Presents

I did some presents today.

Bought one, made one.

Bought an anniversary present for Dave. 12th anniversary. I looked it up, that's silk. That's a stupid thing to have as the basis for a present for a bloke, or at least my bloke. I mean I could buy a tie, but it's not exactly the most interesting gift. So his gift is a combination of items; one is sentimental, one is appropriate and one is something he'll like.

I made a Christmas present for my dad. My brother and I and our families are the most important thing in dad's life. The gift I made is a calendar with pictures of family for each month. It wasn't something ordered directly from Bonusprint, it was something that was made using glue. That's real craft. Actually the glue hasn't worked too well so I'll be using photo corners as back up.

It's the thought that counts.

It can't be true

We used to have:

• BT for line rental
• Onetel for calls
• Tiscali for Broadband, 2 Meg
• Sky for TV

Total cost per month was about £50. Oh and the TV reception didn't work so we used a Freeview box instead.

Now we have Tiscali for everything including 8 Meg broadband.

Cost per month - £25.

And, into the bargain, the the guy that installed it was fit.

So we now receive our TV signal over the internet and it travels over the mains to get to the TV. This avoids the useless Sky dish and the not quite so bad aerial in the loft. I don't understand how it works, but it does so I'm happy. I don't understand how wireless works either. In fact there's a lot I don't understand.

Broadband is now 8 Meg but when TV is on up to 2.8 Meg is used for that.

I'm wondering what the catch is. Er.

DNA can help

Another idea for the anti-smoking lobby to adopt...

The entire population should have their DNA stored and so should visitors to the UK.

Cigarette litter ought to be DNA tested when it has been discarded with disregard.

Match litter bug DNA with DNA database and then prosecute. Obviously cigarette vendors would have a "Get out of jail free" card.

A bit of bird for fag boys and girls might just teach them to drop the filthy habit and not to drop their filthy fag ends or packet wrapping and boxes.

Offensive weapon

I think I've unearthed another way to rid the land of stinking foul smoke from cigarettes.

It's unlawful to carry an offensive weapon - see the 1996 Offensive Weapons Act for details.

I think carrying a lit cigarette qualifies someone as carrying an offensive weapon. I've lost track of the times I've had to avoid a cigarette end which, in between puffs, carries a temperature of 800 degrees. If I were to carry a hot poker around with me I would be contravening the Offensive Weapons Act, so why not with a cigarette?

This of course does not even consider the poisonous toxins that are being forced upon me by proximity to the smoker.

What do you think? An idea with legs?

Artistic talent

I dipped into IKEA on Friday and bought a couple of their gingerbread house kits, following the recommendation of a friend who'd used them last year.

The intention was that Ethan would decorate one, and Hannah the other.

The kit is less of a kit and more of a number of pieces of gingerbread in the shapes of various house components, e.g. walls, roof sides, chimney walls etc.

To 'glue' the house together, the instructions recommend melting sugar and using that as the cement. I'm no chef, and this was my first attempt at melting sugar, which actually turned out to be quite interesting, for me anyway. But I can now testify to the fact that melted sugar is a bitch to deal with and what seems like a simple process can, in reality, be very fiddly. I can also advise though, that hot water will melt the solidified remains of melted sugar that look to have ruined any saucepan or spoons used in the process.

I built two houses and then Hannah started decorating one and I started on the remaining one. I thought Ethan might start to show an interest, but his only interest was in eating it, so I did all of the decoration.

Here are the results of our efforts. I prefer Hannah's as I think it has a certain naive charm.

Take three friends

I did a couple of different things today, each with three different friends from different social circles.

I knew it would work. What's great about my friends is that even if they've never met before they seem to get along. And that's even when alcohol isn't involved, because we all know that aids the 'getting along' process.

Maybe it's down to the friends involved. I could have had different friends that wouldn't have clicked as well. How is it that people that I like might not like one another....hmmm?

Not interested

It seems that the subject of substitute husband is irrelevant as there have been no applications, either public or private.

La de da. (I did go out this evening and consume too much vino - oops.)

