! Still. This wasn't meant to turn into a "Mother Rant". It's amazing how easy it is to do that though.

So. York. Okay, Harrogate. (I have relatives in Harrogate. Mother would have wanted to come down with us if we'd been going to Harrogate. Even if it meant amputating her leg for the duration of the journey. York is sufficiently far away from Harrogate to make it "not very convenient" as a drop-off point. So for Mother Purposes, we went to York. Even though it was really Harrogate. We felt so guilty that we did make two day trips to York though. Just so the kids wouldn't give the game away. Oh the tangled web....

Travelling four hundred odd miles in a car with three children is always an interesting experience. It doesn't matter how many times you tell them to go to the loo before you set off, you can guarantee that one of them will be "desperate" within an hour of leaving the house. The other two won't want to go and there you have your first fight of the trip.

Kid at the Bottom of the Heap always wants someone to stand outside her toilet cubicle because she's afraid of being locked in. I don't mind doing it, but on this particular occasion I was also pretty desperate (three double espressos before hitting the carseat is not a good plan. I really should know that by now) and so I asked Kid In The Middle to do Door Guarding Duty for me. I might have asked her to lick the floor clean from the expression on her face. "Someone might....seeeeeeeeee me!" So? Oh! Realisation dawned. She's ten and a half years old and we've hit that pre-pubescent phase where everything and anything has the potential to cause huge, massive, overwhelming, all-encompassing and utterly unfounded embarrassment. I was tempted to burst into a song and dance routine and then instantly remembered my Dear Departed Dad doing just that to me and that killed the impulse dead as a dead thing. Oh God. It might have been more than three decades ago but I can still feel that crippling anxiety that I was going to be embarrassed. And worse, blush. Nope. No song and dance routine from me then.

Back on the road, fully refreshed with more diuretics and a vague sense of having been completely ripped off in the sandwich department, we come to the sticky issue of in-car entertainment. When I was a kid this consisted of little more than a few rounds of Pub Cricket and Eye Spy until Mother got sick of it and made us recite our Times Tables instead. Ah, the memories.

These days of course, we all zoom down three lane motorways (when they're not clogged up like a furry artery) and there isn't exactly a plethora of pub signs over which to argue.

(For those who have never had the pleasure, pub cricket works by being the first to spot pub signs and work out how many points each is worth. You could earn points for heads (1), arms (2) and legs (3) So, The Three Lions would have 12 legs and three heads for a total of 39 points. No limb points available for the King's Head. Unless the executioner was depicted in which case you could claim for arms, legs and another head! Four points for The King's Arms, but only after much arguing over the definition of arms. If the King's Arms depicted critters you substituted the four points for however many (for example) lions rampant and their associated limbs that you could see. Unless your opponent was particularly dumb in which case you could claim for the arms as well. Sorry Brother of Mine. The Coach and Horses might provide as few as twelve points if no driver is portrayed on the pub sign, or as many as you like if you could persuade your fellow travellers than in fact there had been eight horses a driver and a crow depicted. Discussions as to whether wings counted as limbs would take you to the next pub. It wasn't much, and it was still maths, but it was better than endless recitation of tables.)

My children, theoretically at least, fare much better. We have ipods, dvd players, fold down tables with cup holders. It's just like being at home only, cosier. A tiny part of me wonders if they'll look back on their childhood travels with any fondness at all, given that they spend most of the travelling part glued to various bits of electronic gadgetry. But I'm not about to launch into a soliloquy about the "good old days". I'd have given my eye teeth for a Nintendo DSi at their age instead of trying to play noughts and crosses with my cheating brother on a napkin that kept ripping as we tried to write on it. No, my only grievance with all this portable gameware and viewing pleasure is that if I'm not the one driving the car, then I'm the one left to sort out the chargers. This means wires and plugs all tangled in a bag and snaking around my person from cigarette charger to the back seat. It's almost worse than dealing with mismatched coathangers.

One of the great inventions of the last couple of decades was the Premier Inn. My children don't know how lucky they are. Unless you're about my age or older, you might never have had the pleasure of a good old fashioned B&B. Peeling wallpaper, sinks that rattled when you turned the tap. The tap which looked like it might come adrift at any moment. In the shared bathroom. That strange smell which I think was probably a combination of cigarette smoke, burnt bacon, old teapots, newspapers and Zoflora. With a bit of wet dog thrown in for good measure. Swirly orange carpets, badly executed floral still life paintings, usually done by the landlady herself, or worse, portraits of the wet dog. Mismatched tablecloths, plastic carnations in little glasses decorated with Spanish-looking flowers and the immortal word "Southend!", inspite of being in Essex. It was as though most of them were rehearsing for being retirement homes.

Say what you like about the purple place, but at least you know what you're going to get: a clean room with a clean bathroom and an all you can eat breakfast. And no surprises. Although the one we stayed in did have a lingering smell of lavender which is what reminded me so strongly of my own childhood adventures!

However we didn't sit in a car for the better part of five and half hours just to stare at the four recently painted walls of our Premier Inn. And given that the framed print on the wall of this room was identical to the framed print on the wall of the last P.I. we'd stayed at, the artwork wasn't really much of an inspiration either.

We had planned to take the children to see Old Mother Shipton's Cave on arrival. But the cold sharp wind that sprang out of nowhere didn't make it an appealing prospect to us much less hardy adults so we opted for The York Dungeons instead. Even if it turned out to be overpriced, overrated and over the top it had the advantage of being indoors. Once we'd finished queuing /freezing our buns off outside that is. Still, we were "entertained" by a medieval looking chap with bad teeth and acne while we waited. Apparently his name was Kevin, he was from Merseyside and was still getting over the shock that York wasn't as posh as he'd been told.

Inside, after nearly fainting at the cost of a family ticket plus one child (not sure which child was considered the "extra" - Kid The Eldest for being the closest to an adult, or Kid at the Bottom of the Heap for being an afterthought?) we began our adventures by having our photographs taken. Mmmm. Another means of extracting cash from the hapless tourist. At this point, Kid at the Bottom of the Heap decided she was scared. Not just a bit scared, but pant-wettingly terrified. We bought the picture at the end of the tour simply to see just how miserable one child on a fun day out could look. She proceeded to howl and scream and cry her way through the first two thirds of the tour. Only when the torturer locked up The Man I Married and threatened to remove his genitals with a rather gruesome slicing machine did she begin to cheer up. Not sure if I should read anything into this or not.

In the end, we all came out smiling. The Dungeons had been fun, and there'd been just enough of a smattering of educational value to make us feel just a leetle bit worthy. Oh yes. We entertain and educate all at the same time in this house. After terrifying them of course.

Day two and Mother Shipton was going to have wait a bit longer. The Offspring were bitterly disappointed as for some reason this had become the most anticipated part of our trip. However, more indoor delights awaited at the York National Railway Museum. This is one of my favourite places. Not because I like trains all that much, but there is something fascinating about the degree of engineering capability from so far back. Technology these days is lost on me for the most part - it's all chips and circuit boards that you can't see. But with engines and shunts and hydraulics and nuts and bolts you can see which bit does what job and it all fits together and works. And some of it is quite beautiful to look at too. Amazingly intricate shapes wrought from great lumps of metal. This was lost on the Offspring who just turned grumpy. Well, not Kid The Eldest. He's a bit of a train nut and was in 7th Heaven, as was the Man I Married. But Kid In The Middle and Kid at the Bottom of The Heap looked about as happy as the condemned man in the Dungeon. Until they realised that there was a Helter Skelter. And a miniature railiway and a simulator. One ride on a virtual roller coaster and suddenly we were having fun again.

We did make it to Mother Shipton and her cave. And inspite of being worried that all the build-up would lead to an inevitable anti-climax, my kids loved it. Basically, a walk through the woods alongside the river at Knaresborough, there shouldn't have been all that much to recommend it. But the path leads to a natural waterfall which contains so much calcium carbonate that anything left in the water turns to "stone". This phenomenon has been in existence for years and years - it's effectively a stalactite that is growing in front of your eyes. Objects placed under the solidified "wall" under the running water become calcified over a three month period. You can see where someone left a hat over a hundred years ago and all that is left is a lump in the wall.

And that was really it. There was a quiz to do, a wishing well and a statue of Old Mother Shipton in her cave but it evidently caught their imagination because it was the most talked-about activity of our Easter Break - more so than the simulator at the Railway Museum, more so than any of the special effects in the Dungeons. The best bit for all of them was a walk in the woods and a ten pence wish in a rock pool. Perhaps I should teach them Pub Cricket afterall.

Light - Keeping The Tunnel Bright All the Way

2010-04-27T07:52:00.002+01:00

At the same point every year for as long as I can remember, I start to feel that heavy black oppressive feeling that means a bout of depression is heading my way. It comes with the approach of the clock change in autumn and the knowledge that the night is going to begin encroaching on my day.

Historically, I have always tried to push back against the bleakness by focusing heavily on Christmas because there's nothing better than keeping so busy you can't think for putting off the inevitable. And the inevitable usually hits me smack in the face on January 3rd as all festivities of Christmas and New Year fade away with the last noise of the last cracker and the falling of the last champagne cork. Two days to get the house back in order and then...nothing.

January and February offer up little better than yet more dark nights with a biting wind and lashings of mean rain to add insult to injury. The depression that I've been battling with for months usually finds me here, at my lowest ebb, least able to deal with it.

The year before last, it dawned on me that this approach (essentially one of complete denial) wasn't working very well. I don't know why it took so long to figure out - the patterns have been the same for the last decade at least. With my new found insight I decided that the answer must be to put off the inevitable even further. If I just filled January and February with fun things to do that involved lots of planning then I'd stay too busy to be depressed and surely by March I'd have got over my seasonal slump and be ready to face the world again. Right?

Sort of. Only now I was knackered and although I'd avoided a full-scale bout of depression there was a low-grade sense of anti-climax that prevented me from feeling truly positive about anything at all. Evidently this was going to need more thought, and it was after reading (on the internet of course) that I decided to tackle things from the other end this previous year. I bought myself a SAD light, and as the days shortened I used it daily. Within a week I could already feel the dark clouds that had been rumbling in the distance start to fade. They hadn't quite disappeared completely but for the first time ever I felt confident that they would.

For the first time in a long time I felt I could start planning Christmas with enjoyment in mind and not just as a displacement activity. And although I had organised a few fun things to do as a family during January and February, it was just that - fun things to do, not a desperate attempt to fill the days. We went to the pantomime just before the kids went back to school in January. I joined friends in Edinburgh to see Scotland play (well, lose to) France in the Six Nations Rugby tournament in February. The kids had sleepovers with friends and I went to a candle party and spent far too much money. March was quiet - school and church events notwithstanding but it felt calm as opposed to disappointing.

I haven't turned my light on in the mornings now for several weeks - I haven't felt the need. It wasn't a conscious decision - it just happened naturally. I guess I'll naturally know when I need it again. In the mean time it's just another thing to dust!

Top Shopping! And a change of focus?

2010-04-09T08:07:00.004+01:00

A friend mentioned that she'd been reading here, and that, coupled with something else I'd said to her, made her realise that I'd lost four stone. That fact had eluded me too. Mainly because I'd been denying that I'd ever been that heavy at all, and was really only counting down in my head from about thirteen stone. But losing that much is something of an achievement and I think I can take a few moments out of my hectic schedule to feel pretty damned pleased with myself!

But now that I'm done beaming, I find myself staring at a couple of problems. Not awful problems. Lots of people would be pleased to have such problems. Perhaps I should call them "issues" instead. Everyone has issues!

Losing four stone is great. I've chucked out all my size 18 to 20 stretchy waistbands and I'm now in a place where I can go into normal shops, even trendy shops, and be fairly sure that they'll sell things that will fit. This has been something of a revelation. For so long now my wardrobe has consisted of a vast swathe of George at Asda.

At first I argued that it was because it was convenient to shop for clothes at the same time as bagging the bread, milk and a Sunday joint, but gradually I had to admit that it was a kind of comfort blanket. I could shove something in the trolley and put off finding out if it looked hideous or not until I was safely at home in my bedroom. With the curtains drawn. And the staff didn't look at me as though I didn't belong; they were all shapes and sizes safely hidden behind a ghastly green nylon uniform and had no reason to look askance at me. Topshop was positively terrifying in comparison and so I stopped going there. Or anywhere else really.

So, it has been having great fun in the last few weeks replenishing my wardrobe by actually going out to shops. Clothes shops. Amazingly, no alarms sounded off as I entered; no security guard insisted on escorting me back out for the crime of having been around too long, or for having too much cellulite. Of course, most of the sales assistants look like they should still be in full time education and a great deal of what passes for fashion out there can only be worn by the sort of woman who hasn't hit puberty yet but so it ever was. No, this is not the "issue".

The issue is, or at least, one of the issues is, that I don't know what suits me any more. My shape has changed so completely since the days when I last really enjoyed clothes and shopping. My confidence has been hit so many times it's practically liquid so now I need to know what "suits" because I no longer have that "chutzpah" that allowed me to wear ridiculous things in my youth with panache so that even things that didn't look good still somehow worked as a statement.

I have tried on literally hundreds of garments over the last few weeks and while it has been huge fun in some respects, it has also been quite frustrating. When I was young and skinny all over with no boobs, no waist and no hips, I had a pretty good idea of how something would look on me just by holding up the hanger. When I was at my largest, what it looked like wasn't so much of an issue, so long as it covered everything. But now, well now I have this new shape and I'm not quite sure how to dress it sometimes. I hate to say it but I could do with Gok!

I have boobs now for a start, but because my tummy area has diminished they look like a separate part instead of being a big homogenous lump that started under the chin and ended around the knees somewhere. But I still don't think I really go in at the waist that much (and my "waist" seems to be much higher up my body than on other people). Does this make me a pear shape? I'd have laughed at that idea when I was younger. But I carry most of my weight around my tum. I think. You see? I have no clue! I'd always assumed that I was an apple but now I really do not know.

So the shopping has been a bit hit or miss. I'd pick things up and think they'd look good only to gasp in horror. Which means I've probably ignored some things that might have looked great! All in all though, I'm pleased with this new wardrobe. It has items from a variety of sources (yes, even Topshop, that supposedly hallowed ground for the uber-cool youf of today) and covers every day scruffs to smart casual, dressy and even quite posh things. Which brings me to issue two. How much more weight to lose, given that I've just splashed out vast sums of cash on things that fit me now?!

You see, I've been here before. And last time, my competitive streak got the better of me and I just kept on dieting and kept on losing weight until I was contemplating whether or not to go down to size 6 jeans or not. And I was as pleased as punch, because I'd beaten my target by a lot and was continuing to beat it on a daily basis. Only I hadn't realised how dreadful I looked at that weight - really, really ill. I don't want to go there again.

Could it be that I'm finally reaching some sort of acceptance? This body isn't ever going to be the same again, and it's certainly never going to be the smooth, toned body that it was in my twenties. I've had too many operations, leaving too many scars, too many children and too many diets. But dressed right, it doesn't look so awful any more and in the right light can look quite reasonable. So am I done dieting then? And if so, do I stop (the very sporadic) blogging?

I think I'm almost done with the diet. Another half stone would push me further into that healthy weight band and allow my existing clothes to fit even better without being too big. And then I can concentrate on my health and fitness rather than just my girth.

As for the blog, well it occurs to me that while I might have rediscovered my thinner self, I haven't done much work on my "inner" self. I'm not sure I've really explored that "me" in the Blog title. I've been existing, battling with family issues, trying to stay one step ahead of depression and dieting but that's about it. I think it's time to start living again and learning and having some adventures. So perhaps the blog title should change and the focus of my writing should be on gaining some things in my life instead of just losing!

Starting weight: 14 Stone 11 lbs
Current weight: 10 Stone 11lbs
Total Lost: 4 Stone

Today I'm wearing:

khaki trousers - River Island - size 12
Pink camisole - Topshop - Size 12
Black cardigan - M&S - size 12
Black suede boots - George at Asda

The dieting is going better than the writing

2010-02-22T07:29:00.002Z

Perhaps I'm one of these people who can only do one thing at once. I can produce reams of writing and be crap at limiting my calorie intake, or I can control how much I eat but lose the ability to spout words. Who knows. You wouldn't think that the two activities would be related but how else to explain the lack of output here? Sorry, what was that? Lazy? Bone idle? Moi? Well yes, you could be right.

