Tough times

The credit crunch is making life difficult for many. A dear friend sent me some handy tips that I’d like to pass on to you

• DON'T waste money on expensive ipods. Simply think of your favourite tune and hum it. If you want to "switch tracks", simply think of another song you like and hum that instead.
• DON'T waste money on expensive paper shredders to avoid having your identity stolen. Simply place a few dog turds in the bin bags along with your old bank statements.
• HOMEOWNERS: Prevent burglars stealing everything in the house by simply moving everything in the house into your bedroom when you go to bed. In the morning, simply move it all back again.
• SAVE money on expensive personalised car number plates by simply changing your name to match your existing plate. - Mr. KVL 741Y,
• DON'T waste money buying expensive binoculars; simply stand closer to the object you wish to view.
• AN empty aluminium cigar tube filled with angry wasps makes an inexpensive vibrator.
• MANCHESTER UNITED FANS can save money on expensive new kits by simply strapping a large fake penis to your forehead. It is now clear to all, as to your allegiance.
• SAVE electricity by turning off all the lights in your house and walking around wearing a miner's hat.
• HOUSEWIVES, the best way to get two bottles of washing-up liquid for the price of one is by putting one in your shopping trolley and the other in your coat pocket.
• OLD telephone directories make ideal personal address books, simply cross out the names and address of people you don't know.
• SAVE on booze by drinking cold tea instead of whisky. The following morning you can create the effects of a hangover by drinking a thimble full of washing up liquid and banging your head repeatedly on the wall.
• SAVE a fortune on laundry bills. Give your dirty shirts to Oxfam, they will wash and iron them and you can buy them back for fifty pence.
• OLD people, if you feel cold indoors this winter, simply pop outside for ten minutes without a coat, when you go back inside you will really feel the benefit.
• CAN'T afford contact lenses? Simply cut out small circles of cling film and press them into your eyes.
• WHY pay the earth for expensive jigsaws? Just take a bag of frozen chips from the freezer and try piecing together potatoes.
• MIX tea with coffee, and leave in the fridge to cool. Hey presto! Toffee.
• MAKE your own inexpensive mints by leaving blobs of toothpaste to dry on a window sill. Use striped toothpaste to make humbugs.
• SHOPPERS, when buying oranges, get more for your money by peeling them before taking them to the counter to be weighed.
• WOMEN: Don't waste energy faking orgasms. Most men couldn't care less anyway and you could use the saved energy to Hoover the house afterwards.

Rude car

On the way to work in a 30 mile an hour limit I was “flashed” by a car going in the opposite direction.

A few things ran through my mind:

Am I speeding?  No I wasn’t.

Is there a police speed trap just around the corner?  If so, I don’t care because I’m not speeding.

Have I got my fog lights on?  No.

Have I got my headlights on full beam?  No, lights are off.

Have I got a flat tyre?  No, car seems to be handling fine.

Was I driving like a maniac and annoying other road users?  On this occasion, no.

Have I remembered to get dressed before leaving the house?

I admit that forgetting this last one is an unlikely scenario but I feel I’d explored all other possible explanations for the flash.

Then I realised what had happened.  My little squeeze Fiesta had just had a friendly hello from another squeeze Fiesta.  How cute, and my car hadn’t responded, how rude.

A lesson in getting it wrong

HR wrote to me with a letter dated for last September and addressed it to Christy.

I received the letter in February and my name’s not Christy.

I’ve just received my numbers for the latest round of redundancies.  This is the financial payoff I’ll receive if I leave the company after almost 18 years of service.

I would consider this document to be important and I would expect it to be accurate.

How stupid of me.

They have a start date for me that is almost, but not quite, two years wrong.

Not only is that exceptionally irritating and yet typical of HR efficiency, it also under calls the amount to which I would be entitled.

You know what.  If they can’t be bothered to put the time and effort into communicating the redundancy package then I can’t be bothered to accept their inaccurate offer.

Bad wife

I woke before anyone else in the house today.

I made my way downstairs and made two mugs of tea.  Taking the tea upstairs, I popped one on Dave’s bedside table and one on my bedside table.

The next thing I know Hannah gets into the bed and Ethan comes into the bedroom too.

A little while later I said to Dave “Don’t let your tea go cold” and Dave replied “I didn’t know I had a cup of tea.”

I said “You see, I am a good wife really” and Dave asked Hannah whether she thought I was a good wife and she said “No.”

