History

“01-02-MMII

Dear Ann

Your great uncle James opened his tailoring business in Ship Yard Leeds in September 1919.

Your great uncle Frank enlisted in RHA in 1915 and died of wounds 1917.

Your granddad was mustard gassed in Oct 1918 and was discharged in the following January.  He was a wonderful father.

When we are due to meet remind me to show you your grandma’s now tatty “diary” for the period.

Love, Dad”

I just found this amongst some papers that needed sorting.  It was written on a simple postcard.  It made me cry. 

It reminded me of my dad.  I miss him.

It also made me think about the loss and pain caused by war.

It also reminded me of my grandma’s diary which I now have in my possession and which is such a fascinating slice of life in Leeds around the time of the Great War and afterwards.  Dad was right that it isn’t really a diary at all, more of a notebook recording purchases, births, weddings, deaths and recipes, all in one tiny little leather bound book.

One day my daughter may well be sorting through my belongings and find the diary, or the postcard, and maybe she’ll cry too.

Parenting tip, number one

Let me start by saying that I am in no way a perfect parent. In fact, far from it. My parenting is so full of holes it has been called colander parenting, or sieve parenting by more vicious observers.

But there are a few things that I think work well and might be useful for other people. I’m sure they aren’t new ideas and there certainly won’t be anything revolutionary here but if an idea is worth sharing then, isn’t that what a blog is for?

So here goes. Tip number one.

Problem: Your children take forever to get ready in the morning.

My solution:

Firstly there is a rule that breakfast can only be consumed if a child is dressed. I know that risks breakfast spillage on uniform but that’s why wipes were invented.

Secondly go out and buy kitchen timers. The funnier or most appropriate for the child the better. Ask your child how long they want as a time to get dressed. Ideally the timer should be set for 10 to 15 minutes. The aim is to have a time that can easily be beaten. So if your child says five minutes then say “Tell you what, how about 10 minutes? Off you go.”

When your child has beaten the timer, tell them you don’t believe it and demand to see the timer. When they provide the proof tell them how amazingly quick they are.

Don’t be tempted, over time, to reduce the time on the timer.

What not to do:

Don’t get their clothes out for them and don’t help them to get dressed unless they ask for help because they’re trying to do something difficult like tricky buttons or laces. This makes them lazy and more dependant on you.

Don’t get stressed if they aren’t dressed immaculately. You can tidy collars and tuck shirts in without your child even realising it’s happening.

Summary:

You should find your child loves competing with the timer. You should also find that with more than one child there is the added competitive element of competing with a sibling or two. They get much more satisfaction from sorting themselves out without help. The payoff for the child is lots of praise and achievement and, of course, breakfast.

Also in our house, a session on the Wii in the morning only happens once a child is ready to leave the house (apart from coat, scarf and gloves).

That’s it. If you aren’t doing this right now, and you try it, let me know how it goes. If you have a better strategy then I’m all ears.

Banana tea bread crisis

I’d tweeted a request for a banana bread recipe and tried it the other day but when I tried to find it again I failed.

After an emergency tweet request Steph (aka @NorthNorfolk) came through a second time around.

So, to save the recipe for posterity, having made another lovely loaf this evening, here is Steph’s recipe:

Ingredients:

• 75g butter – softened
• 175g caster (or granulated) sugar
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 225g SR Flour
• 1/4 tsp bicarb of soda
• Pinch of salt
• 450g ripe bananas weighed with skin (about 4 medium bananas), peeled and mashed
• 100g walnuts (optional and I sometimes substitute with plain choc chips)

Method:

• Heat oven to 180 degrees C or Gas mark 4.  Or 160 degrees C in a fan oven.
• Grease and line a 2lb loaf tin.  Or grease with butter and then flour.  If you’ve never done this before you just tip a bit of flour in and swizzle it around a bit until all the inside of the tin has a thin  dusting of flour.  It’s a good idea to do this even if you have a non stick tin.
• Mix flour, bicarb and salt.
• Cream butter and sugar until pale and fluffy.  I use a Kenwood Chef and blitz with K beater on max to achieve this.  Doing this by hand is good exercise.
• Add eggs a little at a time with a little bit of flour each time.  Mix thoroughly.  I give this another full blast mix in the Kenwood.
• Stir in bananas, remaining flour and walnuts (or choc chips) if using.
• Tip into the tin and bung it in the oven for an hour and a quarter.
• When the timer bleeps (and I recommend setting a timer to avoid  the smell of burnt disappointment) check the loaf with a skewer.  If the skewer goes in the middle of the loaf and comes out clean out then the loaf is ready.  This loaf does need a lot of baking and it’s tempting to take it out when the top is a light brown.  This is a mistake because it won’t be cooked properly in the middle.
• Wait until the loaf has cooled before slicing and I cut the loaf into lunchbox size portions and freeze, taking out a fresh slice for the children’s lunchboxes in the morning. 
• If you do freeze the loaf, as mentioned above, then each piece will defrost and be nicely warm after 30 seconds in the microwave.