Hurried woman syndrome

Today I got up and got ready to leave the house. At the same time I also got the kids fed and ready to leave the house. I also cleaned up the mess that all of this created as well as tidying up some of the mess that had been created the night before. I tried to call a delivery company and a Christmas card shop.

I spent a mad fifteen minutes in the unsuccessful search for a Hama bead heart Hannah created for the teaching assistant.

We walked quickly to school.

Ethan and I walked to a friends house and stayed there for a coffee and a chat.

We then walked back home and I made him lunch and tidied up again. I tried to phone the delivery company and as a result of that I redialled the Christmas card shop.

I opened the mail and phoned the bank three times.

I phoned the dealer to check on progress of my car. Twice.

I got Hannah's clothes for trampolining ready together with snacks and drinks.

Ethan and I walked quickly to Tumble Tots and I phoned the dealer again to check on progress on the car. Getting voicemail, I phoned again.

I walked home quickly to meet the driver from the dealership. He wasn't there. I waited as long as I possibly could (10 minutes) and then started walking to school with Ethan. On the way to school I get a call from the driver. He's driven straight past my house and just parked in a resident's only bay. I see him and cut the phone call, talk to him, grab my keys and rush on to school thinking that if I get a parking ticket it will be sent straight to the dealer who had exact instructions on where we lived. (Idiot!)

After picking Hannah up we all rush back to the car. Because of where it's parked I need to do a circuit to get back home and collect Hannah's clothes and drinks and snacks. We drive on to trampolining.

We just make it in time and I get Hannah changed and take both children's shoes off.

Half way though the trampolining class I get a call from the boss.

After the class I drive to Mel's house and Mel feeds my children while we chat and do a few pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

I drive home and the children are processed for bedtime. As soon as the children are in bed I change for the gym.

I get to the gym and about an hour and forty minutes later I drive home.

When I get in at half past nine, I eat.

I then go online to do my dad's grocery shopping. Then I do our grocery shopping.

It's twenty to eleven and I need to shower and go to bed. I think I'm suffering from Hurried Woman Syndrome.

Call me Tiger

I have always agreed with Mr Twain that the game of golf is a good walk ruined.

This view is wholly based on supposition. I have never played a serious, or even semi serious game of golf. I have wandered around a course sipping gin and tonics and that was very pleasant, for a corporate hospitality event. Side issue but why does golf have to be one of the main corporate hospitality destinations? But I have never swung a golf stick in anger.

Anyway, Dave has offered to buy me some lessons.

Ah, I hear you cry, he just wants her to learn so that she can share the great game with him and they can play together. Well you'd be wrong. Dave has been to driving ranges and aimed balls at the golf cart that collects the balls. He's also played a couple of rounds of golf a long time ago. He has even fallen asleep in a bunker when drunk taking a shortcut home. I probably shouldn't be telling you that but hey ho. But playing golf regularly he doesn't do.

I think he can see the benefit of having me out of the house for a couple of hours every week. I can see his point of view.

Initially I was apprehensive, but I'm coming round to the idea. Do you think I should accept the offer (gift horse, mouth and all that)?

Apply here

Interested in the role of substitute husband? Then apply here.

Substitute husband

I have been invited, with my partner, to an agency evening of food and drink. If you're reading this and you're part of my work world you probably know which one I'm talking about.

I've been to a couple before, once with Dave, once without. It is pretty much guaranteed to be a good evening. It has history (same thing every year, maybe a few venue changes), a small and friendly group, good food, great entertainment and copious alcohol. I have a feeling it's the last of these ingredients that makes the evening but I could be persuaded to argue that it's the combination of all of these factors that produces success year after year.

Unfortunately for me this event always seems to clash with a Christmas do that Dave is invited to attend with his work colleagues. But the clash is minor in time terms.

Dave starts drinking at lunchtime and by about eight o'clock the rest of the crowd disappear into London, at which point Dave usually calls it a night (I'm guessing he doesn't want to get in the way of people enjoying themselves).