Dave asked her why, and she said “Well she only told you about the tea when it was cold.”

My new job

I’m really really excited and a little bit nervous.

Actually I might be a bit more nervous than excited.

I have a new job.  Apparently everyone is talking about it.  I’m pretty sure the people talking about it fall into two camps; there are those that work with me currently who are celebrating, and those that think they might be working with me in the future who are probably drinking themselves into a stupor to numb the pain of the news.

My nerves might surprise you; let me explain.

I don’t know what this new job is.  I didn’t know until this evening that I was moving jobs.  I haven’t even had an interview, although this isn’t always an indicator.

I know some people want me to move out of my current job.  I also know that there are some people that would like me to work in their department.

That’s all I know.  I haven’t had any conversations with anyone that go beyond this and I can’t remember exactly when a job move might have been mentioned casually in passing, apart from tonight.

Tonight I was told that it’s a fact - I’m moving jobs.  This fact has come from the rumour mill and is therefore true.

I’m always the last to know.  But I am excited.  Change is always exciting.

Scam

I have only ever submitted one insurance claim.  Admittedly it was a weird one.

It was a hot day and I had a newborn baby.  I needed to travel in the car but, being an over-protective new mother, the car needed to cool down before I placed my precious baby cargo in the back seat.

I reached into the car and popped the keys in the ignition and turned the car on.  My plan was to pop the aircon on for a few minutes.

What I hadn’t realised was that my husband had been the last person to drive the car and he’d left it in reverse gear.  The handbrake wasn’t on very much because the car had been parked on the flat.

Turning the ignition started the car and, because it was in gear, it started moving backwards quite quickly.  I jumped out of the way and the car careered back and bashed into the garage.  The garage wall didn’t collapse but where it had been hit it had moved by about an inch.  It needed fixing.

The insurance claim was embarrassing because I had to admit to being an idiot, but the claim was successful.

I have never falsified an insurance claim, and I can’t imagine doing so in the future.

I’ve just watched a show about people who do fake insurance claims and the insurance company doesn’t seem to get the police involved.

WHY NOT?  These people are committing fraud.  I am truly shocked that these people are allowed to get away with this without penalty if caught.

France vs England

Over the last couple of days I have travelled on Eurostar from London to Paris and back again.

St Pancras International is a beautiful station, and the process of checking in is as smooth as one could want. 

There are gorgeous shops, cafes and bars prior to going through the departure security and passport checks.

Free WiFi is available while one is waiting in the departure lounge and a line of sockets prevent loss of battery power.

I only have two criticisms: the immediate area surrounding the station is a dump and most provide a very poor impression on international visitors and there are no shops, bar the obligatory WH Smith, in the departure lounge.

Gare du Nord is a different proposition.  It feels crowded and cramped, although that does improve as one ascends the stairs to the Eurostar area.

The shopping available before reaching the departure lounge is poor but improves slightly after the security checks.

But there isn’t any WiFi, which is rubbish.  The Eurostar traffic must be primarily business people, most of whom need access to an internet connection to work.  It seems silly not to provide something so basic.  And it also irritated me because I’d planned to do some work while I was waiting and instead I had to go and get a drink and some sleep.

Neighbours

A town councillor in Wales, Mark Easton, had a beautiful view of the mountains, until a new neighbour purchased the land below his house and built a new home.

The new home was 18 inches higher than the planning dept had approved, so Mark Easton, mad about his lost view, went to the local authority to make sure they enforced the roof line height.

The new neighbour had to drop the roof height, at great expense.
Recently, Mark Easton called the planning dept, and informed them that his new neighbour had installed some vents on the side of his new property.

Mark didn't like the look of these vents and asked the planning dept to investigate.

When they went to Mark's home to see what the vents looked like, this is what they found...

Dodgy curry

I went out for a curry last night.  I had a few drinks, but not a silly amount.

When I got in I uploaded some photos and relaxed in front of the box before heading up to bed.

I don’t know what time it happened, but at some point I woke with a bit of a start.  I got out of bed and I swear I saw a snake in the bed, near the headboard.  It had adder-like markings.

I said “Dave! Dave! There’s a snake!  I swear I saw a snake.”

Dave woke groggily and we spent two minutes looking for a venomous snake.  I think we soon realised there wasn’t one.

That kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.  Either I had an “episode” or there were unusual ingredients in my curry. 

Do I need a doctor, a shrink or do I just need to catch up on my sleep?

We’re brilliant

I know companies like Sony do a lot of work on robotics and they try to make them as human as possible.

Their robots can climb stairs. That’s impressive.

Other companies have built a robot that’ll do the vacuuming while you’re out. That’s handy.

Bet they can’t handle Liverpool Street station at rush hour and make it from the train platform to the tube platform without bumping into anyone. That’s brilliant.

Religious Sat Nav

I had to drive to Wimbledon on Saturday so I extracted the Sat Nav.

I did have a passenger in the form of Mel and she and I like to chat. I’m rubbish at multi-tasking so didn’t always take the roads that were advised because I was talking, or (less likely) listening.

Strangely, the route it advised to Wimbledon was via the M25 and the route back was through London (always a hairy experience). Anyway that’s by the by.

I have set my system up for audible alerts for speed cameras. I’m rubbish at spotting the buggers and am not always looking at the screen to spot them there. The bleeping it does serves its purpose and keeps me on the straight and narrow.

What we found, however, on the route through London is that I also have audible alerts for churches, and maybe mosques.

I didn’t set this up deliberately. I don’t know how it happened. I also don’t know how to turn it off.

Is it trying to keep me spiritually topped up or is it warning me about religion.

I’ve always viewed the speed camera alerts as a warning. Are the church alerts the same thing?

Experimental shopping

I recently undertook an experiment with my weekly online supermarket shop.

I have a naturally lazy disposition and was wired into the laptop in the sitting room. I know one should do a tour of the house to determine what should go on the shopping list but I couldn’t be bothered.

I was hooked into Facebook and Twitter and decided that Facebookers and the Twitterati might save me the short walk around the house.

I asked for advice and guidance. I asked for shopping list suggestions.

This is what I ended up with:

• Wine
• Chocolate
• Kinder egg
• Toilet roll
• Bounty kitchen towels
• BBQ Pringles
• Light bulbs
• Teabags
• Tomato ketchup
• Vodka

I considered this to be a highly successful experiment and plan to repeat the exercise regularly.

So my thanks to Lee, Jane, Kathryn, Victoria.

Conversation with husband

Me: Could you get me some chocolate?

Maybe I should point out that I don’t treat him like a manservant. Well maybe I do, but he was going to the kitchen anyway so I thought I’d make his trip worthwhile and productive.

Him: I think you should resist.

Me: Why?

Him: To feel good about yourself.

Me: Why will that make me feel good about myself?

Him: Can you resist?

Me: Yes.

Him: Well if you resist you’ll feel good.

Me: Why will I feel good?

Him: Because…oh whatever. I’ll get you chocolate.

Swapping party

I went to a clothes swapping party yesterday. It was a first for me and I was a bit apprehensive.

What does one take to a clothes swapping party? Apart from clothes obviously.

I did a wardrobe sweep and made two piles of clothes: a charity shop pile and a party pile. The charity shop pile were clothes that just needed to go. The party clothes were, mainly, items I really wanted to wear but whenever I tried to wear them I ended up changing my mind.

Well the girls at the party were a variety of sizes but that didn’t seem to matter. Strangely, rather than looking at the size on the label, we just tried anything and everything on. And things that the label said wouldn’t fit, did.

Not every item found a home but all bar one of my items did.

I took 13 items and came away with five. My wardrobe has more space and I have some items I might wear to replace items I didn’t wear (even though I’m not sure about a couple of items).

Anyway I can recommend the experience. And I think I can probably find more items in the wardrobe. Anyone up for it?

25 Random things about me

1. My first name isn't Ann
2. It's Carolyn
3. The Post Office doesn't like or approve of this
4. I wrote to my MP about the fact the Post Office won't let me have stuff addressed to Ann
5. I am one of those people that might have died had it not been for a blood transfusion
6. Ironically this means I can't now give blood
7. I am a Black Country girl
8. Who grew up in the West Country
9. My favourite place in the whole world is Crater Lake
10. I have done a parachute jump (tandem)
11. I have done a bungy jump (not tandem)
12. I decided I wanted to marry my husband on March 28th 1987
13. He became my husband on December 4th 1995
14. I was never sure I could or should be a mother
15. I've taken Prozac
16. Those last two are linked
17. I have a very short fuse
18. I'm loud
19. And obnoxious
20. I don't think I ever want to move house again
21. I was on the other side of the world when my mum died
22. My first pet was called Cheeky
23. I have taken pole dancing classes
24. I spend too much time online
25. In pub quizzes my weakest subject area is music

Luddites

Whilst I love my husband dearly, he is a complete luddite.