So thank you Steph, for saving me twice.  And the next time someone asks, feel free to share this link.

#punchdisease

I know. A weird title for a blog post, my first via iPhone (may delete tomorrow).

There's been a lot of tweeting over the last week with the hashtag #kickcancer. It seems to have been popular to use that hashtag whilst encouraging people to retweet.

Well why? Sarah Brown and a host of celebs feel they need to join the bandwagon and #kickcancer has been everywhere.

I hate cancer as much as the next person. Maybe more in some cases. It robbed me of my mother when she was just 58. She never saw me get married or have children and I never got to say goodbye.

What is my problem with the #kickcancer hashtag then?

Let me tell you. It does nothing. It's just words. Cancer isn't an entity that will feel threatened or bullied by the use of this hashtag. It's not going to go away just because we say we don't want it. It's pathetic.

If you want to do something constructive then give to a charity that spends money on researching the disease or that raises awareness about how to obtain early diagnosis. Don't just tweet rubbish.

#kickcancersoharditcantgetupagain

Drugs don’t work

I’m on medication. 

Those of you who know me will have one of two reactions, I imagine.

1.  Yeah.  I knew she was on something.

2.  Nah.  Really?  Nah, she’s not on medication, she needs medication!

Well thanks.  You see drugs and me are not a good combination.

I’m supposed to take these little tablets, one in the morning and one in the evening.  I am not supposed to miss a dose.  If I do miss a dose I need to try and catch up as quickly as possible.

I am useless at remembering.  I have done a couple of things to try and help me remember though.

I have a note blu-tacked to the back door that says “TABLET”.  I’ve also written on the cardboard box containing the tablets.  On one side I’ve written “Morning” and on the other side “Afternoon” to help me remember whether I’ve taken a morning or afternoon dose. I turn the packet so the word that is uppermost is the last dose I’ve taken.

OK so this makes me sound like I’m about eighty years old.  But that’s how I feel because, even with these pathetic memory aids ,I still forget to take this wretched medication.

I would set an alarm on my phone but I know I’d dismiss the alarm and wouldn’t actually act on the alarm.

Does anybody have a foolproof method that I can use, please?

The School of Statistics

It probably hasn’t escaped your notice but it’s been a bit wintry of late.

As we know the UK is a bit rubbish when it snows.  We run out of grit.  The grit we do have isn’t applied at the right time or in the right place.  As soon as there is the slightest hint of the white stuff on the ground then so many people decide they simply can’t venture out of their house and driving to work is simply out of the question.  And I’m as guilty as the next person.

On Wednesday there was snow on the ground in the morning and it snowed during the day.

I’d planned to work from home because I had an inkling that schools might close early.  Sure enough a text came through mid morning advising that children could be picked up at 1:15pm.  At the time I didn’t understand what was so special about 1:15pm but I was glad I’d stayed at home so that I could be around to collect my children.

Later that evening we were advised that the school would be closed on Thursday.

On Friday morning we were told the school would be open for the day, but would close early at 2:00pm.

So what is special about 1:15pm? 

That’s when the afternoon register is taken.  So on Wednesday, despite the fact that most children were collected at 1:15pm, all children will have been marked as present, even though they were in fact absent for 99% of the afternoon.

The same is true for Friday afternoon except that children will have been absent for about 60% of the afternoon.

Am I too cynical, or was the school behaving unethically to ensure their attendance statistics were the best they could be?

For coffee

I quite like coffee.  I don’t like it too strong, sometimes a Nero double shot is too bitter, and I don’t like it too weak either.

My designer coffee of choice is quite dull really because I like a white americano: and espresso shot plus hot water and then cold milk.

A latte is a bit like having a meal and a cappucino is a lot of froth about nothing. (Although I do enjoy the froth with chocolate sprinkles.)

At home we only have cafetiere coffee.  It might sound affected not to have instant coffee in the house.  I don’t mean to be.  Beans go in a coffee grinder, grounds go in cafetiere followed by water that has boiled but isn’t boiling anymore.  Plunge the plunger and then pour.  It really isn’t a hassle.  I don’t know how the cost compares with instant, but I think the taste is better.

Given that this is how I make coffee at home, I don’t really understand why, if you have all of the equipment and ingredients at home, why you’d have instant instead.