My evening starts at eight o'clock. So if travel time is considered then there's about an hour when we clash.

Time, however, is not the reason that Dave is unable to attend my evening. It has more to do with the fact that he would have had enough to drink that he would struggle to hold a conversation.

The question is: Dave has decided not to support me and be my husband for the evening. Should I invite a substitute husband? And if the answer to this is yes, then who should that husband be?

Trust me I'm interactive

I love what's possible with the web. I love widgets but also some of the simple things like Flickr photo sharing.

I say simple but I'm sure Flickr is very complex. It allows me to share my photos with different degrees of access. There's public access, and two levels of private access: family or friend and there is also the option not to share at all.

In fact my plan is to add a widget thing to this blog that shows some of my Flickr pics.

The great thing about Flickr is that anyone with access can download the pics for free, at their original resolution. In theory that means people can Photoshop my pics so that they are in a format that is worthy of printing (or even loading into Facebook).

Of course that requires an element of skill, and that's where it can fall down. You see the skill required to view pictures on a website is a step below the skill and experience necessary to download, save and then order prints.

For people who grow up with the Internet this is incomprehensible, but if you see someone who's only become web savvy in the last few years attempt all of this you'll see a gulf of inexperience open up before your very eyes.

Life over death

My car's a bit poorly. The power steering's a bit off colour. During parking manoeuvres it grinds and groans like someone in a torture chamber. While being driven sometimes the power steering fails leaving me to steer a beast weighing one and half tonnes. The lay diagnosis is air in the system combined with a potential leak of fluid.

My journeys are generally short: to the station and back, to work and back, the Brentwood centre and back, to local friends and back. Most of my journey time is solo, just me in the car. Until this weekend I hadn't really considered the consequences of driving a car that doesn't always operate as predicted.

This weekend we took both cars to Dave's parents and we had to drive both cars back. We had to decide who travelled in the dodgy car.

It was clear that the children should travel in safety. Dave offered to drive my car, and I considered the offer.

I didn't think I'd want to be left as a middle-aged widow with two young children. Plus I knew how the car felt when the steering went so I felt that I was better prepared than Dave might be.

I should point out that intensive car care has been booked for Wednesday.

Message in a box

At school Hannah is being encouraged to participate in a charitable endeavour organised by the Samaritan's Purse.

Last year we joined almost everyone else at the school and packed a shoe box with gifts for a needy child.

It seemed like a good idea. Children around the world who don't have a lot would receive a gift which would bring some joy and happiness Christmas time.

This year I was given reason to doubt the intention behind "Operation Christmas Child." You see the thing that is only understood when the literature is read thoroughly is that it's a method for converting children to Christianity.

I'm not comfortable with evangelical messages being tied to gifts. I think that help, support and gifts can be given with love but they should be free of any obligation and propaganda.

If you want to know more then here's an article by the Guardian. If you want an alternative that doesn't preach, then 21st Century child does the same but without the child having to buy into a 'foreign' religion.

The agreement I have with Hannah is that we'll wrap a present and take it into work where, every year, presents are collected and shared with those who have very little.

Be prepared

On days when I work I get home at about ten to five and need to have prepared or very nearly prepared for Hannah to eat quickly before bath and bedtime. Ethan has an evening meal at nursery but Hannah's after school club doesn't do a nutritious meal and she is only able to have a packed lunch in the middle of the day.

On Wednesday night Hannah and Ethan were being collected by Dave because I was caught in a meeting.

I'd got fish fingers in the oven with the oven timer set and some mash prepared in the fridge ready to be heated up quickly. This was to be supplemented by either peas, sweetcorn or baked beans; whatever took Hannah's fancy. All very quick and easy.

Dave got in, threw the mash in the microwave and started to serve up the fish fingers. A couple of minutes later everything was on the plate ready to eat.

It was only when Hannah started to eat some mash that everyone realised I'd got a container of cheese sauce out of the freezer, instead of mash. Not surprisingly Hannah didn't fancy that combination; fish fingers and cheese sauce.

Dave sorted something out but I made a mental note to label things I put in the freezer.