Still, I suppose if anything is to suffer from a lack of attention I'd rather it was this blog than the diet. The fact is that the Christmas Blip seems to be fading into the horizon and I've found my dieting head. I'm frantically touching wood as I type that by the way, which is providing the postman with his first comedy moment of the morning.

That's not to say that I've been entirely angelic or anything daft like that. This is a diet, not a punishment. So beers aplenty were taken to sustain me through the agony of watching Scotland lose to France at Murrayfield earlier this month. And thawing out my frozen heart with a hefty serve from the chippy made the stagger back to the pub for consolation pints possible. However, I guess I'm starting to understand a bit more about this whole "balance" thing and instead of doing my usual "Oh hell I've blown it so I may as well blow it some more" routine, I thought about how much I'd enjoyed myself and jumped straight back into the diet. I had prepared myself for a slight gain, or even just staying the same but somehow my body must have used the extra calories just to keep me warm in all this cold weather because I have continued to lose one or two pounds a week much to my delight.

Today I'm Wearing:

Pyjamas right now, but in a while I will have to stand in front of the open wardrobe and pick something out. There might be a pair of (stretchy) size 12 jeans to choose!

Starting weight: 14 Stone 11 lbs
Current weight: 11 Stone 8 lbs
Total Lost: 3 Stone 3lbs

Scratching the surface.

2010-01-13T22:55:00.003Z

I itch. Pretty much everywhere, and mainly at night. I've convinced myself that I have scabies even though the rash looks nothing like what Google Images throws up. The rash just looks like I've scratched myself to bits. Which I have. The doc gave me piriton and aqueous cream with calamine. Close, but no cigar...still itching.

A friend I've never met because she's one of those cyber buddies we all have these days, suggested that perhaps it could be a food allergy - most likely culprits being wheat or dairy. I don't eat all that much diary anyway; the taste/texture of milk makes me heave and as much as I love cheese it's generally better not to have it in the house because it seems to induce a severe lack of self control whenever I'm in the vicinity of the fridge. I've somehow managed to produce three cheese-indifferent children so it's not even as if I can share it. I'm forced to eat it all by myself. It's a trial.

Last week I decided to cut dairy out completely. I'd been using soya milk for cooking purposes (porridge mainly) but learned to love it (okay, that's a slight exaggeration) made with water. It's weird. I've always preferred my porridge to be creamy and sweet, but if I concentrate hard and think of savoury breakfasts like bacon and hash browns, I can take the porridge watery and salty without wanting to hurl it against the wall where it would no doubt act as a very successful binding agent between wall and paper should I ever run out of wallpaper paste proper. I do sometimes wonder if the reason porridge is on so many diets is because actually it glues up your stomach lining and prevents the absorption of anything else.

Anyway, a week of no dairy products whatsoever had no effect whatsoever. I'm still squirming and trying not to resort to running a bristle hairbrush up and down my legs of an evening. So this week I thought I'd try cutting out wheat. This is a bit more of a challenge because when I looked through my food diary, there were rather a lot of wheat-based items throughout; wholemeal bread, pitta bread, pasta, flour tortillas and so on. And the kids eat a lot of it too; crumpets, hot cross buns, fruit loaf are all staples in our house.

I know I could prepare meals with couscous, rye, lentils, chickpeas and so on to fill me up without resorting to bread but on the first day, knowing that I was going to be eating leftover salad for lunch, I really just wanted some bread to go with it. So I invested in (and trust me, at that price it was definitely an investment) some wheat, milk and gluten free bread. I had previously heard horror stories about these products, but hey, that was years ago and I reckoned things must have improved by now. Especially at that price. How bad could it be?

So anyway, it seems like lentils and couscous could be the way ahead here. "Bread" made from potato, rice and shavings of owl pellets is not nice. It's very dry for a start and falls apart in your fingers. Then when you put it into your mouth it seems to expand and you can't actually swallow it straight away. The trouble is, as it becomes mixed with the saliva in your mouth it takes on the texture of slightly softened grit and when you do eventually spit it out the whole inside of your mouth feels...I don't know. The only word I can think of to describe this feeling is "cacky". I won't be buying anymore. As I said to Mother, if this is the best that the wheat-free world has to offer, I'll just scratch.

Starting weight: 14 Stone 11 lbs
Current weight: 11 Stone 13 lbs
Total Lost: 2 Stone 12lbs
This Week: -1lb

Today I'm wearing:

Adsa dark blue straight jeans, size 14, too big.
M&S sea green and white top, 3/4 length sleeves, size 14
Asda dark sea blue floppy cardigan size 14
Black knee length boots

I can see four grey hairs. More if I change my parting. They must go!

New Year, New Start.

2010-01-07T18:45:00.003Z

I have a horrid feeling that I might be repeating myself! Oh, the humour, it's killing me! Seriously though, I'll have to go back and check my previous posts because that title is certainly ringing bells. But then, it is a new year and I am starting again. Again. On the plus side, I'm starting from a better place than I have done previously.

Before Christmas 2009 I had succesfully dieted my way down to 11 stone 10lbs. I was feeling very pleased with myself, but I knew that I was going to struggle to maintain this over the festive period so I pretty much gave myself permission to take time out of my diet. We had a lot of "social engagements" (that'd be piss ups then) on the calendar and I wanted to eat my Christmas dinner without writing every mouthful down in a jotter, or leaping up mid-sip to update the Tesco Diet site. Consequently I am returning to my blog four pounds heavier than I was at the beginning of advent, weighing 12 stone exactly. I'm trying to see the positive side of this. It's a nice neat figure to start the year with. I can see from this that I'd like to lose exactly 2 of those stones to make an even neater number of 10. This isn't so bad. I can do this.

Trouble is of course, that I'm now struggling to get back into the swing of things. I seem to have temporarily mislaid my dieting mojo. And I keep finding tins and tubs of mince pies, cake, chocolate log, chocolate oranges and cheese where there really ought to be nought but celery. That and I am sure the wine bottles have been breeding.

Anyway, today I think I might have managed to get that grip that was so desperately needed. I've eaten meals instead of snacks, consumed more water and as there is no wine open that needs finishing off, there's none that I feel inclined to drink. Could this be the start of great things to come?

Today I ate:

1 bowl porridge made with water and salt.
1 banana.

1 hard boiled egg
1 wholemeal bread roll
1 slim-a-soup thing

1 onion baguette
Roast ham
Mixed salad leaves
Homemade coleslaw
Tomatoes
Cucumber
Beetroot

More black coffee than is strictly good for me.
4 pints water.

Exercise was limited due to being in hospital all day (no, nothing drastic...Kid At the Bottom of the Heap "failed" her last few eye tests and they wanted to hook her up and figure her out. If they manage that they'll be doing better than me LOL)

Today I'm wearing:

Dark brown vest top size 14
Pale pink cardigan size 16 (it's too big now but I still like it)
A-line purple cord flowery skirt (sale bargain from Sainsbugs!) size 14
Dark brown knee high boots
Pink and purple necklace/earrings combo (also Sainsbury's finest)

Did I speak too soon?

2009-10-13T06:47:00.003+01:00

Yesterday was not a good day. It started in the morning with a telephone call from my car insurance company. They wanted to discuss a claim. The only claim I know anything about was from an incident absolutely ages ago when I stupidly reversed my car into the side of a parked car behind me. I didn't do very much damage to them, although my bumper was superficially dented, but I left a note with my details and contacted my insurer so they'd be ready if a claim was made. After a few days of humming and hawing, the other party decided not to claim as the damage was so superficial. My insurance company told me that if no claim was made within six months then it would be dismissed. So naturally, not really remembering when all this went on, I thought they were phoning to tell me that the six months was up.

What they were actually calling about was a new claim. Apparently, four days ago, they received notice of a claim against me for when I drove into the rear of a pick up truck. In February. In County Durham. Errrr....I don't think so. For a start, I don't think I've ever set foot in County Durham! And if I have, it wasn't in February. The nearest I'd have been was en route to Harrogate in April when I babysat my niece and nephew while my brother and his wife went to Paris. I think someone has made an error with the registration number. Or is winding me up!

Anyway, all that went on, and my resolve was still strong. I ate my porridge, and cycled along to a recording of the XFactor as is my wont. And then my washing machine died on me. I hadn't noticed that the drum was still full of water and when I opened the door it all gushed out all over my feet, the pile of clothes waiting to into the machine and the floor of the downstairs loo. Great. I tried turning it off and turning it on again, that being "the code" these days, but no joy. Just more water.

By this time, I can feel a headache on its way, and the mouth ulcer that has been lurking near my bottom lip has been joined by several more towards the back of my throat. I'm feeling decidedly ropey. My lunch, which consisted of a ham salad sandwich and a satsuma is now feeling wholly inadequate. I toast two crumpets, but manage not to slather them with butter.

Eventually I reckon a bath might help. It probably would have done had I only realised that one of the kids had redirected the water to the shower. As I turned the water on full blast, the shower head leapt off its stand, crashed against the wall and ricocheted off the taps, forcefully spraying cold water all over everything, including me. Scrambling to turn the water off, or at least redirect it back into the bath I slip on the wet floor and knock my teeth on the side of the bath. What next? What next torment lurks?

The bath was too hot and I'm left with that sick, dizzy, faint feeling. I know I have to pull myself together; kid in the middle has hockey club and needs a wholesome meal inside her before she goes running around in the chill dark all night. Oh but I've no energy. Although I do have a Freddo bar in the bottom of my handbag. Oh look. I have three. I must have bought them for the children. Even as I'm thinking this, I'm eating them.

Self-loathing hangs about in the air as I prepare a meal for the children. Cries of "What's for dinner? That smells good" torment me as much as the garlicky aroma wafting from the oven. I resolve to have only a little bit, in order to balance out the greed and weakness of earlier. But resolve isn't hanging around much today and I polish off a full portion and the leftovers. And finish it off with a packet of cheese and onion crisps because what I really wanted, but was determined not to have was a glass of wine. Which makes no sense whatsoever.

The irony of all this is that yesterday was supposed to be Day One of a five week dieting challenge. (Ten pounds in five weeks. No alcohol. Well I managed that alright. Stick to diet. Pah. Exercise every day. I exercised my Caving In Muscles.) Day One. And I have the biggest fail of the last eight weeks. What's that all about?

So this is Day Two. This will be the measure of how serious I am about losing this weight. Perhaps it would be a good idea to print off those awful photographs to remind me WHY I'm doing this.

Maintaining

2009-10-12T11:23:00.004+01:00

Maintaining enthusiam that is. So far so good. I'm down another two pounds this week and not only that but I'm starting to see Size 14s creep back into my wardrobe for the first time in, oh, way longer than I care to admit. It's certainly a morale boost, and hopefully it will give me the incentive I need to carry on. Afterall, if a size 14 feels good, imagine how great a size 12 would be. I think there might even be some size 12 items in the attic just waiting for my waist to shrink that little bit more!!

It has been a good week all round really. Biggest Kid had his belated birthday party on Saturday. We took him to play Laser Tag, mini golf and bowling at a nearby-ish leisure centre with some friends and then on to the dietary evil that is the Golden Arches for tea. I had a black coffee (I have to say, I do quite like their coffee) and one onion ring before coming home to a salad. The kids ate their own body weights in saturated fat and salt and declared it delicious. I then compounded the attack on their wellbeing with birthday cake and goodie bags stuffed with chocolate. They just about started to peak on the sugar high when it was time for them to go home. I'm sure their parents were delighted.

Today I'm wearing:

Straight leg stretch jeans (14)
Black, white and silver checked cap-sleeved blouse (14)
Black leather high heeled boots
Grey long length cardigan (16)
Bit of slap, bit of Asda sale jewellery.

Starting weight: 14 Stone 11 lbs
Current weight: 12 Stone 7 lbs
Total Lost: 2 Stone 4lbs

Dashed hopes

2009-10-08T09:03:00.002+01:00

Another mother saga. Although I'm actually finding this one quite amusing for once.

Mother wants a new suitcase. On the (rare) occasions that I manage to persuade her onto a train to head darn sarf to Yorkshire, she complains that her existing case is too unwieldy to use on the train. She can't get it into the overhead rack without asking for help (which begs the question, why not ask for help, but that's another story), it's too heavy and really it's more suitcase than she needs for her purpose. I offered to loan her my spotty Cath Kidston case which is small enough to be considered hand luggage on most flights, but that was deemed too heavy and still too big. The Man I Married offered her the use of one of his wheeled computer bag things. Too heavy. I offered her Kid At the Top of the Heap's "sleepover" suitcase. Still too big. Over the summer we looked at suitcases in Asda. Little ones. Too expensive. (?)

So. Last week I was in Dunelm mill. And they had some luggage in the sale. And in amongst all the family size suitcases was one, bright lime green, tiny, tiny little suitcase, with telescopic handle and wheels with the words "Superlight" emblazoned across the label. Great thought I, and bought it, having checked the returns policy first. Just in case this minute, superlight little pocket of air was in too bright a colour for her sensitive eyes or summat.

I phone Mother and tell her the good news. Tiny suitcase. About big enough for Kid at the Bottom's pyjamas, a teddy bear, a couple of comics and a toothbrush. Any smaller and it would be a clutch bag. And "super light" - it even says so on the tin.

"How much does it weigh exactly then?" she asks, dubiously.
"2.6kg" I tell her jubilantly.
"2.6kg? Empty? That's over five and half pounds. It's a bit heavy."

My make up bag weighs more. She doesn't want a suitcase. She wants a plastic bag.

Goalposts all over the shop!

2009-10-05T15:17:00.004+01:00

Depending on when you think I started this diet I have lost either two stone two pounds, one stone or nothing at all!

In September 2008 I weighed 14 Stone 11 lbs. By Christmas that year I had dieted and exercised my way down to 12 Stone 9lbs, but half way through January I was back up to 13 Stone 6lbs. I spent the next few months dithering about, losing and gaining, losing and gaining until, shortly after my summer holiday in France this year (where much was done in the way of wine and cheese consumption) I attended a friend's wedding. The photos that were circulating around thereafter were horrific; a real wake up call, and so for the last seven weeks I have really "got stuck in" and tried to put my head in a place where making the right choices and shrinking my not inconsiderable arsage is more important than wine and crisps. So far, so good. I've lost on average two pounds a week which means a stone since the full horror of my weight hit me. And for the last few days I've been hit not by shock at my reflection, but instead, a barrage of lovely comments. It's hard to believe that one stone alone could have made so much difference. Harder still to think what the next three stone might bring?! (Dare I actually believe that I could get that far? I hope so.)

Anyway, life isn't all about dieting. The Offspring have been doing their best to amaze and delight me this week too. Early on, Kid With Aspergers announced that he was taking up a musical instrument at school. "You know. The violin. Or the tuba. The tuba would be good. It's important to have a good solid second career in case the first one doesn't work out. You wouldn't want to end up a drug dealer." He has a point I think.

Kid at the bottom of the heap has discovered her singing voice. Unfortunately it's about as good as mine. On the drive home from Legoland last week she plonked on her headphones and was so carried away by the rhythm and beat that we had to endure "Reach for the stars...." all the way up the M6.

And Kid in the Middle has discovered a new freedom. Instead of taking the school bus home, she is now opting to walk. All very healthy. Except she keeps stopping off at the cafe for hot chocolate instead of coming straight home. She's ten. I'll just sit here and wait for certain sections of forumsville to implode I think ;-)

Time to revive the Wardrobe Posts. Especially as I purchased a size 14 skirt for the first time in years this week. Today however, I'm in:

Beige, scooped necked, long-sleeved fitted t-shirt. (16)
Brown pinstripe linen widelegged trousers (16)
Brown leather boots
Pink glittery scarf
Bit of slap, bit of Asda sale jewellery.
Big cardigan

Oh, and I think I'll start documenting the weight changes here too.

Starting weight: 14 Stone 11 lbs
Current weight: 12 Stone 9 lbs
Total Lost: 2 Stone 2lbs

And yes, I know I've gone for the most impressive-looking result. Wouldn't you?

I hate to say it, but...

2009-10-02T08:59:00.003+01:00

things seem to be going pretty well! There. I've probably jinxed it and will wake up four stone heavier tomorrow.