At work we have a programme Microsoft Office Communicator available to us.  For those of you who haven’t encountered it, it’s an office chat client that interfaces with Outlook.

It allows one to chat to colleagues in the same way one would with MSN Messenger.  The interface with Outlook uses an individual’s calendar entry and displays it as a status.  So if I’m in a meeting, others can see I’m in a meeting and choose to disturb me or otherwise.

I believe Communicator makes me more effective because I can be in an audio, preparing a presentation or sending an e-mail and communicating, answering or asking questions via Communicator.

I persuaded myself that our department needed the software and they now have it, and many use it.

I persuaded another department they needed the software and they now have it, and use it.

The only remaining person at work that I think should install the software is my husband.

Dave works in a completely unrelated department.  His calendar is very, very busy.  If I want to get in touch about something I do have choices.

I can e-mail him but often he doesn’t get a chance to see my e-mail in the vast amount of e-mails he gets in a day.

I can call him but I risk interrupting a meeting or the call gets picked up by a secretary.    If all I want to know is whether Dave had remembered to call someone about something domestic then I don’t necessarily want to have to talk to a secretary about it.

I can text him, but texts are often ignored all day long.

Communicator seems like a quick and easy method for establishing a dialogue that doesn’t impose but does provide me with feedback.  Clearly to persuade him it should be installed I needed to provide him with a business justification.

Well try as I might he just can’t see it.  The multi-tasking is lost on him as he has the typical “I’m a bloke.  I don’t do multi-tasking.” response.  I explain that men I work with can multi-task and the response comes back that they can’t be “real men.”

When I explain the convenience of the application he just says “I prefer to pick up the phone.”  Except of course he doesn’t phone me.

Any suggestions on further persuasion techniques would be welcome.

In praise of…

I don’t often do product promotion.  When I do it’s because I really think it enhances my life in some way.

An ex-colleague tweeted the other day about losing a blog post because the computer ate it.  (Tweeting, for the uninitiated, is the verb used for posting a micro blog on Twitter.  If you don’t know what Twitter is, don’t worry.  I think it’s a phase that people, including me, are going through.  It’ll pass.)

This was a colleague who worked in IT so "the excuse of “my computer ate my blog post” seemed a little unusual.  I just have this impression that IT folk never have any IT trauma.  (I know this isn’t really true by the way in case any of the IT folk are reading this.)

Anyway, I didn’t hesitate to recommend Windows Live Writer.

I know, I know.  I was sceptical too, especially as the chap that recommended it to me works for the monster that is Microsoft.

But it works, really well.  And if you have a crappy internet connection or wireless thingy (you can tell I’m not a techie) you can work offline and, at the last minute, press the publish button without risking loss of work.  It’s WYSIWYG too which is fabulous.  I seem to be able to sort the formatting out much more easily than when using Blogger.  It works with most blogging platforms and I haven’t found something it can’t do.

So, I don’t say this often but, well done Microsoft.  You’ve enhanced my life.

Did I mention it’s free to download?

Ta-da!

Number 5

In Ongoing ongoing saga there was something that happened when we got to number 5.

Chris was kneeling on the soggy wood balanced above the stairwell holding the light and and trying to connect wires and secure them with screws.  He had his hands full.

His phone rang.  I offered to answer it.

“Hi, Is that Sam?” (his wife) “He’s not really in a position to come to the phone right now.  He’s got his hands full.”

How dodgy does that sound?

And then we started chatting. 

“What time is Chris needed back to look after Thomas?”  “Oh…now….er, well, er.”  “Are you sure you’ll phone the school and cancel?”  “I’m not quite sure how long this last bit will take.  It’s a bit tricky.”  “How is Thomas, is he feeling better today because he’s been a bit poorly hasn’t he?”  “Ahhh, he had a haircut, how sweet.  How old is he?”  “14 months.  That’s such a lovely age.”  “It was his first haircut.  Bless him.  How was he, was he good?”  “I remember when ours first had their hair cut.  Hannah, our eldest was fine but Ethan yelled and yelled.”  “Yes, well I think you tend to have boys hair cut earlier”  “How was Harry when he went for the first time?”  “Did they both enjoy the snow earlier in the week?”  “Harry’s school was closed for a couple of days wasn’t it?”  “Yes, they loved it.  They had two days off too.”  “I don’t think children should go to school so young.  Maybe they should start school at age 10.”  and so on….and on.