Appropriate conduct

Today I was excited and delighted to receive in my inbox at work, a new Code of Conduct Handbook. I haven't read it yet. But just before I read it I sent the following e-mail to the team:

Hi guys

A few of us were chatting about the need to get horribly drunk and embarrass ourselves. We idly thought about this Fri night.

I recognise this isn't everyone's cup of tea but you're all welcome to join the fun.

The hazy and somewhat ill-considered plan is as follows:

7:30 Slug and Lettuce
And maybe a few other hostelries
Then probably a curry somewhere
Then staggering into a nightclub
Carriages when you can't walk anymore

Dress code: Anything. Fancy dress will be accepted (it is Children in Need night after all and you don't need a better excuse to be away from the telly).

I think the new Handbook may be aimed at people like me.

Multi tasking

I was tired today, and I mean really tired. I was almost falling asleep at my desk.

This evening I went to the gym even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.

I stepped up onto the treadmill and started walking fast (I don't do running because too many things wobble). I then wondered if I could multi task. I thought I could close my eyes while I was on the treadmill and hold on the the bar so I didn't fall off. Maybe I could do a sort of sleep walking, killing two birds with one stone; exercise and sleep.

I know it's a daft idea now but when you're that tired you're not thinking straight.

The surprising thing is that I didn't fall over. It was a bit of a weird experience. I partially lost my sense of balance. It was like being a little bit drunk. It felt quite good but that might have been the having my eyes closed bit and relaxing.

I had to open my eyes in the end because I thought people would think I was strange, but I can recommend the experience. Just don't sue if you hurt yourself.

Winning a woman's heart

I have been asked for advice, and I'm not entirely sure I'm the best person to ask.

Someone wants to know how to win a woman's heart. He wants to know how to persuade a woman to leave her current partner and move in with him.

He knows she's unhappy in her current relationship and he knows she's interested in him.

I had lots of ideas about what might work but they aren't tried and tested ideas. I can't say, from experience, that I've seen them work. I did suggest I give the woman in question a call but he thought that might be a bad idea. ;)

Do you have a strategy that is proven, something that has worked?

Another recipe

It has been well documented, mostly by me, that I am an eejit.

My latest act of stupidity was to order five 1.25kg bags of organic carrots when I actually wanted five carrots.

So I made some soup, and I thought I'd share a recipe for carrot and coriander soup should you ever find yourself in the same predicament, unlikely I know.

Preparation and cooking time: 40 mins
Serves: 6

25g (1oz) butter
1 medium onion
1 garlic clove, crushed
550g (1 1/4 lb) carrots, of which 450g (1 lb) roughly chopped and 110g (4 oz) coarsely grated
1 litre (1 3/4 pints) vegetable or chicken stock
a pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
1 tablespoon chopped fresh coriander
150ml (1/4 pint) single cream
salt and freshly ground black pepper

To garnish:
150 ml (1/4 pint) yoghurt
2 tablespoons chopped fresh coriander

Melt the butter and cook the onion and garlic gently until soft in a covered saucepan, without colouring. Add the roughly chopped carrots, stock and nutmeg. Cover, bring to the boil and simmer gently until the vegetables are tender. Cool a little and puree in a liquidiser. Return soup to a clean saucepan and stir in the grated carrots, coriander and cream. Taste for seasoning. Serve garnished with a swirl of yoghurt and a sprinkling of the fresh coriander.

Givers and takers

Some people buy Christmas cards at this time of year and many people choose cards that promise that a charity will benefit from the purchase.

Here's an old article from the Guardian about the mean spirited nature of some High Street stores.

To ensure that, if you're buying charity cards, your money is, for the most part, going to the charity and not a retailer you may want to look at the following.

Cards for Good Causes
Combined Charities Christmas Shops
Card Aid

These sites have details about buying online, or buying in stores. But all promise that profits or at least 80% of the retail price goes to the charity. That has to be better than the worst case quoted in the Guardian article in which just one penny from the pack of cards went to the charity.