We went darn sarf to visit Legoland in Windsor last weekend. I had been worrying about this trip for a while because the last time we went (about five years ago), the food choices had been horrendous, and as I had been steadily losing weight for the previous five weeks I was keen to keep this up and not reverse the trend with one weekend away. I was right to be concerned because in spite of the loud proclamations of "healthier" food on their website, it's fair to say that it's merely a relative term and they still weren't exactly overloaded with an abundance of vitamins on offer. Still, prudent choices at the all you can eat breakfast from Premier Inn kept me stoked up enough that the tiny "salad" I found for lunch was just about sufficient for my needs. That coupled with hours on hours of endless walking and queueing seemed to do more than mere damage limitation because I dropped four whole pounds of excess me!!

The one thing it did highlight for me though is that I felt completely out of control and didn't like it. I already know that I'm a bit of a control freak. Or at least, I like things done my way. When and how I say. According to my timetable. And to my specifications. Not that I'm fussy or anything, but if you can't do it right I'd rather do it myself. So get out of my kitchen!!! And of course, sitting in an hotel restaurant, or in a Legoland cafeteria, I had no input at all. I was quite taken aback at how scary I found it! I found myself getting quite ratty in a motorway service station where none of the food on offer had any nutritional information for me to assess. I couldn't tell if the dressing they'd assumed I wanted on my salad was laden with olive oil or not, or if the oozing mayo on the sandwich was full fat, or how lean the mince in the chilli con carne was. This was not good. It wasn't good that I couldn't have this information but it also wasn't good that I didn't feel able to "let up" a little for one weekend. Afterall, if I'd only lost one pound instead of the four that I did lose, that would still have been a result, and I'd perhaps have been less stressed about it all. So. Note for today is "Relax. Be vigilant, but not obsessive!"

Now, where was I?

2009-09-21T11:14:00.002+01:00

Where was I? Avoiding writing a blog by the looks of things.

It isn't that I haven't been dieting, because let's face it I'm going to be "on a diet" now for preeeety much forever. I'm have been trying to reconcile that fact in my head and struggling with it a little. I know, it's supposed to be about creating a new way of life as opposed to dieting, but the fact remains that as I age, (somewhat disgracefully I hope), I no longer have the freedom to eat and drink without consequences. Bits of me hurt and ache that never used to before, and so my ability to go out dancing all night and burn off the kebab that staves off the munchies induced by three bottles of red wine shared with not quite enough friends is diminishing. Anyway, I no longer have the arse for that mini skirt.

So now it's about choices. I can decide to make healthy choices and melt off some of the excess me, or I can make less healthy choices and watch my weight creep up and my health become worse. It sounds easy enough, but as always, I want my cake and eat it. (Sorry.) I want to be able to eat and drink what I like AND lose weight, and I've been fighting against the knowledge that this isn't going to happen.

Kid the eldest has been struggling with the whole choices concept as well. He arrived home from secondary school (yes, it has been that long since I updated this blog...they've all moved up a year and one has moved school!) with a letter in hand informing me that the school were hoping to take some of the children to Spain in the summer. Six hundred odd quid it's going to cost. Six hundred (or possibly even more) of my finest pounds. Well you can imagine the look on my face. I think there might still be the odd stray eyebrow attached to the kitchen ceiling. Anyway, we thought about it and offered him a choice. It's his birthday this week. He could forgo a present and we'd put the money in the Spanish Fund. He can ask everyone who would normally give him a gift for dosh and that can also go in the Spanish Fund. And likewise at Christmas. And if he's really keen to go, he can give up a goodly portion of his monthly pocket money. He has a week to make up his mind and I can almost see the cogs churning as he weighs up the pros and cons.

Talking of money, Kid at the Bottom of the Heap had the best fun this weekend. It was her birthday in June and she was lucky enough to receive vouchers for Argos, book tokens and cold hard cash. For one reason or another, we hadn't taken her to spend any of these until Sunday when we braved the mall. So many things, so many choices, so many decisions! (She's another one who hates to commit to anything!) I didn't think we were ever coming home. Still, eventually she picked out three books, a heap of plastic tat and a wedding dress for a stuffed rabbit. I asked her who the (girl) rabbit was going to marry and she said "*Custard. Because you know, just because granny doesn't approve, girls CAN marry girls now."

*Bad mummy alert. I have no clue which stuffed critter of many stuffed critters is called Custard. I also don't know if the rabbit has a name, although if the state of most of her toys' clothes is anything to go by, Miss Havisham will soon seem appropriate.

Dip.

2009-05-18T09:11:00.002+01:00

Some weeks just seem to be more uphill than others. Or maybe it's months. Either way, I seem to have been mired in lethargy just lately. I can't remember the last time I picked up my camera, there are myriad computer magazines lying pristine in their untouchedness, and I find myself looking for any excuse at all not to leave the house.

Depression is a strange thing. I seem to veer from fired-up and enthusiastic about life, to feeling the need to hunker down and conserve every last drop of energy. For what exactly I'm not sure. Projects that I started so keenly suddenly seem like an awful lot of effort. I find myself concentrating on one thing (currently ironing) and attacking that with gusto, as if to prove to myself that I'm functioning, that I haven't given up. The fact that I'm doing that to the exclusion of anything else at all beyond the bare necessities can't be good. I found myself ironing a dishcloth this morning. This is not a good sign.

I have to go out today. I have promised a friend that she can take her pick from some of the dresses that no longer fit Kid-at-the-Bottom-of-the-Heap. This means finding those dresses (and potentially ironing them) and going to her house. I have a deadline. But the mere fact I'm sitting here typing this means that I am pushing back against it, as if leaving it to the last minute is the only way I can make myself go.

And there's something else that doesn't make sense to me. This week, I'm taking my three camping. I have agreed that Biggest Kid can bring a pal. So there's me, and four kids, off on an adventure. Why is it that this doesn't faze me in the least, but I can barely bring myself to go and post a letter? The big things, the complicated things, the grand gestures, all seem eminently do-able. The minutiae of daily life on the other hand serve only to grind away at my confidence. Bah. Perhaps it's just the rain. Perhaps if the sun would just make an appearance occasionally I'd feel better. Nobody feels good with perma-soaked trouser hems.

More new beginnings

2009-05-05T09:02:00.003+01:00

The Man I Married has a new job. I've known that this was in the offing for a while now, but it has been one of those hush-hush, don't tell the troops, TOP SECRET with a code name affairs because the company he used to work for was being sold and until the various lawyers had done bickering and offering and counter-offering and tying things up in scarlett ribbon and hacking away at contracts and reveiws, and legalese and all the rest of it, nobody was allowed to say a word. The last dot on the last "i" was placed late Thursday night and announcements made in press releases to global but limited-interest publications to much hooraying all round.

So we've celebrated with some champagne and the purchase of a new family car, but really it's pretty much business as usual. The Man I Married will still be working a silly number of hours each week, if not more stupid than before, there will still be three kidlets to supervise, love, feed, discipline, clothe and ferry around and Mother will still be driving me nuts. Plus ca change and all that.

Diet wise, my good friend Harridan's plan for a 40 Day Challenge has been a huge success. Not because I've succeeded in sticking to it exactly, although I haven't veered totally off course, but because it gave me the impetus and structure that a lazy-arsed person like me needs. I do much better when I have something to strive for, and being a competitive soul, I like the idea of a challenge, even if it's only really with myself!! Competitive but lazy - how's that for messed up?!

Baby Steps

2009-05-01T07:48:00.002+01:00

I have a lovely friend, whom I don't really see often enough these days, so it felt like it was meant to be when we bumped into each other last week and realised we were both free yesterday to meet for coffee. There's a rather good coffee shop at one of the local farms so we agreed to meet there at 10am. As I headed onwards with my list of chores for the day, it occurred to me that I could walk there - it must be a couple of miles from my house, and two, two-mile walks with a coffee or three in between would be a good way of getting back into walking. But no. When my pal heard this she decided that we'd be better off taking her dog for a tramp in the hills instead. And she was right. It was fun and much less expensive in these crunched times.

We took it easy, to cater for my extreme lack of fitness. It seemed to suit Em okay, but her dog was straining a bit - I suspect that Em, with her youth and slim figure to support her, normally runs this route, and that she was slowing things down for my benefit. I was working quite hard though - the sweat pouring off my brow was disguised by the constant rain which at least had a slight cooling effect. She rewarded me for my efforts with a coffee in her house at the end of the walk while I steamed up her kitchen.

Still Rolling along

2009-04-24T14:09:00.004+01:00

Cycling to nowhere for an hour yesterday has left me with decidedly creaky knees, so I decided that today would be a good day to give them a bit of a rest by doing a power walk around the village instead. Sometimes I wonder where I left my brain cell.

Anyway, not much time to ponder my own stupidity. Today we have two "firsts". Kid the Eldest announced some time back that he'd like to join Scouts. This is more of a big deal than it might at first appear because he's an anti-social little character (takes after his mother in that respect) and has actively resisted all previous attempts to get him to "join in" until now. We'll see how it goes. I'm quite excited for him, but a little nervous too. Will he do as he's told? Will he get jeered at for joining so late in the day? Will he love it? I guess we'll find out tonight.

The second "first" is that Kid-in-the-Middle is joining a band! All that huffing and puffing on the Horn seems to have paid off and she was told yesterday that she was ready to join a band in the town next to us. I'm delighted for her, because at one point she was all ready to quit and it took some persuading to make her keep at it. Now she's the best in her group. Atta girl!!

The only trouble with all this, is that it means I'm turning into one of those mothers I said I'd never be....kids doing activities every damn day of the week. I'm starting to feel exhausted thinking about it.

Monday = hockey club
Tuesday = social skills club
Wednesday = Rainbows, school band practice (recorder)
Thursday = Brownies, homework club, Scripture Union, horn lesson
Friday = Scouts, band practice (horn)
Saturday = Swimming
Sunday = Sunday School

My calendar has different colours for different people. Purple for me. Green for the Man I Married. Blue for Kids. It's a wash of blue, with a smattering of green and just the odd speck of purple drowning amongst everyone else's activities. My next car had better be a taxi.

Back in that saddle again

2009-04-23T09:17:00.001+01:00

I have never joined a slimming club; I'm too damn mean to pay someone else to help me eat less. It has always seemed like a mad idea. But I can see why they work - there's the support of other slimmers, a kind of pressure to succeed because you don't wish to admit failure. But I still don't think it's for me.

However, my good friend Harridan has challenged me, and I like a challenge I do. (Say that with a Welsh accent if you will.) 40 days. No alcohol. Some form of exercise. Stick to diet. It's only 40 days. You can do anything for 40 days. Jesus did.

I'm not Jesus though. I suspect one of the things that comes with being the Son of God is a tad more willpower than was dished out to me. But a person can try, no?

Days 1, 2 and 3 were a bit of a washout. There was (and this is an oxymoron if ever I heard one) some leftover wine. (I know. That's like saying "too much chocolate", or "spare cash", or "Military Intelligence".) Anyway, it has always seemed wrong to have "leftover" wine and so I spent three days drinking up the dregs before they went off. (To continue with the semi-religious tone of this post, I should point out that diet-destruction-wise, the devil is in the details. Details of just how much wine was leftover. Which I'm not telling. Afterall, I'm sure some other religion or doctrine somewhere once decreed "speak no evil". And I'd hate to go against such a sound concept.)

I did manage a couple of "dry" days. And then I met up with temptation and failed to be resolute. A couple of glasses later,and what little will-power I had evaporated in a haze of mood-enhancing cava. Twas rather fun though.

Since then (and that was Saturday) I've been doing a much better job. I even survived a somewhat stressful visit from Mother without recourse to grape juice. And that's quite an acheivement. The diet has been stuck to and exercise in various forms has been undertaken. I actually feel smaller. Not much, but enough to spur me to keep going.

One thing I have noticed, is that while some people eat to stave off boredom, I tend to reach for a glass of wine. Nothing on telly? Never mind, have a glass of wine and find a re-run of something that was possibly amusing the first time round. So I've taken up knitting instead. Perhaps I just needed something to do with my hands? I gave up smoking about 12 years ago, so I wonder if the wine glass became the substitute ciggie? I find knitting quite soothing, so perhaps my needles will become my substitute glass? Thus far this week I have produced one preemie hat, one newborn hat, a pair of bootees and a fake boob. Yes, a fake boob. For a friend. No, not a weird perverted kind of a friend, and not one of those "I've got a friend who has a problem and she asked me to ask around because she's too embarrassed to do it herself because really it's me" kind of friends either. A real friend who needed a fake boob. How cool is that?

Anyway, that's enough from me for one day. I have an exercise bike upstairs and last night's episode of The Apprentice to watch before someone spoils it and tells me who was ousted. And several summer dresses I'd actually like to wear again one day!

Peace at last.

2009-03-30T19:10:00.002+01:00

Blogging hasn't been very high on my list of priorities the last few days. Surviving each set of 24 hours without killing anyone has been on the agenda instead.

Today we waved Mother off to her own home again after having her here for the last ten days or so. She was starting the recuperation period after a hip replacement operation. It was her suggestion that she stay here with us. "It will be easier." For her? Maybe. For me? Not so much.

I don't have an easy relationship with my mother. She pretty much disapproves of everything. Not just me, but everything. It is hard to stay positive around someone who can find negativity in even the most joyful of occasions. I do love her, very much. But I find it easier to love her when she isn't at too close quarters. Especially when those quarters happen to be mine.

So now I can breathe a sigh of relief, no? Well sort of. My aunt has come up for a week to take over care duties, but after that I'll be on my own again. Mother is not coming back here. Not unless I get to move out first. So this means daily trips to her house five miles away to keep her company and bring her shopping and try to get her to go out and about a little bit. It's fair to say that she will resist all these efforts and we may well fall out. Again.

All of which made me ponder the relationship that I have with my own children. Am I as disapproving? Do I make them feel like their opinion is worthless? Do I expect them to cater to my needs above and beyond their own? I hope not, but I'm sure in years to come they'll have their own complaints about my parenting. I just pray that whatever life chucks at us we'll still be able to find the time to see something beautiful and smile, to laugh at our foibles instead of berate each other for them and hug each other. Lots.

The long haul

2009-03-17T07:57:00.004Z

Starting Weight: 14 Stone 11 lbs
Today's Weight: 13 Stone 2 lbs
Total Lost: 23lbs

Can you believe I started this diet in September 2008? (As opposed to all the other diets that I have been attempting since about 2005) I should be the size of a pencil by now.

All those endless months ago, I weighed 14 Stone 11 lbs. 19 weeks of hard slog shrank me down to 12 Stone 9 lbs, and then Christmas happened. I took the stance that life was too short not to enjoy a mince pie and promptly slapped on ten pounds. (Some mince pie!) That same ten pounds have been coming and going ever since.

I justified all this consumption by stating that I had been trying to "not" diet. In other words, I had stopped blogging, stopped completing a food diary and stopped "depriving" myself - if I fancied a bit of butter on my toast, I had it. If I felt like having custard with my apple and blackberries, I had custard. I think I was hoping that the generally healthy diet that I provide for my family, with no sense of deprivation for me, would stop the binge/diet cycle. It sort of worked. I didn't feel deprived! And actually, it seems that the weight I am now is where I would naturally hover if left to my own devices. Trouble is, I don't like that weight very much!!

So it's back to the hard slog. Or at least, a version of it. I am not convinced that the very strict approach is working for me. It works for a bit, but then I get invited out for dinner and the 4% or less fat rule gets broken. This results in a guilt/sod it cycle and I'm back to looking less like a pencil and more like an overstuffed book bag. I need a more relaxed approach - just not too relaxed!!

Head Games

2009-03-15T16:12:00.002Z

I am having one of those dreadful diet days where I can't stop thinking about eating. I'm not even particularly hungry. Cold? Yes. Headachey? Yes. Fed up with having to listen to the rugby while dh snores his way through a frankly dull game? Heck yes. I know in my heart that a great big cheese and chutney sarnie isn't going to make any of that go away, but it doesn't stop me from dreaming!

I may have to resort to ironing as a distraction technique. I don't much love ironing, even with my new super duper steam machine, but at least it would get me out of the kitchen and away from the fridge. And it might warm me up somewhat too. I know some people swear by drinking a glass of water whenever they're tempted but I've already consumed enough water for three days and seem to be permanently needing the loo. All in all this has not been a good day - apart from the fact that thus far I haven't yet given in to the temptation so I suppose I'll have to comfort myself with that and remember that tomorrow is weigh-in day so it had better all be worth it!

Can I sneak back in here?