I guess you’re thinking that instant means instant and speed is an issue for some people.  The amount of washing up created is also a factor.  I’d buy both of those arguments but allow me to outline another scenario.

I know someone who chooses to put milk in a saucepan, heat it on the hob, add instant coffee and then pour and drink the results, in preference to preparing a cafetiere.

That’s more effort and a worse taste experience.  I don’t understand.

Bored

I got bored.  With myself.  I looked in the mirror and I saw bland.

Just wanted to say sorry really, because I don't see mirrors very often but you guys don't have to look into a mirror to see my blandness.

This week I changed a couple of things.  It's a bit less boring but it's a bit more hassle.

I'm weighing it up in a "Can I be bothered to keep it up?" kind of a way.

We'll see.

Of course appearance is one thing, personality is another.

I'm less bored with my personality.  It just irritates me.  And I know....because I can read it on your faces, that some, many, of you feel the same way.  That's unlikely to change as it requires more effort.

Time

People wonder why I don’t get more done. 

It’s almost half eight and ideally this evening I will do the Tesco/Ocado/Sainsbury shopping online.  I don’t know which service I’ll be using because it all depends which has a spare delivery slot for tomorrow afternoon.

Ideally I will also bake two batches of banana muffins to prevent the waste of the muffins in the dining room.

Also, I’ll grill some bacon rashers to make making a carbonara sauce just a little bit easier tomorrow.

My brother arrives in about an hours time so I’d better type quickly if I’m going to have time to have a chat with him too.

I left the house this morning at 7:40 and drove to the breakfast club.  Having realised my phone was still at home, after dropping the children off I diverted back home.

Traffic was horrendous by this time but I still made it into work by 8:25.

I grabbed lunch at work to save time but then ended up staying at work too long after lunch.

I drove to Brentwood to pick up a reserved item and I also grabbed a birthday card while I was on the High Street.

When I got home I took the tablet I forgot to take this morning and then started tidying, cleaning, ironing and vacuuming.  I made up two beds and printed some documents I need for tomorrow.

I put some (homemade) food which I’d defrosted into the oven and set the timer so it would be ready for the children as we walked in later.  I also got some more food (homemade) out of the freezer for the adults.

I got the karate gear ready and put it in the car, chatted to the builder working next door about access to our garden, responded to a few work e-mails, phoned the council and phoned Lakeside.

I walked to school for 3:15, collected the children, came home and drove to karate.

After karate I drove home and at 5:30 the children were eating dinner after a ten minute blitz of bedroom tidying.

I sorted some washing, did some more cleaning, listened to Ethan read a book and at 6:30 the children were showering.

At 6:45 Dave and I were eating while the children assembled Lego.

At 7:15 Ethan went to bed and I started playing Uno with Hannah until she went to bed at 8:00.

I did some more cleaning and I’m now sat with you and I have a cup of tea next to me and at 8:40 I know that my list of things that should get done tonight is rapidly becoming a wish list.

I haven’t slept properly all week.  I have programmes saved on the iPlayer that I’m not sure I’ll get time to watch.

I’m ratty and irritable and nobody understands.

Shouldering a problem

I had my first ever visit to a sports massage practitioner.  I thought you might know what it was like.

I’d been having problems with my shoulder and upper arm for about a month.  I can’t remember what caused the problem, but if I had to blame anything it’s probably be gardening.

The first step was to expose the problem area.  So top half clothes came off and were replaced by modesty preserving towel.

My practitioner, Mark, explained that he’d be applying pressure and be asking me, on a scale of one to ten, how painful it was.

I’m not very good at explaining how painful something is.  The one to ten scale helped but only to make pain ratings relative.  How can one rate pain at a ten?  That means that it’s not possible to suffer further pain.  Of course it’s mostly possible to put up with more pain.

So with the first attempt I went with a score of four, and tried to score all other pain relative to that first score.

The other thing about pain is that it’s possible to be conditioned to it and, over time, accept more.

Apparently my score of seven has other people screaming “ten” and needing a piece of wood to bite down on.

We did hit a couple of tens but they were only ten relative to the other scores I’d made.  If the pressure had been increased I could have coped.

The other thing that I thought was strange was that a score of eight, after pressure was applied for a few seconds turned into a score of two, without any reduction in pressure.

He didn’t just apply pressure constantly.  Sometimes the pressure was moved back and forth on an area and sometimes pressure was applied constantly and my arm was moved at the same time to change to impact of the pressure.

Mark told me I might be a “bit sore” tomorrow, and the following day, but he also said that my pain threshold might mean I don’t feel too bad at all.

Let’s see how much complaining about my shoulder I do over the next couple of days, and see whether things improve by the end of the week.