My lesbian lover

Last year when Mel and I sorted out our Costco membership Mel bought a card and added me as an additional card holder. As we were doing this the person serving us explained that if we were 'partners' then I could have a card for free. We couldn't start any such deceit as we were part way through the process and, as we had four children milling about, it was obvious we weren't a couple.

This year we thought we'd see if we could get away with it. Mel said that I'd have to do the talking because if she tried to explain anything, or got challenged, she'd be doubled up with laughter and wetting herself. She also thought that the fact we were both wearing wedding rings and surrounded by children might give the game away.

I explained that if anyone doubted we were a couple I could pretend to be injured by the suggestion that Mel wasn't attractive enough for anyone to want to have her as a partner. Alternatively I thought I could just ask "Are you dissing my girl?"

So I arrived before Mel, acquired my card and completed the spouse card info with Melanie's name although, for the purposes of deception, I used the contracted name Mel.

Mel arrived later, and queued to have her photo added to her card. No questions were asked.

And if you think this deception is improper then let me persuade you otherwise. Mel and I are like a married couple.

We're not jumping into bed with one another at every opportunity, our busy lives mean we don't see each other as much as we should, our children get in the way of the relationship, we get ridiculously drunk together, we confide in one another, we provide one another with emotional help and support, we're always there for one another and togather we spend too much in Costco.

Magic carpets

We bought a rug when we were on holiday.

You know how it goes. You're on holiday, you're relaxed, you go on a day trip, you look around a carpet co-operative and let me stop there.

They are rugs, not carpets. Why do people 'abroad' insist on calling them carpets? Is it part of the sales pitch to make them seem bigger than they are? Why carpet? Size for size carpets cost less than rugs, generally speaking, so why?

Anyway, we visited a carpet co-operative which was educational (and painful to the purse). We learned about how rugs, sorry carpets, are knotted. We discovered that the Turkish double knot technique is superior to the Chinese single knot method. We saw the silk worm cocoon after it had been steamed and as the silk was being extracted. In fact the cocoon that was opened for us to see the silk worm contained twins, which is rare.

We were told about the Turkish government's great initiative to set up co-operatives to keep the art of carpet making alive. Young women are brought in and trained and then given a loom and sent home.

Carpets they produce of a high enough standard can then be sold to the co-operative at a guaranteed price. Different carpets from different areas are then traded between co-operatives meaning each has a broad display on offer to the likes of me.

And Dave and I saw a rug we liked and of course it had to be silk and of course that meant it was expensive. I don't do expensive so even after about half an hour of haggling Dave and I got on the bus. It was then that the final offer was produced and we bit and bought a Turkish magic carpet. Other benefits of the Turkish Government initiative meant import duty was paid and so was delivery home. We also paid a deposit with the promise of cash on delivery.

About five weeks later our lovely rug was delivered but there was a problem. The certificate of authenticity had a stamp but no details, and the ticket attached to the rug said "Made in China".

I fell out of love. I wanted a magic Turkish carpet, not a cheap Chinese imitation.

To cut a very long story short, I complained because it seemed that a Turkish Govenment co-operative had sold me a Chinese carpet on the pretext that it was Turkish. So today, at home, I was visited by the gentleman who had shown us around the Turkish carpet co-operative. He bought his chequebook and offered me a refund. He brought with him a Chinese rug for comparison so I could feel the difference between the two methods of manufacture and he offered to give me the larger Chinese silk rug and £500 in exchange for my rug.

But he misunderstood. I like my carpet and I now know that my carpet is magic, and it is Turkish. The magic has been restored by some customer service that went the extra mile or, in this case, the extra few thousand miles.

Love songs

A friend of mine has been flirting outrageously with a girl he's very interested in and she's been reciprocating.

He's thinking of creating a CD of music for her and he was asking me for ideas for music to include. He was also asking me for feedback on the tracks he'd already selected.

I don't really do music. I listen to the radio but I rarely buy music and I'm usually useless at remembering which artists and which songs are ones I like. Three tracks did come to mind though, and I wondered if together we could create the perfect CD for wooing.