2009-03-14T08:18:00.002Z

Someone (Harridan) made the point a few days a go that I haven't updated my blog in a while. And we all know why, don't we? Because I'd fallen off the dieting bandwagon and didn't wish to admit it. As much as I hate the idea, it seems as though I really do need the discipline of a food diary/diet diary to help motivate me keep the focus going. So this blog might be about to get a whole lot more dull than it already is - yup, I think any existing followers will be running away in droves once the weekly stat post starts! On Monday. I hate starting things when it isn't the beginning of the week. (Is it really any surprise that Kid-the-Eldest has aspergers? I found myself getting quite irritated in Starbucks the other day because people had mixed up all the coffee beans!)

In all honesty, I had given myself a bit of a kick last week. I was aware that I was sliding back "up" the scales again and given that, in a few short weeks, I'm going to be meeting up with some friends for a weekend away, it would be good not to be the blob at the party. I haven't regained everything that I had previously lost, but I had gained more than ten pounds of it, so something had to be done. I've been as good as gold this last week, even taking into consideration lunch out with friends, so I'm hoping for good things.

Meanwhile, family life continues around me. Mother is going into hospital next week for a hip replacement. I may have more to say about that when she comes out of hospital as she's due to come here to stay. That could be fun. Kids eldest, middle and at the bottom of the heap all providing the usual levels of laughter, tears, stress and mess, and the man I married has Man Flu. I don't think he appreciates the fact that Man Flu is an ironic term for a piffling cold, coined by women to illustrate the weakness of men. I know in fact that he believes it to be a higher, more potent strain of flu, the likes of which I could never possibly hope to suffer nor understand. Apparently, it's so bad that no-name paracetamol and a hot toddy can't possibly be the cure. Only a skipful of branded over-the-counter medicine (with the name "Extra" on the packet) could possibly be effective in the fight against the super-germs. I so need a rolly-eye smiley on this blog!!

Pale and Interesting

2009-02-06T13:41:00.005Z

This has been a week for reflection and contemplation, gathering those we love dear, and dear memories for comfort and solace. I've been busy taking photographs of places and things I love and finding peace therein.

It has been a week since I took my part in the overnight vigil for my friend, an event that seemed strange at the time, but which has now left me feeling privileged to have been able to take part. Funerals are never "good" things, but this one was a fitting tribute for a much-loved man who will be sorely missed.

Blue, blue, lectric blue...

2009-01-29T16:07:00.009Z

The internet is a wonderful thing. I posted my snaps and a friend was able to take them away and play with them. I love what she has done...have a look at these.

(I'm tempted to change that red door for a green one so that I can continue with my apparent theme of 80's pop songs.)

This clever lady is the person behind The Happy Snapper Chronicles (see my sidebar), and you can check out some more of her work by visiting her Glam Music and Media website which I've included with my "other stuff" over there on the left.

Take the Blues Away

2009-01-29T11:33:00.021Z

The first single I ever purchased was Grey Day by Madness. I bought it from the record stall in the market square in Cambridge (Andy's Records anyone?) and no doubt the rest of my money went on honeycomb from the nearby (complete with pink and white awning) sweet stall. I'd have taken the bus home, torn between wanting to chow down on crunchy sugar and the need to keep my single in its pristine condition. Once home, I'd probably have asked permission to use the "hi-fi" which was situated in the front room and generally off limits to oik-like children. Oh, the hours I spent listening to that record...endlessly, over and over, until I'd learned the words by heart. I missed meals in order to get them down pat.

We've had a lot of grey days here recently. January is never a good month for me. The post-Christmas slump, coupled with uninspiring weather, the heavy sense of having to start the whole year again, always leave me prone to depressive episodes. I can usually recognise the signs. When a desire to cosy-in becomes a dread of leaving the house; when the ringing of the telephone stops heralding the opportunity to chat and instead causes me to hide in the bathroom; when all I want to do is sleep, then it's time to take action.

Exercise is supposed to be good for depression. It releases endorphins and improves your mood. So with that in mind, I set out for a walk around the village hoping to stave off madness.

I found lots of pleasing things while out and about; some natural, some manmade. Even some of the litter could be pretty if you looked at it hard enough. I took the camera out with me and snapped away at the things I liked the look of, scaring away one local dog-walker who was obviously concerned for her safety. Not many sane people were out swooping on bits of blue debris to make patterns in the sand. She clipped her dog back on its lead and marched swiftly in the opposite direction, away from the local nutter.

Anyway, I showed a few of these pictures to friends. They all seemed to quite like the results of my beachcombing efforts. Someone suggested a few tweaks, and it's interesting to see what photoshop can do. Take your pick - which blue does it for you?

The original, undoctored photograph.

With the background saturation reduced to virtually nothing

And with a bit of orange to bring out the blue.

A Capital Night Out.

2009-01-24T16:01:00.004Z

So, it seems that The-Man-I-Married has put quite a bit of work the way of an Edinburgh-based company, and as a result was invited to a very swanky Burns Supper in the city this week. And I got to tag along too. Result!

We were provided with a night's accommodation in a suitably swanky hotel, I dug out the only vaguely swanky dress I could squeeze into and a fun (and swanky) time was had by all.

Organising an "Away" event like this is always a bit stressful. My mother often says she's happy to babysit, but in fact spends so much time worrying about everything that could possibly go wrong that she winds me up until I'm all tied in knots. I frequently find myself asking "Is this worth it?" as I'm writing down endless of lists of what to do just in case this happens; who to call in case of that particular emergency. Mum doesn't "do" going with the flow and likes to have step-by-step instructions for tea, bathtimes, bedtimes, breakfast, schoolbags, homework, bus timetables, breathing. Me? I'm a "Suck it and see" kind of a gal and I find all this endless agonising over every last detail a bit draining. I phone my mum up to ask if she could babysit and the more she talks the faster I can feel my enthusiasm for the project evaporating into the ether.

However, I held my breath, tried to remain impassively calm in the face of rising hysteria from Mother and let The-Man-I-Married whisk me off for 24 hours of fun at someone else's expense. (That's always the best sort, I think!)

Edinburgh was lovely. I haven't lived there for nearly twenty years, and there are lots of new shiny buildings in places where there didn't used to be anything new and shiny, but the heart of the city remains much the same and the familiarity was calming and exhilarating at the same time. Flashbacks of youthful escapades invaded my headspace as we flitted past some of the dodgier looking pubs and clubs! One things for sure, twenty years ago I don't think the owners of The Glasshouse would have been half so welcoming to my student-self as they were on Wednesday night.

The Burns Supper followed a fairly traditional format whereby much champagne was forced down the throats of the audience in order to put them into a receptive mood for the speeches. Actually, it wasn't just champagne. There was red wine, white wine, whisky, port and some really rather good food too. Five courses of it!! Tiger prawn and crabs all towered up and posh; haggis, tatties and neaps served with a dram of whisky for toasting purposes; beautifully rare beef with cauliflower and cabbage; three tiny little puddings all pretty on a plate and a very generous cheese board, coffee and tablet. My poor dress!

And, because it was a Burns Night celebration, there was the Selkirk Grace, the Address and Toast to the Haggis, The Immortal Memory, The Address to the Lassies and the Response from the Lassies. There were some very good speakers, although the poor bloke who'd been volunteered to do the Address to the Lassies had lifted much of his material from tinterweb and so quite a bit of it wasn't "new" to me. I'm guessing that a lot of the people there weren't forumites because they were laughing like drains and obviously hadn't heard it all before!

The evening ended with a ceilidh, which I was happy to watch but couldn't join in...too much risk of ankle/knee/hip injury and I don't want to jeopardise the gentle progress I've been making on the wii fit. We left shortly before chucking out time to go and make use of the Honesty Bar in the hotel. The-Man-I-Married poured himself the largest Baileys I've ever seen, but I needed something cold so picked out a bottle of Peroni. We took them back to our room, but it was a struggle to stay awake - too much food, and too much alcohol, and besides the bed was just too comfy.

I woke up in the morning with my eyes all stuck together. I'd forgotten to check for feather pillows. It has been so long since I had to. It explained the comfiness but unfortunately they give me hayfever-like symptoms, so I went down to breakfast looking as though dh had punched me and I was still sobbing over it. Never mind.

Breakfast was lovely. There was a help-yourself continental breakfast bar and a selection of hot things. I knew we wouldn't be eating lunch, and imagining that the hot menu would be all fancy and in miniature, I helped myself to smoked salmon, cheese, fruit, crackers, juice etc. And then was handed a full size plate of eggs benedict with parma ham on a bagel. It was a struggle, but I knew I'd feel bad if I didn't thoroughly enjoy every last morsel, so I did.

I think this week's diet results might suffer horrendously for this, but hey, it's not often I get to be all swanky and as I've been discov!ering lately, life's too short to not enjoy the good bits.

Slainté mhath!

Ups and Downs

2009-01-19T08:52:00.006Z

I lost four pounds this week! Ordinarily, this would have me leaping up and down in a joyous fashion, but the truth is, that up until yesterday I was on track for losing five. My beer and butter intake robbed me of a truly spectacular result, but still, I can't be too unhappy; I was the cause of my own downfall and can only blame myself.

Which is more than can be said for my poor Kid-in-the-middle. Oh dear. She has not had a good weekend.

January in Scotland is traditionally taken up with celebrating the nation's bard, Rabbie Burns. The school host a Burns Supper (haggis, neeps and tatties...not exactly what you'd call diet food, but do enough burlin' roon the room in the form of Strip The Willow and you can probably call it evens) and there is much in the way of pipers, fiddlers, recitals, songs, dancing and drams. A reet guid nicht indeed.

It was a week ago that Kids Top, Middle and Bottom came home with the songs and poems that they were to learn. My eyebrows shot heavenwards when I saw what the two older ones had to learn. Google "Tam O'Shanter" and you'll appreciate that Kid-the-Eldest had a big task ahead of him. Kid-in-the-Middle got stuck right in with hers, and within three days had the following down pat:

The Ballad of Janitor Mackay By Margaret Green

I wis playin keepie uppie
In the street outside the schule,
When Jock McCann’s big brither
Whose an eejit an a fool

Went an tuk ma fitba aff me
An he dunted it too hard
An it stoated ower the railins
Inty the janny’s yard

Aw, Mackay’s a mean auld scunner.
He wis dossin’ in the sun,
An when ma fitba pit wan oan him
Big McCann began tae run.

An Mackay picked up ma fitba
An he looked at me an glowered
But I stood ma ground, fur naebody
Will say that I’m a coward

But when he lowped the palins
An he fell and skint his nose
I tookty ma heels and beltit
Right up ma granny’s close.

I could feel the stairwell shakin
As efter me he tore,
An he nearly cracked his wallies
As he cursed at me an swore

“O save me gran” I stuttered
As I reached ma granny’s hoose,
Fur Mackay wis getting nearer
An his face wis turning puce.

Noo, my gran wis hivin tea
Wi Effie Bruce and Mrs Scobie
And when she heard the stushie
She cam beltin through the loaby

Ma gran is only fower fit ten
But she kens whit she’s aboot
“Yev hud it noo, Mackay” I cried
“Ma gran will sort ye oot!”

See the janny? See my granny?
Ma granny hit um si a sanny
Then she timmed the bucket owerum
An he tummelt doon the stair
An he landed in the dunny
Wi the baikie in his herr.

Fortune changes awfy sudden –
Imagine he cried me a midden
(I goat ma ba back but.)

I was most impressed. But then, on Friday, she came home in tears. Apparently, the head teacher had decided that this was too long, and too much for them. She changed their poem to The Coming of the Wee Malkies. It's another fun, vibrant poem, but my poor wee lassie has struggled to learn it over the weekend, and the judges are coming to school today. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed for her. I've listened endlessly to her attempts at learning this poem over the last 48 hours or so and I hope her efforts, so much more focused than mine were, are successful!

The Coming of the Wee Malkies

Haw missis, whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
if they dreep doon affy the wash-hoose dyke,
an pit the hems oan the sterrheid light,
an play wee heidies oan the clean close wa,
missis, whit'll ye dae?

Whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
if they chap yir door an choke yir drains,
an caw the feet fae yir sapsy weans,
an tummle thur wulkies through yir sheets,
an tim thur ahes oot in the street,
missis, whit'll ye dae?

Whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
if they chuck thur screwtaps doon the pan,
an stick the heid oan the sanitry man,
when ye hear thum shauchlin doon yir loaby,
chanting,"Wee Malkies! The gemme's a bogey!"
Haw, missis, whit'll ye dae?

2009-01-18T13:03:00.003Z

Tomorrow is weigh-in day after my first week back at being "on a diet". I've been pretty good for much of this week and I've seen quite a bit of my Christmas excess simply melt away with a bit of exercise and a good strong dose of willpower; there are still many temptations left in the house left over from Christmas but generally speaking I've ignored them.

Mind you, last night, watching a batch of sky-plussed televisual entertainment, I managed to sink four bottles of my favourite American "beer" and two ramekins stuffed with pretzels. I was pleased this morning to note that the scales hadn't been adversely affected, but I'm not sure that today's input will help my case much.

I'd forgotten that there was a "Luncheon" after church today. It's Christian Unity week and we invite members of the local Catholic Church to join in our service, some of our lot go up to them and then we all meet for a soup lunch afterwards.

The soup was delicious, but I've no idea what was in it re. fat content etc and I ended up eating two bowls because Kid at the bottom of the heap took two mouthfuls, saw that her brother had something a different colour and demanded some of what he had instead. In addition to which, there was no option for an unbuttered roll to go with the soup so I ate butter for the first time in years and remembered just how delicious it was.

Of course, if the scales don't give me a good reading, it is bound to be the result of someone-else's heavy-handedness with the dairy products and nothing whatsoever to do with my alcoholic tendencies!! Isn't it?

The things they bring home...

2009-01-17T09:09:00.004Z

Much hilarity around the dinner table last night, even in the midst of sadness. Such is life. Kid-in-the-middle has revived the family tradition of relaying the dreadful jokes they hear at school, usually over dinner. This generally involves much groaning from the adults at the table and is followed by an attempt at joke-telling by Kid-at-thee-bottom-of-the-heap. Her complete inability to stop laughing, or remember a punchline usually renders these unfunny at best and in the worst-case scenario, simply incomprehensible.

So, in the grand tradition, there was an Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman. (Apologies to any Irish people reading this. You know where it's going.) And they found a shiny new bucket. They rubbed it, as you would, and out popped a genie. The genie said that as there were three of them, he would grant them one wish each, and that whatever they wished for, if they slid down the slide that he was about to produce, and into the bucket, the bucket would be filled with whatever it was they'd wished for. They were a bit sceptical...a slide, going down into a bucket? How would that work? Surely the bucket was too small? The slide a bit dangerous?

The Englishman went first. He was very worried about this whole slide/bucket scenario and actually not convinced that the "genie" was for real, so he simply wished for cotton wool to land on. Lo and behold, as he slid down the slide, the bucket expanded and filled with the softest, bounciest cotton wool known to man and the Englishman landed as if on a downy mattress and in complete comfort. They were all amazed, and the Englishman a little miffed at the opportunity he'd missed.

The Scotsman, having seen what happened, leapt onto the slide and wished for lots and lots of money. And lo. And behold. As he wished and slid, the bucket expanded and he landed in the biggest pile of large denomination notes of cash you've ever imagined.

And so, it was amidst much merriment and excitement that the Irishman jumped onto the slide with a huge grin on his face and as he started to slide down the slide he shrieked "Wheeeeeeeeeeee".

Oh the hilarity. There's something about short, consise words for potentially rude things that juveniles find irresistible - wee, poo, bum, fart. Mention any one of these and small children will crease up with laughter and keep themselves amused for hours simply by repeating the offending word. Which is why I am surprised that nobody seems to have noticed that our latest acquisition rhymes with wee. By rights, they shouldn't be able to play the thing for trying to control their guffaws, but play it they do. Endlessly if they think they can get away with it.

However, I have come to spoil their fun, because this Christmas, with much trepidation, dh presented me with the Wii fit. Apparently he was worried that I'd be offended, but the opposite was true - I was delighted.

Now I know that another blogger has said she's going to post a review of the wii fit, so I'm not going to steal her thunder. But I did just want to say that I have finally found something that gets me moving and is fun. It must be my inner-Monica, but I can't stand it if I don't beat my previous best and so I'm constantly spurred on to do more, do better and beat myself! No exercise video ever tapped into this uber-competitive spirit before, so I wonder if this piece of kit might finally be the thing that gets me moving and keeps me moving!! You never know, if it helps me to shift enough weight, you might find me slim enough to get on the slide in the garden and go "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Dark and Stormy

2009-01-15T12:04:00.005Z

I've been struggling to write this for days now, but somehow I need to get it out.