Inappropriate applause

When I was young, and yes I was young once, it was deemed inappropriate for one to applaud oneself.  These days it seems to be perfectly acceptable.

I know this makes me sound like a crotchety old woman, but that’s OK, because that’s what I am.

I see celebrities being interviewed and the interviewer will show us, the audience, and the interviewee a piece of their work, maybe a clip from their latest film or perhaps a few bars from their latest single.  Invariably the celebrity will applaud with the audience once it’s finished.

When did it become socially acceptable to lack modesty?

Surely the acceptable behaviour is to modestly smile and maybe nod the head to acknowledge the audience’s appreciation.

Isn’t applauding one’s own work arrogant and presumptuous?  Shouldn’t one allow the audience the job of critiquing one’s performance?

I know, by the way, that some famous people will excuse this behaviour by claiming they are merely showing their appearance for the audience.

Rubbish!  They’re just full of themselves and are trying to excuse the inexcusable.

Gissa job

Our lovely post delivery people, are considering striking.  As a response the Royal Mail will be recruiting 30,000 temporary staff to cope with the work that isn’t being done by those who are striking.

This is the time of year when Royal Mail would be recruiting seasonal staff to cope with the Christmas rush anyway, I think they’ve just upped the requirement because of the planned industrial action.

I know we’re emerging from the economical hangover caused by the credit crunch, but there are still many people who have lost their job and will be eyeing 30,000 temporary jobs and thinking “I’ll have a piece of that.”

I have done this job.  I have worked the sorting office nightshift and I’ve delivered the mail.

The nightshift: This involved standing in front of a grid of pigeonholes and sorting mail into these pigeonholes which were divided into streets, or sections of streets.  It was possible to sit down but the seat that was available was not adjustable and was akin to an uncomfortable bar stool.

Tea breaks were the highlight of the shift because there was a pool table for amusement.  I think there may have been a canteen but the food can’t have been great because I’ve blanked it out.

Delivering the mail: I was dumped on my patch by a van and left, with my mail, not really having too much of a clue about which street was where.  Most of the time the mail had been sorted appropriately for the street and it was a simple matter of mail into letterboxes.

Low letterboxes cause back ache and are not good (Health and Safety take note).  Sprung loaded letter boxes scrape the skin off the back of the hand.  Barking dogs petrified me and the fear was realised when the dog followed up the bark by snapping with teeth at the hand through the letterbox.  Flats are a pain, especially when one has finished delivering to a block of flats and then there’s a letter that has been mis-sorted and it’s for the top floor.  (This happened to me and my response was to pop it in the nearest letterbox.  I know this is wrong, please don’t write and complain.) 

So in case you are tempted by the headline 30,000 jobs, you can submit your application knowing a little more about what you’re applying for.

A cautionary tale

Ethan asked me this evening “Mummy, what would happen if I put a conker in the washing machine?”

“You’d go on the naughty step.”

“For how long Mummy?  How long would I go on the naughty step, if I put a conker in the washing machine?”

“Five years”

“Really?”

“Yes really.  I’d be very, very annoyed.”

Nanny state

I read this today on the BBC website:

“Parents in England who regularly look after friends' children and receive a "reward" for doing so must register as childminders, regulator Ofsted says.

It said most parents would be exempt but those who babysat for more than two hours at a time, or for more than 14 days per year, should be registered.”

It incensed me.

The last time I checked, a full day of nursery costs for one child was about £50.

The staff that worked in that nursery also made themselves available for babysitting at a rate of £10 per hour.

With that kind of cost, it really doesn’t surprise me that people seek cheaper solutions.  One of the most logical solutions would be a reciprocal arrangement with a friend.  Sharing the job of childcare and avoiding the cost.

It is such an arrangement that Ofsted told two detective constables, Leanne Shepherd and Lucy Jarrett, was illegal.  A reciprocal arrangement can be deemed to be a reward.

And if I understand this Ofsted statement correctly, it means that my children cannot be babysat by a friend of mine if we plan to be out of the house for more than two hours and I offer to return the favour.

Equally, when I was a teenager I used to get paid to babysit, sometimes for five or six hours.  This enabled couples and single parents to enjoy the occasional evening out.  This, and the nursery staff that babysit in the evenings to supplement their income, can no longer happen.  It is illegal, unless these individuals register as a childminder with Ofsted.

How puerile.  How utterly ridiculous.  Surely, as a parent, I should be empowered to decide who cares for my children, and if it happens to be a friend or neighbour I trust then that’s my decision.

It might seem strange that I complain about this Nanny State because I rarely go out but it’s the principle that matters here.