So let me kick things off:

Elvis Costello: I want you (sorry - Fiona Apple clip is not as good as the original)
Snow Patrol: Chasing cars
Eric Clapton: You look wonderful tonight

Delinquent mother

I had a trip to Germany today. It's a tiring day; up early, back late-ish. It means I don't see my children at all. It also means that Dave is in charge for the day, at least as far as the children are concerned.

This morning Dave hit the snooze button on the alarm clock. This morning there was no wife downstairs getting his breakfast ready and preparing to wake the children up. He left the house late, with the children but without breakfast.

I checked with Dave when I got in to find out whether to tooth fairy had deigned to visit and discovered she had. Just my luck, on the day Hannah does have a gift from the tooth fairy, I'm not around to share in her excitement. I guess she has 18 other teeth that will fall out (I think).

Delinquent fairy

Hannah's second baby tooth fell out yesterday. We made sure, or Hannah made sure, that as soon as we got home the tooth was placed in the special tooth fairy pot and then under her pillow. All of this preparation was for the tooth fairy and then subsequently Hannah's benefit.

Hannah and I had a chat about the tooth fairy. We decided that she checks pillows every night but only for five, six, seven and eight year olds. I wondered about raising the whole issue of grown ups losing teeth but thought better of it.

Anyway last night the tooth fairy failed to check under Hannah's pillow. This kind of thing never happened when I was a child. Hannah and I went through the possible reasons for this delinquent behaviour.

Perhaps the tooth fairy didn't work weekends. Maybe she just forgot to check Hannah's bed last night. Maybe it was a bank holiday in Fairyland. Maybe she was poorly.

Whatever the reason we're pretty sure she'll visit tonight.

Change or die

We went to a wedding this weekend, hence blog gap. Anyway it prompted a thought. Wedding photographers have a very old fashioned view of the world and they must change.

Most have switched to the digital technology, which must save them time and money and provide more opportunity to provide 'good' pictures, but they seem to be stuck with the old pricing model.

There's the agreed price for the basic package for the photographer to turn up, do his job and then provide proofs, from which a pre-agreed number will be chosen. More can be ordered but at an expensive rate per picture. I don't believe that many people opt for the extra pictures which means that result of a lot of time and energy, to compose and shoot images, is lost.

One of the reasons that not that many people will opt for the extras is that all of the guests will have their own digital cameras, many providing excellent quality, and these are all readily shared with the bride, groom and other guests. Why pay a fee when they are available for free?

I believe that, in addition to the basic package, photographers would do well to offer a disc of all the unprinted images for an additional fee. It gives them an opportunity to earn more money and it means that pictures that would have been stored and never seen, would actually have an audience.

Public service blog

I went for my first 'wrap' tonight. I'm not talking food, I'm talking beauty.

The plan was to lose a few inches. For those of you that have yet to experience a wrap, but wonder what happens, let me tell you.

First task is to remove all clothes and don paper knickers. Actually paper knickers is a kind description, a combination of string and tissue is more accurate.

I was then measured; about 20 measures all over the body.

Then I was painted in algae seaweed stuff, which stank.

Then a bucket appeared containing murky muddy water and rolled up cloth. The cloth could have been old oily rags from a garage of old sheets, they were so dirty one couldn't tell. And the mud stank too, and it was cold.

I then stood on a towel while i was wrapped, mummy-like, in cold muddy cloths.

Once wrapped, and looking just like the perfect Halloween party guest, I had to lie on some tin foil.

I was then wrapped in the foil and covered with a towel.

An hour later, yes, an hour later, I was liberated from my warm itchy prison. The foil was removed and, after I manouvered myself to a standing position, I was unwrapped. It was cold and I was shivering.

Before I could warm up I had to be remeasured. Now doesn't science say that cold things are smaller than warm ones?

I lost eight inches, apparently.

I had been expecting the opportunity of a shower, but, instead, I was told to put paper knickers in the bin and pop my clothes back on.

I'm not sure I felt more beautiful as a result, but I am poorer.