On January 9th, my dear friend Grahame put an end to his suffering and took his life. It's hard to bear the sadness we feel at losing him, and difficult to process the fact that he survived his illness but not the treatment for it.

His wife has asked that friends and family contribute happy anecdotes from their bank of memories, and the only difficulty here has been choosing which. Grahame was a kind, generous, warm, intelligent, humourous man who loved nothing more than cooking for friends and sharing a dram, and most of my memories revolve around meals and drinks prepared for, or by, or with him. Who else would we find on a dark and stormy February day, shuggling a lamb in a binbag full of secret-recipe marinade ready for the barbecue. Sane people were supping soup and hugging their radiators, but not Grahame.

And talking of Dark and Stormies, it was Grahame who first introduced me to this wonderful drink - one I can't make without immediately recalling the oppressive feeling of Florida humidity and keeping an ear out for an impending thunderstorm. They aren't recommended on any diet that I know of, but take a long tall glass,add ice and a double measure of good dark rum. Squeeze in the juice of half a lime and top up with ginger beer. Drink, for preference, on a beachfront balcony as you watch thick jagged spikes of lightning break the sky and jab the sea hard while the air around you thickens and the thunder cracks over the ocean. Better yet, drink it anywhere, but with friends.

It's hard to say goodbye; sad to realise that there's one less rumbling laugh in the world. No-one left who calls me "Sweetie". We'll miss you Grahame, but we won't forget you.

Kath.

And breathe in!!

2008-12-15T07:34:00.003Z

How can I have gained three pounds in a week? How?? I don't see how that is even possible. I know I went out for a Christmas lunch and ate more food in that one meal than I normally eat in a week, but I couldn't face supper that night so you'd have thought it would even things out a bit. And I didn't nick any sandwiches/sausages/cakes at the Christmas party yesterday. I'm annoyed and confused. Very annoyed and very confused.

Obviously I am going to have to re-start my food diary to keep an eye on what I'm doing. I thought I'd been quite good this week, but something has gone wrong.

Ah well. There's still time to redress the balance before Christmas. Perhaps several trips up to the attic to get decorations down will burn off a few calories. We have two of our trees up and running but I'm still to go and get the big tree from the farm. I spent much of this weekend organising party games for Sunday school and there wasn't time to do justice to a proper tree decorating session. We've re-scheduled it for Tuesday.

And breathe....

2008-12-13T08:34:00.004Z

Bloody hell, I don't know where the time has gone. My days seem to have been filled with endless appointments, lists of things to do, and people demanding time, attention and money. And now it seems Christmas is looming on the horizon too!

On the plus side, I don't have any more presents to buy. Or none that I'm aware of anyway. *Makes mental note to go and buy an emergency present*

I've made a few gifts this year too. I've been re-learning to knit over the last few weeks. My grandmother taught me the basics years ago but I never really did anything with it. I've been inspired to take it up again after seeing some of the fabulous creations that friends have made.

So far I've stuck to very simple projects - a pair of legwarmers for Kid-at-the-bottom, a scarf and corsage for a cousin's daughter. The trouble with simple is that it can be a bit dull. I remembered why I lost interest in knitting all those years ago; a seemingly endless round of knit, purl, knit, purl isn't really all that engaging. I find myself looking at the ball of yarn and thinking "Are you still here?"

The corsage gave a bit of relief from the monotony. Now that was fun. I had to concentrate on what I was doing, and even if nobody else ever agrees with me, I'm chuffed to bits with my first attempt at something other than a potholder type piece of knitting. (I did make Kid-the-Eldest a sweater once. When I'd completed the work it was suitable for a 2 year old. Every time I washed it, the jumper got bigger and I think he was still wearing it at five!)

The only slight snag with all this is that I'll be giving my cousin's daughter her gift in the presence of my aunt. My aunt is a little bit of a daunting presence in my life. She's my Godmother and I love her very much indeed but she's so damn capable. And a perfectionist with it. This woman has Cordon Bleu certificates coming out of her ears. She sews, knits, crochets, quilts, embroiders, raises goats, has had her own bees, makes jams, chutneys, plays piano, organ, sings in a choir, runs a catering business, is a qualified pharmacist and grows her own vegetables. I may give Cousin's Daughter her present with strict instructions not to open it while still in Yorkshire.

That's the gifts covered, but there is still much to be done. This weekend is "Tree" weekend for us. We go to the local farm to pick a tree and visit Father Christmas. Tree decorating is an important part of our Christmas ritual. The chidren have their own tree in the porch which they pretty up with their own collection of decorations. These are a combination of things they've made at school and the decorations that they've found in their advent calendars each year.

I get to decorate the big tree in the sitting room. Our decorations have been collected over the last 15 years or so, and many have a special significance for us as a family. There is a little house to represent our first mortgage; a replica black hansom cab to commemorate the passing of my driving test; a tiny little San Francisco Cable Car to remind us of our time living in California. There's a doll's house pram, high chair and moses basket representing the birth of various kids. A spider's web reminds us of how this current house was full of them when we first moved in. A little Eiffel tower recalls our first trip to Paris as a family. There's a Guard in a bearskin from my honeymoon in London, and an angel made out of pasta that was given to me by a good friend in America. There are also three snowflakes to remember the babies that never made it, and two shooting stars; one for my childhood friend Elizabeth who died aged 32 and one for my dad. It seemed appropriate because I drove home from Elizabeth's memorial service with my dad and we saw a shooting star together over the Clyde Estuary and both sobbed out loud at the same time.

So my tree is very special to me, and I hope to add many more decorations to it over the years. Hopefully most of them will be happy little aide memoires, but even if there are some less jolly reminders, it all adds up to something very particular to us and it's an annual pleasure to get the decorations out and mull over their meanings.

Talking of mulling....wine!! Because obviously, once gifts and trees have been ticked off the list, food and drink must come next! We have plenty of wine because The Man I Married brought half of the European Wine Lake back with him last time he went to France. But apparently it's too good to mull. So that's another thing to add to the ever-increasing shopping list.

Christmas Eve is mulled wine, curry and meatballs night. Friends and any family who might be lurking nearby are invited over for drinks and then chucked out at 8.30pm so that we can get the kids to bed. It's always a bit manic but it really feels like Christmas is properly underway when there's a houseful of chattering people and spicy alcoholic wafts in the air.

Hellloooooooo stranger

2008-11-21T23:50:00.002Z

Okay so it has been a while. This is mainly because I've been doing my emu impersonation (burying, head, sand, all that) and avoiding the issues of what the scales say. Actually, I've not done a horrendous job as I seem to be maintaining the same weight, but it's fair to say that I'm not losing anything either.

It's just an excuse really, but I've also been incredibly busy. I won't bore you with details but if I say Abba night, Bingo night, committee meetings, mother, school trips, school visits, pantomimes, mother, Brownie camp nights, badminton, dental hospital, wart clinic, mother, vomiting and diarrhoea, missed bus, M&S sale, candle party, sleepover, mother and trains you'll get the picture. There's not really any requirement that I elaborate I don't think.

My mantra these days is "I will do better." And so I hope I will.

Mental Dental

2008-10-28T13:37:00.005Z

Today saw us taking a trip up to the Glasgow Dental Hospital. Kid-the-Eldest has, appropriately for halloween, produced some very crooked gravestone effect teeth as he has grown. He finds them very difficult to brush and consequently now has rather inflamed looking gums.

Parking at the hospital is hopeless so we took the train. I used to quite like taking the train up to Glasgow, but it's not so relaxing when you've got an 11 year old with Aspergers by your side.

We got into our carriage and took the only available two seats together. Sitting next to the window on my side was a young man of about 18 or 19 years of age. There were several things that struck me about him, but most notably, the badly tattooed knuckles and the unmistakable reek of Buckfast at 8.40am.

Just after we moved off, the ticket inspector came round and blokey next to me asked for a ticket to Glasgow from our stop, not the one he'd obviously been travelling from. I had to kick my son in the shins to stop him pointing out that this was an inaccuracy.

A few stops down the line, another young man careered up the wagon towards my neighbour. He muttered a greeting, but neither we, nor Mr Heroin Chic next to me could quite make out what he was saying because he was sporting a fairly fresh Glasgow Smile (google will help you out if you don't know what that is), and could barely move what was left of his mouth. Another sharp kick in the shins stopped blabbermouth from commenting. Charing X has never seemed more welcoming.

The Dental Hospital itself is not the most welcoming of places. The unmanned Reception Desk gave me no clue as to where we were meant to be going, but thankfully I'd remembered the appointment sheet this time and was able to figure it all out. We waited for about 40 minutes, during which time I completed the three Sudokus in today's Metro and Kid-the Eldest talked at me about his "Moon Hotel". Eventually we were seen by a very nice consultant, who asked my beloved son who lived at home with him. "Well there's me, my dad when he's not away on a business trip, my two annoying little sisters, my eight fish and my mum, who for some reason has done nothing but kick me this morning."

And today I am wearing:

Wide legged jeans, size 16 - they fit at last!
Opal Fruit Green vest top - Size 14
Opal Fruit Green cardigan - Size 16
Brown suede wedge heeled boots
My new red coat!
Green earrings from Funky Blue Fish jewellery
Green bangles from Primada
Big red chunky necklace from Chavsda

Tis the season to get spooky....

2008-10-27T13:46:00.005Z

Today's weigh-in, as expected, wasn't the roaring success I'd been hoping for a week ago. However, all is not lost, for while the scales weren't particularly complimentary, the tape measure gave me a much more postive reading. I simply need to apply myself this week and remember why I'm doing all this!

One good thing...the lovely dark maroon velour dress that I purchased in a Monsoon sale a few years back, now fits again. It could do with some super-strength spanx-type underwear to smooth out the inevitable lumps and bumps, but it is going to form the basis of my utterly fabulous outfit for the Halloween disco on Friday. I intend to be the most glamorous witch this side of Eastwick.

Talking of Halloween...who has hidden my pumkin carving set? I have four pumpkins awaiting creative genius and nothing with which to perform the magical transformation from bulbous orange vegetable to spookily shining lantern. I also need to go up to the attic to find the other halloween decorations - we have ghosties and cats, witches and bats. And spiders. Lots of those, and not made out of paper either.

I am afraid of spiders. When I see one, or even if I just think I see one, my heart races, I go cold and sweaty and want to run/scream/throw up. The-man-I-married seems to think this is funny and he jokes about "What do you do when I'm not here" as if he doesn't know that I haven't been in the office upstairs for nearly two weeks because somewhere I know there's a spider lurking. In fact, just thinking about it is making me feel decidedly nauseous.

There are many things that I love about halloween..dooking for apples, getting dressed up, an excuse to light lots of candles, among them. The prevalance of fake spider's webs complete with fake arachnids isn't so good. Last year, Kid-in-the-middle brought home a cake she'd made with a big black plastic monstrosity embedded in the top. Once she'd eaten the cake, the spider kept finding its way into my line of vision and for about a fortnight I could be seen periodically leaping into the air in fright. Eventually, it went the way of most spiders in this house and got sucked into my vacuum cleaner. Ergh.

BTW - that pic at the top is Kid-at-the-Bottom-of-the-Heap in her first halloween costume. I may update it with something more recent once I'm done sewing and sticking things together!

Today I am wearing:

New, bootleg, indigo jeans, size 16...very comfy, verging on being too big, but the size 14s gave me a muffin top.
Apple green smock top, size 16 which no longer makes me look pregnant
Mushroom zip up hooded fleecy cardigan type thing. It used to be a size 10 in a previous life but has obviously grown with me.
Utterly gorgeous tan suede winklepicker boots with fringing and heels that could take your eye out.
Jewellery from a selection at a carboot sale near you.
Make up - not so much. My face feels a bit "rashy" - I'm having a cosmetic-free day to help it calm down a bit.

BTW....on Friday, my mother, ever complimentary said "Is that a new coat?" I told her the story. "It must be a big size 14!"

Thanks for that.

Find me, somebody to lo-ove....

2008-10-27T09:57:00.004Z

So, I have been trawling through contacts and links this week, and here are the seven other blogs that I'd like to award with an I Love Your Blog Award:

1. The Happy Snapper Chronicals
2. Miss Frugality
3. Over the Pondlife
4. Three Buttons
5. Just Stuff
6. Such a pretty face
7. Inside a black apple

I haven't managed to be all clever like Wendy was and provide snazzy links within this post. I did try, but I gave myself toothache and gave up. All of them are now listed down the left hand side of my own blog, so you should be able to go and give them all a gander!!

Read this very carefully. I may be asking questions.

2008-10-25T14:01:00.009+01:00

Diet-wise this week could have been better. That's a round-about, mealy-mouthed, politically-correct way of saying it has been a tad on the less-than-successful side. Okay, so it has been disastrous.

At the beginning of the week I was hoping to lose another two pounds so that I could officially say that I'd lost two stone. The way things are going, I'm busy praying that I can at least maintain the same weight as last week. I've been out to lunch, invited friends over, succumbed to chocolate cravings and consumed too much wine for any actual loss to have occurred. But hey, one bad week does not a diet wreck. It's a pause, not a stoppage. And besides, I'm thankful that I have friends with whom to sabotage my diet. Life without wine, gossip, chocolate and laughter would be a bit less fun. And this attempt at being healthier and more comfortable in my own skin isn't intended to turn me into a puritanical misery guts who can't let go occasionally.

So, what else has been going on? Kid-in-the-middle was accepted for tuition in the brass section of the band, and this week brought home a lovely shiny Eb Tenor Horn. It's noisy. How anyone is supposed to get a tune out of it that doesn't resemble bovine farting I really can't imagine. I guess I'm to have the pleasure of standing by with my fingers in my ears as she tries!

Also on the school front, this was the week that Kid-at-the-bottom-of-the-heap started going in for the full session. This means school lunches. We spent a good few minutes last week going over the menu options and carefully picking out things that I thought she'd like. I needn't have worried. School chicken curry? Yum. Tuna bagette and salad? Lovely. Macaroni cheese? Superb. By the end of the week, I'd forgotten what choices we'd made and had to ask her what she'd had. Apparently it was something "A bit like a sandwich, but not bread, more like a rolled up pancake and I think it had egg in it and it was hot and tasted a bit like that thing that's not lemon chicken that I sometimes have from the chinese restaurant only not chopped." (It was an omelette!)

Kid-the-eldest has been inventing a moon city. He is going to build a city on the moon and ferry tourists to his space hotel. I'm to get the blue presidential suite when I visit. Apparently, if he dies, he's bequeathing it all to Gordon Brown so that Mr Brown can have another go at getting things right. And they say kids with Aspergers don't have any imagination!

Also this week, our church has been busy raising money for a school in India. It was decided to hold a quiz night. This was a village affair, involving teams from the Guides, Scouts, School and Church, and the tagline for the event was "Are You Smarter Than The Sunday School?" Yes, as it turned out. They all were. It probably didn't help that every other group had at least four adults whereas The Sunday School consisted of me, one adult friend, her eight year old and my three. I think we were at a disadvantage even before you take into account the fact that I know nothing and can't recall the rest.

I felt like one of those elderly people who can witter on for hours about events that happened fifty years ago but who have no idea what they had for breakfast. The number of times a question was asked and I went "Oh, I know this, I really do. If only I could remember...." I did manage to delve deep and come up with a number of chemical symbols, retained from the days of cramming for O'Levels. And my maths was better than I'd realised. But music, drama and sport? Oh dear. What events make up a decathlon? Apparently my answer, (running, jumping, and throwing things) wasn't specific enough. I'd argue that the name of Shakespeare's wife might well have been Mrs Shakespeare, but that wasn't what they were looking for. And it took until midnight, as I was going to bed before I remembered the name of the lead singer of Pulp. It did cause me to ponder on how many other women snuggled under their duvets last night and suddenly screeched "Jarvis Cocker!"

Somebody loves me!!

2008-10-23T16:58:00.003+01:00

I'm all overcome!! Many, many thanks to Wendy for including me in her list of nominees for the I love Your Blog award. How good is that?!

Of course, it leaves me with a slight problem: I now have to nominate a further seven blogs. How to pick? I'm going to have to go and think about it for a bit!

Photies!

2008-10-20T13:27:00.012+01:00

Omelette? Anyone?

This is the "burn" (stream for all you sassenachs) that runs along the bottom of my garden

And again, only it had rained a bit.

Just a small portion of the eleventy hundred thousand apples that my mother has given me recently.

My shiny new coat of just the one colour. But oh what a colour!

Onwards and downwards

2008-10-20T09:15:00.010+01:00

I hate to tempt fate, but it seems as if the diet is going pretty well. I've lost two pounds a week for the last two weeks and I am now weighing 12 Stone 13. I haven't weighed 12 stone anything in over two years so I'm feeling quite pleased with myself. I was able to take off my engagement ring yesterday for the first time in that period too; not that I am in the habit of discarding it all over the place, but it's a good sign that things are going in the right direction.

After reading Wendy's blog the other day, I was coveting her new coat. Our local Asda didn't have that particular item in stock but they did have a rather fabulous red duffle jacket. There was only one, and it was a size 14 with no price on. I took it into the changing room to try just in case I was being massively over ambitious. If it was going to make me look like an overstuffed tomato, I wanted to be behind closed doors. But hey - the colour was perfect, the shape flattering and the toggles even met in the middle.

The only slight snag was the lack of a price tag. I didn't know how much it was. I stood in my little cubicle, stroking the red wool mix and pondered how much I'd be prepared to pay for it. After quite some stroking and pondering, I settled on a figure of £25. If it was £25 or less I was buying it. There. Decision made. And having made it, I procrastinated for about half an hour to put off the evil moment where I might find out that my coat was too expensive. In the end, all the mental wrangling and angst was unnecessary (as it so often is) because the coat was indeed £25 and I scooped it out of the bag when I got home and wore it for most of the afternoon.

Today is a bit of a landmark event. It's the first day that Kid-At-The-Bottom-Of-The-Heap is at school for the whole session. She'll be having her lunch at school and coming home on the bus. No more school run for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! What will I do with all this Kid-free spare time?!

Passing it on

2008-10-08T11:37:00.004+01:00

I keep missing Jamie Oliver's programme, so have to watch it on catch-up on the pooter. I'm not really his target audience this time, because I can and do cook, especially now that I'm not working, but I have found the programme inspiring nonetheless. I'm an over-emotional soft-hearted bit of blubber really and I couldn't quite stop my eyes from watering a bit as I watched Natasha imploring her friends to "moove yer 'ips", or when Mick was so obviously delighted with himself at producing a delicious meal.

Interestingly, Kid-at-the-bottom, is going through a phase of wanting everything to be "homemade". Yesterday for lunch I made her sandwiches with homemade smoked mackerel "paté", and she complained that I hadn't "made" the cucumber. However I have been making lots of other things. In the last week alone I've made enough apple pies and crumbles to feed the world's military forces several times over. My crew demolished the lot within seconds of them coming out of the oven. I've also been producing blackcurrant jam and apple jelly. More apples are winging their way to me as I type: Mother is coming for lunch. Hope she approves of the soup I made this morning! In the spirit of passing it on, here's the recipe:

Roasted red pepper, tomato and lentil soup.

6 red/yellow/orange peppers

Olive oil

Sea salt

2 large onions, thinly sliced

2 cloves garlic crushed

Tinned tomatoes

1/4lb red lentils, washed

1 pint veg stock

Sprig of rosemary

S&P to taste

Roast half a dozen red, orange and yellow peppers by taking off big slices, placing them skin side up on a baking tray and drizzling with olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt. Fairly high temperature, about 40 mins till the skins start to go crispy and a bit black. Let cool.

Sweat the onions in a pan with the lid on so that they cook in their own juices. Meanwhile, shred the peppers. No need to take the skins off. When the onions are softened, add the shredded peppers, tinned tomatoes, garlic, washed lentils, sprig of rosemary and veg stock. Simmer for half an hour or so until lentils are softened. Taste and season. Blend.

If the tinned tomatoes are whole, do the simmering before you break them up. I reckon this would be good with some melty-type cheese cubes on the top for those skinny people who aren't on a diet!

Talking of diets - I'm another pound down and inspite of AF turning up yesterday, I didn't have a major carb binge this week. Although I was a bit crotchety. Sorry to those who noticed and suffered.

Today's sartorial elegance consists of:

Hideous purple poloneck Christmas type sweater complete with sequins (it's warm, what can i tell you?)

Brown cord flares. Oh God, I've gone back to the seventies. I know who's to blame as well.

Sock Monster

2008-10-02T10:31:00.011+01:00

Two months have passed since I gave up work. Tell me, when do you suppose the house will be tidy?

Periodically, I have this daydream where I am a little old lady living in a small terraced cottage with a gated front garden and a bit of a plot at the back, a couple of trees, preferably apple and plum, some evergreen shrubs and the occasional use of next door's cat. My house is cosy, full of well-read books, heavy curtains to shut out the winter, and a log fire. Next door are very good at providing me with logs. I keep them well supplied with plum jam. And all is spick and span and it stays that way on a daily basis.

Back to reality. And socks. I've decided that socks are the bane of my life. Not only do my children discard their socks willynilly, with no thought for how they're going to make the move from floor to laundry basket; not only do socks disappear into that black hole at the back of the washing machine; not only does my sockmonsterbox have more socks in it than there are in the drawers upstairs, and not only do my children seem to think that wearing stocking-ed feet to run across wet grass is acceptable, but on top of all this I can't tell which socks belong to which child anymore.

In days gone by it was easy to sort socks - the different sized feet were sufficiently obvious to make the job simple and if that wasn't enough, Kid-the-Eldest had all the grey socks, Kid-in-the-Middle had knee high white socks and Kid-at-the-Bottom-of-the-Heap had pretty frilly things.

Now they are all at school however, the waters have been muddied as badly as the socks. Kid-in-the-Middle wanted grey socks to wear under trousers. A few washes later, it's impossible to tell which grey socks should go to which child. Kid-the-Last wanted white knee-highs like her sister. Either hers have stretched or her sister's have shrunk because they all look the same.

I'm tempted to give up folding socks and putting them back into bedrooms. Perhaps we should simply have a "Bucket o' Sox" and everyone can dive in and get what they want out of it? It might cut out some of the work involved in keeping everyone's clothes clean, dry and fit to wear. Not that I'd be gaining anything exactly: for some reason, I seem to be spending quite a bit of time laundering the clothes of Other People's Children. They come here, play for a bit, eat my cakes, and what, strip off? I've got a box in the hall full of socks, pants, jeans, jumpers, quite a nice Trespass Anorak that will fit Kid-in-the-Middle soon if its rightful owner doesn't collect it soon and several half-pairs of gloves. Next time one of the kidlets has a friend over, I'm considering sending them home with a bag of our dirty laundry along with instructions to collect theirs when they return mine.

Today I'm wearing:

Brown linen trousers, size 18 but really starting to be too big now

Pale aqua, white, blue and brown top that I haven't been able to wear for years because it always gaped around my boobs. It's not gaping. Size 16.

Sparkly star necklace, non-matching star earrings/Brown high heeled boots/Brown cardigan

And another one bites the dust

2008-09-29T08:49:00.006+01:00

Yup, I've waved goodbye to another pound of lard. Not quite sure where it has gone from, but frankly, so long as it has gone, and for good, I'm not going to enquire too deeply. Possibly as a consequence of this vanishing act, I need some new jeans. Perhaps my arse has been silently shrinking this week?

Not that I've got any money left for purchasing new jeans. After much discussion, we decided that it was time to give the Kids some pocket money. Thus far, we have avoided this issue simply by occasionally chucking them the odd pound here and there, but a few things struck me. In bygone times, when I was a child, a pound pocket money would buy me a comic, some sweets and some caps for my gun, with even a bit left over to rattle around in the bottom of my money box. These days, a pound might buy them the use of a shopping trolley for half an hour but that's about it. Additionally, it seemed to me, having random lumps of cash appear gives them no sense of the value of money, and no idea about budgeting.

So, we have elected to give each child a lump sum on pay day, to last the month. A pre-determined amount is to be put into a Charity Box, and similarly, they have to put the same amount each month into a Holiday Savings Jar. Taxes, if you like.

The contents of the charity box will go towards filling next year's shoeboxes. For the remainder of the money, we will pick out a couple of charities each year and get the kids to research what it is they do and how they help; the kids can vote which one gets the contents of the jar. The Holiday Savings Jar is to pay for some kind of treat/excursion on our annual summer holiday - to be voted on by the children. They will also be expected to buy a small Christmas present for granny.

They have a couple of basic daily chores that they have to do, and on pay day, their room has to be tidy or no dosh. Once they have put their donations and savings into the relevant jars, the rest is theirs to do with as they will. However, they have a list of things that they are now expected to pay for: sweets, magazines, toys, texts and phone time for the two that have phones, tuck shop money for school discos, general crap purchased at church fairs and so on and what I consider to be "unnecessary" clothes (fancy dress items from Asda for instance).

I am hoping that this arrangement will help them learn to budget, appreciate the value of hard-earned cash, and actually, save me a small amount because now I have a record of who's getting what instead of the constant drip-effect that we were suffering before.

And on Saturday, we had our first family outing with children who had money in their pockets. It was interesting to see how my three very different offspring dealt with this new situation.

Kid-in-the-middle and her Little Sister both wanted to go to Build-a-Bear to purchase outfits for their existing teddies.

Little Sister wanted glitz and glam, and carefully dragged me around the whole shop, asking the price of each glitzy and glamorous outfit. I pointed out that if she bought one of these, she'd not have any money left for the tuck shop at the school disco this month, and wouldn't be able to buy a comic later on either. She then made me work out how much money she needed to keep back for these items and dragged me back round the shop looking for an outfit that didn't cost more than she now had.

Kid-in-the-middle ran round the shop in the manner of a deranged granny at a jumble sale, grabbing seemingly random items and without once checking the price. She had a gleam in her eyes: I can get STUFF! We made her add up the total cost of all this stuff and it became apparent that her budget wasn't as amazing as she'd first thought. Reluctantly she put some of the stuff back on the shelves. I wasn't going to stop her spending every last bent ha'penny, but I did feel duty bound to point out that if she did this, there'd be no halloween disco, and no sweets, and no texts for her phone. Looking less like a triumphant bargain-bagger and more like a man heading for the gallows, she trudged back round the shop and deposited a few more items back in their original places.

We left Build-A-Bear, proudly sporting shopping bags, for the first time ever, and headed to Game where Eldest Kid wished to spend his money. Or at least, I say that, but Eldest kid wasn't in a hurry. He slowly perused the shelves. Twice. And then, he gravitated towards the section of the shop with the big "BOGOF" sign. Which he scanned, slowly, and several times. Eventually, he made his choices, and paid for two games with his birthday money. His pocket money was still intact. And no, he had no other purchases to make. He wanted to go home, play his games and stroke his money. That's my boy!!

Happy Birthday

2008-09-23T09:11:00.003+01:00

Today is Kid-the-Eldest's 11th Birthday. Happy Birthday! It would also have been my mum and dad's 48th wedding anniversary - I'm sure today isn't easy for mum, but I hope she's thinking about the happy times they shared.

The boy wanted fish for his birthday, so yesterday we went to collect a shiny new fish tank from the pet shop. We also have a quarry-ful of gravel, a heater, light, filter, plastic plant and the smallest Orca ever seen. Tonight we'll have to start the process of setting up the tank - there's going to be much washing of gravel and arguments about where to set the tank and complaining from Kid-in-the-middle because she now wants fish. She requested (and received) a guitar for her birthday but seems to have forgotten all about this now!

Kid-in-the-middle is struggling with life. And oh boy are we feeling it. This last week, she was complaining, as is her wont, about how unfair it was that her elder brother is entering discussions about being allowed to get the train to town with his friend, while she, two years younger, is only allowed out to play in our immediate neighbourhood. We agreed that if she took her phone, and if she was making specific arrangements to meet one of her friends, she could go out of our small quiet estate and make her way to the large, new estate, complete with play park at the other end of the village. She made the arrangements, and having been told to return by 5.30pm, cycled off. Needless to say, she wasn't back by 5.30pm at all.

I wasn't home either, as I'd had to do an emergency run to the shops. (I only realised at 5pm that I'd neglected to buy any food this weekend. The prospect of five hungry mouths meant I had to go and brave the aisles. Certainly no-one else was volunteering for the job.) I came home at 6.30pm and The-Man-I-Married informed me that Kid-in-The-Middle had returned at 5.45pm to ask if she could stay out a bit longer and had been told yes, but to be back at 6.15pm. We waited half an hour before phoning around and scouring the village. No sign of her. It turns out that she'd left our house with one friend, and when that friend had been called home had wandered around to find someone else to play with; exactly the scenario we were trying to avoid. They were in yet another friend's garden. Why hadn't she phoned? Because she hadn't take her phone with her. She has been grounded for three days and "Village Privileges" have been withdrawn until after the October break. I am the meanest, most unreasonable mummy on the planet and, of course, I must love her big brother much more than her. Imagine a small yellow smiley face with its eyes rolling round at this juncture in the blog.

We are also struggling with homework issues. Two weeks ago she was given a project to do. It is to be handed in after the long weekend on Tuesday. Yesterday (yes, yesterday) she informs me that she and her two pals are going to do the work on Friday. Well, she can't; we're going camping on Friday and won't be here. The pals have told her that they're going to do the work on Friday without her and have essentially dumped her. And this is my fault. It's my fault that I've arranged a fun weekend away for all the family. It's my fault that they've left it until the last minute to do any work. It's my fault that her so-called friends are fickle and selfish. It's probably my fault that it's Tuesday.

Diet-wise, things are looking pretty good. I have rediscovered several items in my wardrobe that now fit properly again, although I haven't yet needed to go out and buy anything new. This is probably just as well, seeing as this morning I found a letter to dh telling him that his unpaid parking ticket was now going to cost us £90. I very nearly reached for the fridge in response to this, but at the last minute decided that a baseball bat would be more effective!

Today I'm wearing housework clothes, but later I'll be all decked out in....

Dark chocolate brown satin skirt - size 16 (rediscovered now that I've lost some weight finally!)

Bright mossy green top - size 16

Dark chocolate brown cashmere cardigan with feather trim - size 12

Stonking great 1920s-like high heeled flapper shoes

Oh my!!

Oh yay! Oh yay! Oh yay!

2008-09-22T08:07:00.015+01:00

Good news from the western front. Two whole pounds of unwanted me have evaporated into thin air. I guess this means we're back on track! (Yes, that's a stack of track in the pic!)

This has been a busy week. I started out in recovery from two sleepover parties, and segued into ill health in the form of a virulent cold virus. Virulent virus....I likes that. Anyway, this meant lots of what my granny would have called "mullygrubbing" - hanging around the house going nowhere fast, achieving very little other than perhaps lots of mugs to wash. But not necessarily washing any of them.

In between bouts of idleness, I forced myself to function in the real world sometimes too. My mother has been away on holiday and asked me to go and pick her raspberries so that they wouldn't go to waste. This should have been a fun, rewarding activity as I gleefully harvested the delicious, free crop of juicy fruit. However it has rained non-stop for a fortnight and the raspberry canes were standing in what can only be described as a quagmire. It's not easy to scrabble around for raspberries while your boots are sinking faster than your heart and you're not sure if it's rain or snot that's dripping from your nose. Couple this with the presence of a lazy wasp that found its way into the car, purely, it seemed, for the purpose of terrifying kidlets and it didn't make for a whole heap of fun. Still, we got raspberries out of the deal; free-range organic and in purely monetary terms, not costing anything either. Although I might dispute that when I take into consideration the extra laundry!

What else did we get up to? Let's see. Well, since kid-in-the-middle started full time education, the school has introduced a range of initiatives to help parents feel more involved in the whole process. Five years ago, it was a case of "Your child has reached school age, we'll take her now, come back at three", and apart from the odd parent/teacher interview session, and the occasional mumble of "Nothing much", that's all you learned about what your kid was doing there all day. Now, they've got workshops and talks, and slideshows and Involvement Days. Consequently, I feel like I've been at school all week.

As well as the Numeracy Session that I was volunteered for (which turned out to be a Literacy Session, and involved me being in charge of a smart board and was really rather fun), I also attended a Literacy Workshop. Quite how this ended up with me being covered in glittery sand I'm not sure. It did seem a little bit like a hardsell timeshare presentation, with people being signed up as volunteers for all sorts of extra-curricular activities, but on balance I think it was "a good thing." At least this time, I know what the teacher looks like. When kid-the-eldest started school, I was labouring under the impression that the tall lady with frizzy hair was his teacher, and it was weeks later that I discovered that she was actually the classroom assistant; the woman I'd suspected of loitering with dubious intent was the teacher.

Saturday saw more raspberry-picking, and a mercy-stop at a rather pathetic coffee morning. I'd nipped into the church office to offer some apologies; I wasn't going to be able to help them out with the Harvest Festival flowers afterall as I had no-one to look after the kidlets. The-Man-I-Married is away in London, Mother is on one of the Orkney Islands and I can't stick flowers into oasis very well with three whiny children hanging off my knees. At least, not with any kind of positive result. So I was excusing myself from floral activities, but while there, was directed over to the church hall where they were evidently desperate for customers. It cost me six of my finest pounds to purchase a coffee, three orange squash (I sent up a silent prayer to the god of e-numbers to please be kind to me later on), three scones and jam and three strips of raffle tickets (non-winning variety). I'm still not sure what the coffee morning was supporting - at the rate my purse is being emptied lately, I might hold one in support of me.

Sunday was Harvest Festival. It has become traditional that instead of cans of soup and loaves of bread, the children bring in a Christmas-wrapped shoebox filled with gifts for a family in Romania. I'm assured that our church, and the organisation behind the boxes, don't add any literature to the boxes, and there's no requirement for conversion before the recipient can have their goodies. Assuming this to be the case, (because while I go to church, and believe whatever it is that I believe, I don't feel good about forcing other people to think the same way as I do), I actually love filling these shoeboxes. I started doing it after one of my miscarriages, as a way of remembering the person who wasn't with us. And each year, I'd fill a box with goodies for a child who'd be the same age as the baby who didn't make it. Now, I fill one for each of my living children, and it's like another excuse to play Father Christmas.

Last year, for reasons I've now forgotten, we neglected to take our boxes. Consequently this year, I had most of the bits and pieces already. I was feeling quite smug about being organised for once until Kid-in-the-middle asked in her loudest stage whisper "Is this all the stuff you forgot to give last year?" as we walked up the aisles.

During the service, one of the stalwarts stood up and asked for volunteers to deliver the festival flowers around the village. As I was already feeling guilty (and we're protestants...why I always have this Catholic Guilt thing going on I'm not sure...I blame all these ecumenical services) I volunteers not only myself, but my children and my son's best friend at the same time. Kid-the-Eldest was not happy. Kid-the-eldest was not shy about making this known. Kids with Aspergers don't really "get" tact and diplomacy and so I really should have been prepared for what came next.

We collect various bunches of flowers, all labelled and addressed, and head off for our first delivery. Kid-in-the-middle rings the doorbell and a rather frail elderly lady comes to the door. Her face lights up: flowers and company - what a treat. She's delighted and her delight is infectious. "Oh!" she says. "Oh! How lovely. Thank you so much. You've fair made my day. And you young people....so kind to come and deliver them." We all smile back, beatific. Except for Kid-with-Aspergers. Oh no. He steps forward in a most determined manner and says "I'm glad you like the flowers but I think you should know that I'm here against my will. I did not volunteer and I wasn't given at least two week's notice that this was happening. I've been forced." Fortunately she was also deaf and just kept smiling at us. "Asperger Boy" was left in the car for the next delivery.

Talking of deliveries, the post man has just been. Harridan has sent cake and coffee. The coffee is for me, the cake less so. She couldn't have timed it better as Kid-the-Youngest said only last night that she wished we could have "that homemade melty pud". And now she can.

And the incentive today is....

2008-09-17T09:51:00.006+01:00

The good news about having a streaming cold is that I'm not hungry. The bad news is, all I want to do is crawl back to bed.

Today, I have been volunteered to go and help up at the school with a numeracy session. I have no clue what this is going to involve. Hopefully, given that it is a bunch of five-year-olds we're talking about, nothing too mind-stretching. For a long time, maths was never my strong point, and I find it interesting that I have two children who from early on have seemed quite switched on to it. I can only sympathise with Kid-in-the-Middle who struggles. I can sympathise, but she still has to get on with it. Now in year 5 of primary school, I've resorted to paying her to learn her tables. She might not be able to tell me what seven times eight is equal to, but she understands the concept of cold hard cash!

I am toying with the idea of walking up to school. The only snag is that I don't really wish to be seen in public with paper hankies stuffed up my nose en route. I know, it's not a nice image is it? Sorry.

I know that walking is the right thing to do; it's exercise which can only be good, and given the increasingly steep rise in the cost of living, it's also free which is probably even more of a plus point. It might even make me feel better. But oh I don't want to!! Perhaps if someone gave me a pound when I reached the top of the hill? Actually, today, I don't think a pound is enough. Fifty quid and I'll get my boots on.

Today I'm wearing:

Brown linen trousers, size 18, bit baggy around the waist - yay!

Cream smock top, size 16 - doesn't make me look preggers anymore, yay!

Cream ribbed cardigan, size 12, vaguely working on the S&T principal.

Footwear....undecided. Funky crocs or green suede walking boots...will update later!

Same old, same old

2008-09-15T20:49:00.002+01:00

Quick update tonight. My weight stayed the same this week. Although judging by the quantities running out of my nose right now, I should be practically skeletal by next week.

Also, I tidied Kid-in-the-middle's bedroom for her this afternoon. OMG. You have never seen such a tip. She was moaning this morning that she didn't have any clean socks. I found about fourteen mismatched socks down the back of her bed. What does she do in there? I swear I'm getting CCTV. Or maybe I'm better off not knowing? Anyway, by the time I'd pulled all the furniture out, swept and mopped the floor, lugged bin bags of rubbish ("But I lurrrrrrrrve that bit of gravel. It was from granny's house. PLeeeeeeeeese let me keep this bag of broken buttons...."etc etc) and re-arranged the furniture again I ran out of energy for anything else.

I wonder what Rosemary Conley has to say about very stiff hot toddies?

Easy Like Sunday Morning

2008-09-14T07:08:00.004+01:00

And.....relax!

So, finally, it's Sunday. The day of rest. And finally, I can. The last couple of days have felt like I've been running some kind of marathon. Although actually, it was more like a game of catch-up. Don't let anyone tell you that sleepovers are easy!

Big kid, and Kid-in-the-middle were both born in September. Yes, I know. The-Man-I-Married only gets sex at Christmas. We've heard that joke before. (Kid-the-youngest disproves the theory. She must have been the result of too much self-medication at Halloween.) All of which means that this month, as well as our wedding anniversary, my parents' wedding anniversary, and sundry other relatives' wedding anniversaries, we have two birthdays to contend with.

Big kid turns 11 in a week or so, Kid-in-the-middle was 9 last week. Both wanted sleepovers in the tent in the garden. It seemed logical to do them both on the same weekend. Pah to logical says I. And never again.

It isn't the camping thing that's the issue. My lovely new tent goes up in around half an hour and is the envy of all who sail in her. Camping is my new best favourite thing. No, it's the organisation, the shopping, the baking, the decorating, the the thinking up games, the remembering cake candles, the last minute, "Did you get charcoal?" and the frantic re-cleaning of the house between parties and my stupid assertion to the lady at church that "Sure, I can do the flowers this week...I've not got much on", that have knocked this idea into Hades as far as I'm concerned.

Having said all that, don't listen to me. We've had a blast. Kid-in-the-middle had her party first: three friends, pinata, treasure hunt, pass the parcel, talent show, tacos and burritos, toasting marshmallows, birthday cake, DVDs and popcorn in the tent, chattering till 1am. Frightening themselves silly and de-camping to the house at 1.30am. More chattering till 3am, and up with the sparrows at 6.30am.

Then we did it all again. Only this time, apparently 11 year olds are too cool for school and didn't want pass the parcel. But they did want a treasure hunt and a pinata! And a BBQ, toasting marshmallows, birthday cake, DVDs and popcorn and chatting till 3 am. Thankfully, they managed the latter part without any help from me and I scooted off to bed early with the beginnings of a cold to keep me company.

Diet-wise, it could have been worse. It could have been better, but it could have been worse. I stuffed my burritos with more salad than sour cream and I had BBQ chicken not hot dogs. And more salad. But there were two birthday cakes to dispose of, wine was required for sanity purposes on Friday (one bottle over the whole weekend - The-man-I-married couldn't have any because he was dosed up on Tramadol following an emergency tooth extraction on Friday afternoon. He came home, way later than promised, looking like someone had punched his lights out, blood oozing from the side of his mouth, unable to talk. Halloween's next month matey!)

And now, finally, it's Sunday morning. The coffee pot is sizzling away, the cold I mentioned has burgeoned into a full-on snot-fest, there's chattering from the tent in the garden, but really, there's nothing for me to do. Well, nothing that needs doing right this minute anyway. I'm giving church a miss this morning....my only real prayer is that the flowers I flung together yesterday afternoon are still upright and that The-man-I-married is fit enough to go out and buy some Olbas Oil. Apart from that....nada. We've even got leftovers for lunch.

Today I'm wearing

Pyjamas mostly.

Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag. Please.

2008-09-12T07:30:00.000+01:00

I have a friend, we'll call her Harridan, and she is nagging me. I don't like being nagged, but this is why she is a good friend. She knows, as I do, that the fact that I have updated neither blog nor food diary is not a good thing. She knows, as I do, that I've been slacking. I let myself get discouraged and gave up. And then I felt bad for giving up so I gave up some more. I'm not related to Spock that's for sure.

I dug out some old photos recently and was struck by the fact that right up until the age of about 25 I was a skinny little thing. A bit too skinny sometimes. But I never worried about food. I never iced a cake and worried that a nibble of marzipan would botch the scales. I never considered it a disaster if two days before my period started I ate enough chocolate, bread and pasta to feed three cows. Not that cows eat chocolate.....

I started to put on weight when I was living in America. All that food! In those mahoosive portions! But at that point, I was still active enough with swimming and daily gym sessions, plus a lorra lorra walking that it wasn't that much of an issue. It was when we came back to Scotland that the problems started. I went back to a desk job. At home. No walking anywhere, no free gym membership, no Californian sunshine to swim under, no motivation and a huge dollop of depression. And then I had a baby. Or three.

All this time, I was getting progressively bigger. After each baby, I lost the weight, but then gained more with the next one. And I thought, really thought, after losing all of it four years ago that I'd done it for good. I wasn't going to have any more babies, I was a slim, trim size 8-10 and life was good. Then dad died. And mum, having nobody else nearby, turned to me. Not just for grieving purposes - that would have been hard, but bearable. No, she wanted me to be dad, be her buffer against the world, save her from having to deal with it. And I am finding that job the hardest of all, because, frankly, I don't want it.

I know I can lose weight. I've done it before. And I know that the diet plan I'm (trying to) follow will work for me. But I have to find strategies for keeping myself on track when real life hits the fan. I'm great at sticking to stuff when it's going well. Aren't we all? And it's not that the diet wasn't going well, it was more that I had a psychological set back, when my new scales were reading heavier than the old ones. I had still lost over a stone in weight. I should have been pleased!

So, Harridan is nagging, and with good reason. She wanted me to update this blog and I have. Hopefully she's right, and my return to these little meanderings will also indicate a return to the straight and narrow path of the righteous and thinning.

Today I'm wearing:

Dark blue wide legged jeans, size 16

White tent-shaped blouse, size 16

Suede pointy boots with tassels

Earrings that Pat Butcher probably wouldn't wear

2008-09-01T07:25:00.000+01:00

I had never realised quite how much I depend on the scales for reassurance. This last couple of weeks have felt awful, and all because I can't check what I weigh. As someone who likes to weigh themselves daily, this has been a struggle. Perhaps, if I buy some new scales, I'll leave them alone a bit more. Perhaps, I worked my scales to death?!

This morning, I hopped on the scales and after about 15 attempts, decided to go with the most likely reading....12 stone, 12lbs. This was the smallest loss that it gave me, and I knew I had lost something because the tape measure shows that my bust and waist are smaller.

If this reading is even vaguely accurate, it means that I've lost about 1 stone 4lbs over five weeks. I can't help thinking that this is mainly down to my reduced alcohol consumption; not only the lack of wine-cals but also the lack of snack-cals that go hand in hand with the wine-cals!

Kidlets are all benefitting from this diet too. Like most children, they lurve their puddings. When I'm not on a diet, I don't really "do" puddings. I prefer to eat three times as much of my main course and kid myself that it's alright because I'm not eating dessert. This diet is helping me to spread my calories out over three courses, without overindulging in any of them. This means that Biggest Kid gets a regular custard fix and Kid in the Middle thinks I'm the best mummy in Scotland.

We are about to start the third week of school since they went back after the summer. The routine that I thought might fall into place is still sadly lacking. I've decided to blame my husband. He's not a bad man, but he gets "ideas", and they usually involve drilling holes in my walls. Thus far, he has various projects on the go, including the garage, the study, Biggest Kid's room, Kid in the middle's room, and Kid at the bottom's room. There is also stuff happening in the dining room, the kitchen light is still languishing in the garage and I can't get into my airing cupboard for the big pile of "stuff" that he has deposited in front of the doors. He tried to start a discussion about "landscaping" the back garden but I gave him "the look" and so far at least he has backed off. The look is usually only a temporary measure and I may yet have to give him "the talk".

Today's outfit comprises:

Slouchy jeans, size 18.....won't be able to keep these up properly for much longer!
Orangey ethicnicky top, size 16
Fabulous tan suede pointy boots with tassles and heels you could kill with.
Concealer under my eyes....experimenting with ways to reduce the appearance of these shadows!

Lost in the wilderness...

2008-08-29T11:04:00.000+01:00

Eek, it has been week!

Last time I wrote anything here, I was bemoaning how much I dislike Fridays, and here we are again. I'm going to think positive this week though, because last time, it was as if I'd given myself permission to slacken off and although it wasn't a massive disaster, I definitely let go of the reins a bit.

This, coupled with the scales playing silly buggers meant that I really had no idea where I was weight-wise come Monday. I have been getting all sorts of silly readings whereby the scales seemed to be adding and losing pounds every five minutes. I am obviously going to have to invest in some new, more reliable ones. My hubby is rather overweight and I'm now beginning to suspect that he's been leaping on them and has destroyed the mechanism!!

In the mean time, I've taken some measurements and if I can't get the scales to say anything sensible, I'll need to start working from these instead. Clothes have certainly been more comfortable and some even look okay too. No reason to go shopping just yet...nothing is falling off me, but at least I don't feel quite so trussed up anymore.

Now fitting in a much more flattering manner is....

White, wide legged linen trousers, size 18 (yes, I've got two pairs of these as well as the brown ones!)
Bright orange cotton camisole, size 16
Purple ruffly cardigan, size 16
Purple earrings, orange necklace, orange bangle
Bare feet just now....will have to sort out shoes later.

Friday I'm in love? Not so much.

2008-08-22T09:40:00.000+01:00

From a diet point of view, I don't much like Fridays. It's the start of the weekend and there's too much time and too much temptation between now and weigh-in day.

If the scale-reading was good on Monday morning, that high carries you through Tuesday and most of Wednesday. Thursday can sometimes be a little tough....it's the diet equivalent of "hump day" at work where you are half-way there. Friday feels like a long way away from the success of Monday and yet the last two days of the week are still stretching out before you. It's my "dip" day. If there's one time of the week when I'm likely to career wildly off-plan, it's today! So with that in mind, I've lined up eight million jobs to do which will hopefully keep me physically occupied and away from the fridge!

The next big thing for me to tackle is exercise. I'm not good at it. I don't really enjoy getting all hot and sweaty, I dislike swimming pools and the only activity that I really relish (oh well alright, there's two, but no, not that one) has had to be severely restricted due to a foot injury. Whereas I used to be able to walk five or six miles without thinking about it, the mile-and-a-bit walk to to school and back yesterday had me popping ibuprofen again. Someone suggested dancing as a possible alternative, but given that I have all the natural rhythm of a rhino in a plastercast I think that's probably a no. It looks like I'm going to have to stick to cycling nowhere for a bit!

Today I'm wearing:

White linen trousers, size 18.
White baggy blouse, size 18.
Beige cardian, size 14
Beige flatties
Silver star earrings, silver beaded necklace, chunky silver ring, selection of bangles.
Diesel Fuel for Life perfume

Best days of their lives

2008-08-20T20:28:00.001+01:00

Back to school today. Back to school for the older two anyway, while my baby started for the first time ever. They were up at O'Dark-Thirty, full of beans (or springs maybe?), jumping around and raucous and quite frankly I was glad to be shot of them. Kid-the-youngest didn't go in until later and I had to put up with lots of "Is it time to go yet?", "When do we leave?", "Can we go now?" and "I want to go NOWWWWWW" until finally it was time to go. There was a tiny, minor wobble at the thought of some of the bigger boys and girls, but then she saw her friend from playgroup and I was unceremoniously dumped in favour of finding the best seat in the classroom.

Little one came home full of smiles and clutching two stickers. One was for doing a lovely picture of her recent camping trip and the other was for "being quiet". We'll return that one to its rightful owner in the morning because it can't possibly have been given to one of my children!

The other two came back with mixed reviews. Kid in the middle has declared her new teacher to be "mean", while at the same time telling me of the fantastic, exciting game that they played all day. Big kid had lots to say about his lunch, which was obviously the highlight of the day.

And talking of lunch.....how many servings are you supposed to get out of a 300g bag of Quorn mince? I used two last night to make tacos and burritos for supper for five. One kidlet and I had leftovers for lunch, and then I made a tomato sauce for what was left to eat with spaghetti tonight, again for five. There's still enough for a leftover lunch for two tomorrow - it's like the magic porridge pot!!

(And I had to laugh at Kid the eldest who was poking around his Quorn bolognaise....."Are there any mushrooms in this?" he asked suspiciously. "No," says I, thinking "If only you knew"!

Today's wardrobe choices:

Beige/brown/cream linen A-line skirt (leafy pattern), size 16.

Cream and silver smock top, size 16

Longline beige floppy-sleeved cardigan, size 14

Cream and beige flatties

Full face of make up with which to face the yummy mummies at the school gate

Asda cameo earrings

Avon big chunky brown and gold glass ring

Chocolate brown leather handbag, far too expensive but practically strokable.

Crabs, Crocs and Very Strange Cats....

2008-08-19T15:51:00.000+01:00

What to do for the last weekend of the summer holidays? Go to the cinema perhaps? (Nah - last time we did that I ended up bleeding at the bottom of an escalator.) Trip to the swimming pool? Nope. There's little I hate more than floating around in a big bucket of germ soup. Walk to the park? Not very adventurous. I know....let's go camping! We can spend half of Friday driving to the campsite and pitching the tent, three days cowering from the rain and getting everything we own filthy dirty before heading home and leaving ourselves barely 48 hours to get three kids ready to start school again. Brilliant plan.

Actually, it was. The kids had a ball. Yes, it rained, but not all the time. And yes, every single scrap of clothing got soaked and steeped in mud. But oh, the bliss of of no television, no laptops, no DS lites beeping. The children played in the loch all day until it got too dark and/or midgy to see. There were no complaints about tops not matching trousers (they were too thankful that there was a top dry enough to wear), and even Kid-with-his-faddy-head-on forgot to check for mushrooms in his dinner he was so hungry after all that fresh air.

Sartorially, it was a bit of a disaster. I took my comfiest slouchy jeans and some of those brown linen trousers, a selection of vest tops, little cardigans and my crocs. Why I chose to wear rubber shoes full of holes and leave my wellies behind I'll never know. I ended up having to roll all my trousers up to avoid wet flapping going on round my ankles.

Kid in the middle did take her wellies, but she still managed to get every pair of trousers soaked while fishing for crabs. I kept telling myself that this was what childhood should be like, while trying to banish thoughts of mildew from my suddenly middle-aged-grumpy-old-woman brain. But the delight on her face when she caught the biggest one seen all day was worth it. I think.

As for very strange cats, well, we haven't had a cat for a while now. Cat 1 died, and Cat 2 went a bit mental after her sister was gone. The kids created their very own replacement with bits of rock, seaweed and some blue string. It stood guard outside our tent for three days until I dismantled it - silly to say, but I almost felt quite sad to say goodbye to that cat.

So that's the crocs/crabs/cats. What about the diet? Well, it went okay. I've discovered that there are low fat versions of things that you shouldn't touch with a barge pole. Have one proper sausage instead of two "low fat" sausages. And don't buy packet rice. (This was an unplanned purchase - the camp shop only sold packets of flavoured rice. Next time, we'll eat our curry with bread instead!)

Of course, the most important thing is what the scales tell me. We were knee deep in campsite on Monday morning, so no opportunity to weigh myself until Tuesday. And yay! I've lost another 4.5lbs this week. Which is pretty good going all things considered. So now I really am a happy camper!!

For Bainsy

2008-08-14T19:46:00.000+01:00

After hobbling around yesterday and complaining like mad every time I moved, I am today resolved to stop whinging. A dear friend tried to take his life yesterday, a friend whose quality of life has been drastically reduced after brain surgery left him without the ability to swallow. I am busy praying for him and for his wife and family and at the same time eternally thankful for the good health that I and my family take for granted sometimes. If anything, it strengthens my resolve to get fitter and healthier for we never know when we might need to call on our reserves.

Escalator Surfing; Extreme Parenting For Beginners

2008-08-13T17:57:00.000+01:00

It seems having a sore arse from unusual exercise bike activity wasn't enough for me. Oh no. I like to take things to the max. Do the job properly. If you're going to hurt yourself, really hurt yourself.

Yesterday afternoon, I took the kids to the cinema for a treat. All of a sudden on the way in, for no apparent reason that I can see, Kid-the-youngest starts screaming that she's afraid of escalators. This is news to me, and by the time I've realised that she's not coming with us, I'm half way up the damn thing and had to clamber down the up escalator to reach her. We nearly missed the film because of the histrionics.

Anyway, film watched, declared a success all round and it's time to go back down. I know this is going to be tricky so I ask Kid Number 1 and Kid-in-the-Middle to go down first so that I can concentrate on coaxing The Reluctant One onto it. Kid-in-the-Middle leaps on while Big Brother announces that he's suddenly afraid of them too. I end up yelling at him to just please do as he's told because now his sister is alone in a sea of milling people at the bottom!

Finally, I try to get Miss Panickypants on and down. I can't carry her because my back isn't up to it, but I talk, calmly and get her to hold my hand, take a step onto the escalator with me and we're off. Except we're not because she's jumped back off it again while clinging on to my trousers. I lose one shoe, and the leg that isn't still at the top of the escalator is now being repeatedly battered by the moving metal stair. Little Miss Frenzy is having a full blown panic attack at the thought of being left alone and grabs my hair. I'm still trying to haul myself up the down stairs without dragging her down with me, when someone asks me if I'm alright. No hand to grab, just asks me if I'm ok and steps over me. Sure, I'm fine. One leg is bleeding, the other feels like it has been wrenched out of place, I have a lump of hair missing, one bare foot and a screaming child. No problem at all matey. And I still had to get said banshee down the bloody escalator.

So now, as well as having a bum that feels like someones been making me sit on red hot pokers, I also have a lovely three-lane gash down one leg, while the other, already knee-creakingly dodgy leg feels like it could fall off any second. My left tit is black and red with bruising - that's going to look attractive when it turns yellow and green - and it seems that I might have been walloped one in the jaw by Princess Panic.

All in all, kids are fine, I will be too, and I've been consoling myself with other people's misfortune by googling Escalator Surfing on YouTube. Schadenfraude is a wonderful thing. Lesson to be learned from all this? The ratio of 1:3 where 1 is the adult and 3 is the number of children is a good indicator that STAYING HOME is the preferred choice of activity.

Today I'm wearing:

Slouchy jeans that are actually just a bit too big, size 18

Cream and silver smock top, size 16

Cream flouncy cardigan, size 12 (I've had it years and it's not really a size 12 anymore. Perhaps it will shrink back with me?)

Leather beaded flipflops

Pearl and shell rope twist from Avon, Cream and pink cameo earrings from asda, brass bangles from market stall somewhere.

Lippy and mascara and sunscreen.

I'm now down one pair of brown linen trousers, unless I can convert them to 3/4 length trouser. If I'm to believe everything that Trinny and her pal say, this would be a bad idea. Linen dusters anyone?

The Elephant in the Room

2008-08-12T10:48:00.000+01:00

Well, not so much an elephant, more an exercise bike. But lately I've been pretending not to notice its reproachful stares so it might as well be an elephant. Not today however. Today I leapt up onto it (okay, okay - it was more tentative heaving than leaping but still, you have to start somewhere), and cycled for 31.5 minutes, racking up 11K and leaving me 117 calories better off than when I started. It's all good. Apart from the nasty clicking noise that my knee is now making. I thought this getting fit and healthy kick was going to leave me, well, fit and healthy; not creaking and sore!

Oh, and now that I'm duly showered and recovered, I'm wearing:

Brown linen trousers (not the same pair - I own three the same. This is what happens when you get fat. You find something that looks okayish and buy three of them to save thinking too hard) Size 18. Definitely more comfortable around the waist.
Pale green, coffee brown, cream and pink blouse with a 1950s curtain pattern Size 16
Khaki crocs
Some really rather stunning jewellery from Avon but which I could easily pretend was from Pilgrim.

Nothing tastes as good as success

2008-08-11T17:14:00.000+01:00

So, today was weigh-in day. I might not have started my diet exactly a week ago, but for the sake of tidiness, Monday is the day I'm officially to be found with my fingers crossed as I delicately deposit myself on the scales and pray for a kind reading. And today, my lovely, lovely scales told me that I was precisely 8lbs lighter than I had been a week ago. Eight pounds!! 8.0lbs. I still can't quite believe it and I just hope that I don't wake up tomorrow, find out it's Monday all over again and I've actually gained 8lbs.

Needless to say, I'm delighted with this result, but of course, it's only the first 8lbs from a total of more than 60 that I need to lose. That posh size 8 dress in my wardrobe still aint fitting! Still, it's a good start and has given me just the impetus I need to carry on. I have also put £8 in a jar. That dress needs new shoes :-)

Continuing with the positive note...it finally stopped raining long enough for my tent to dry out. My lovely new Iowa is packed back in its bag ready to be dragged out again at the weekend. I must start work on a menu-plan for the camping trip that will keep the scales happy next Monday and not leave me starving. All to be cooked in one pot. Mmmmmmm.

Today I'm wearing:

Wide legged jeans, size 16
Burnt orange vest top size 16
Purple fluffy cardigan size 16
Purple and silver dangly earrings, large orange glass pendant, chunky copper bangle
Brown high heeled leather ankle boots.
Lippy, mascara and some rather devine face illuminator stuff from Virgin Vie.

13 Stone 8.75lbs. (-8lbs)

Like waiting for Christmas

2008-08-10T11:25:00.000+01:00

I'm such a saddo. I woke up this morning all excited and for a minute or two, couldn't work out why. And then I realised....one more day till the end of the first week of my diet. One more day to get the official reading on how much I've lost this week. So of course, I hopped on the scales to see what they say today, one day before the official weigh-in day. I really wish I hadn't because tomorrow is now bound to be a disappointment; either I'll be the same as today, which is good, but not that exciting, or I'll have gained three pounds because the scales are crap. It's tempting to eat nothing all day to try and make sure that the scales give me a good result tomorrow but I won't because that way madness lies.

On the plus side, the sun has returned to grace us. If it would just stay like this, I could take my tent down from the garden ready to go camping proper at the weekend.

Must work out how to do "diet" camping food. I'm not sure sausages and beans for every meal is in the plan! In fact the list of things I "must do" today would fill several blogs and kill anyone reading from instant boredom.

Oh, and today I'm wearing:

Housework clothes. There's bathrooms to be scrubbed and sartorial elegance isn't really required. Later, if the sun stays sunny and the clouds stay away, I have a blue/green/lime/white floral A-line skirt (18) to wear with a white vest top, green cardigan and flipflops. Otherwise, jeans and a jumper.

Too late. That's rain I can hear. I'm sure I don't deserve this!!

It's raining, it's pouring

2008-08-09T13:14:00.000+01:00

And man, do I feel like snoring. This is fire on, duvet wrapped round your shoulders, Cary Grant or Doris Day in Full Technicolor weather. Not drag three kidlets out to Chavsda weather.

So far, I've made mushroom soup, processed two loads of laundry and rustled up lunch. I'm shattered. I have three half-read books on the go and a comfy chair calling my name. Unfortunately, kid in the middle has a party to go to on Monday and we have no pressie to take.

I ate a huuuuuuuuge breakfast this morning; three grilled tomatoes, a bucket of mushrooms, slice of toast and two grilled turkey rashers. I've just consumed an equally massive lunch of salad, beef, bread roll and diet yoghurt. Why am I dreaming of shortbread?

It has been one week since I last had an alcoholic drink. Stupidly, I'm almost afraid to have one now, in case I suddenly DID become an alcoholic and can't stop at one. Is that mad? Probably. I guess I just have to "think of all the calories"!!

Today I'm wearing:

Wide legged blue jeans - size 16. Comfier than the last time I wore them or is that just wishful thinking?
Bright orange "ethnic" blouse.
Khaki crocs
jangly clangy bangles
Big chunky gold beads
Tiger's eye earrings
No make up yet, but I'm planning a face mask after I've done the next lot of ironing so when my skin goes all red I'll no doubt need the full face.

Good start, added aggro.

2008-08-08T11:34:00.000+01:00

I know I'm not meant to do this, but I stand on the scales every morning. I suppose the reason you're not supposed to is because your weight fluctuates from day to day, and by weighing yourself only weekly, you catch the overall trend rather than every blip, dip, bump and lump. I only write down the weekly weigh-ins, but I'm too compulsive and nosy to go a whole week without weighing myself. And hey, sometimes it brings rewards too. After three days of reading a very depressing "14 stone 2.75lbs" on the display of my scales, today, after not quite a week of no alcohol, and only two full days of proper dieting, it tells me that I'm down to 13 stone 9.75lbs. That's half a stone. It might be half a stone of water but I don't care.

Mum rang. I am concerned that she thinks me giving up work means I can spend every last minute with her. I would ignore the phone, but since we got the (totally tacky but I love it) Mickey Mouse phone, the kids have all started racing towards it as soon as the first "ting" rings out. It may get better once school starts again, but then she'll simply phone just before they leave. I'm going to have to start inventing friends and activities if I want to avoid her! Jeeze, the whole point of giving up work was to reduce the stress in my life, not simply change it.

Today I'm wearing.....

The same as yesterday only with clean undies and a clean top. Oh and a bit of makeup. Not much because I was interrupted by my daughter who had locked herself out of the house and I've never quite made it back upstairs. Actually, must go and investigate that funny beeping noise.

4.20pm and we're back from my mother's house. How's the diet going? Would I like some banana cake? A biscuit? Some shortbread. At least take the recipe. Anything at all? What is wrong with this woman? I lasted all of an hour before I had to make my excuses and leave.

So, this is day two of the big diet

2008-08-07T16:31:00.000+01:00

Not a very tidy place to start. I prefer things to be more orderly than that, but if I wait until it's a good time to diet, I may die first. And I don't want that.

It's three years ago yesterday that my dad died. And it was the not really coping very well with that situation that has caused me to pile on the pounds. There was the whole guilt thing because I was on holiday in America when he had his first heart attack and didn't go home. Then there was the anger that nobody told me to go home. In fact they told me to stay put. And then there was the deep, deep sadness that I never got to see him again. Coupled with the horrifying realisation that much as I love my mother, I don't much like her, and dad and his expansive personality had managed to hide this fact from me for years. It hasn't been the best three years of my life. But at some point, things have to get better. And the only person who can make them better is me. So it's time to dig deep and find the better me. The me that isn't fat, verging on alcoholism and depressed. We (that's a royal we - I don't really hear the voices) want to see the happy, fun-lovin', up-for-anything me that is buried somewhere deep inside this mass of crap.

Do diet blogs usually consist of a list of food consumed? I don't think I'm going to do that. I can make myself feel guilty elsewhere. However, I think I'm going to do a daily list of what I'm wearing....let's see if it gets more glam as time goes on!!

Today....

Brown linen trews....size 18
White lacy vest top....size 16
Pink cotton cardigan....size 16
Beads, bangles and earrings .....any size you like. Aint jewellery great?
Brown leather wedge sandals - size 7
No makeup. This was a slob around the house kind of a day. I did however shave my legs and exfoliate my hands in an endeavour to look a bit less like a washerwoman.

Tis only two weeks till the kidlets go back to school. Two weeks till we have to have some kind of routine again. Will it be the making of me? Or send me loopy all over again? I wonder.