Chris had started to go red in the face and was looking very uncomfortable.  Sam was lovely to chat to but I did feel I ought to try and finish the conversation and help Chris out.  It was a struggle, but eventually Sam and I stopped our mum talk.

We fixed the light and it worked.  While Chris was up in the stairwell he bashed a few difficult to reach cobwebs and we were done.

We’d thought it would be a two hour job and Chris was in the house for three and a half hours.  We were both exhausted.  It had been an illuminating experience.

Ongoing ongoing saga

Chris (good looking lighting engineer I met through Freecycle) is currently where we left him in Ongoing saga; halfway along a soggy piece of wood supported by two ladders balanced on stairs.

The bit of metal was relatively easy to fit.  I can say this because a) I have the benefit of hindsight and b) at the time I was the one standing on the stairs not kneeling on a soggy piece of wood perched above a stairwell.

It was a simple task.  A light piece of metal requiring two screws, one into the joist and one into our accurately placed piece of scrap wood which had been knocked together in the garage earlier.

The slightly (what an understatement) more complex and challenging task was fitting the light, the whole reason we had employed the services of a lighting engineer.  That and vertigo.

The light was designed by an idiot.  Had it been designed by those clever people it would be simple to hook the light onto the piece of metal that had just been attached to the roof.  Oh no.  This light designer could never get a job in the IKEA design department.  His, or her (but probably his), design required that we now use a screw and a washer at two points, to attach the light to the piece of metal attached to the roof.  Not forgetting the wires that need to be connected.

How the hell is one supposed to be able to do that with only two hands?  Let me tell you:

1. Hold the two kilo lamp in one hand.
2. With the spare hand try and manoeuvre the wires into position and do up the three screws.
3. Huff and puff as this isn’t the five second task you’d hoped
4. Realise that two kilos is a lot to hold aloft with one arm
5. Something unhelpful happens – more later
6. Take a break after fixing the wires and allow the lamp to dangle precariously held only by the electrical wire.
7. Hold the fixing screw and washer between your lips 
8. Once again with shot muscles hold the two kilo light in one hand
9. Hold the screwdriver in the other hand
10. Manoeuvre the light into position
11. Grab screw with hand holding the screwdriver
12. Put screw into hole in light and fiddle to try and get it into the hold in the bit of metal attached to the ceiling
13. Drop the screw
14. Ask someone to retrieve the screw (me) and try again
15. Try and screw the screw in
16. Experience extreme arm shake from the arm that’s been supporting the two kilo weight
17. Refuse assistance from someone offering to join you on the soggy piece of wood
18. Experience even more muscle collapse as the screw refuses to be tightened
19. In a slightly tense voice ask if there’s a broom that could be used to help support the weight of the light
20. Second person (me) retrieves broom and uses it to take most of the weight of the light while screws are fixed in
21. Dirty marks from dirty hands are left all over the ceiling around the light fitting
22. Broom holder starts to experience muscle fatigue just before the light is finally attached with two screws

I know this is ungrateful but as I was stood on the stairs, holding a broom atop which was a two kilo light, with my muscles about to give way I was thinking “I’m paying for this and it hurts.  Where’s my slice of the money?”

The image I want to leave you with is me, holding a broom, supporting a light, for Chris (the good looking lighting engineer), while he struggles manfully to do his job. 

I thought this might be the final instalment but I’d forgotten about step 5 above.  I’ll tell you about step 5 next time.

Ongoing saga

Continuing on from Fate part deux. The tumble dryer on Freecycle and the lighting engineer that came to pick it up, a tricky time in the loft and then it got worse.

We had fixed the supporting piece of wood in the loft and put the loft boards back where they belonged.  The loft was still a mess because all of the contents were now scattered and messed up more than usual but, these things happen.

Now I’m not sure I’d mentioned the intended location for this light. 

Imagine a staircase with three turns and a typical Victorian ceiling height.

When we moved into the house and had it rewired we had moved the position of the light fitting so that it hung more centrally over the staircase.  This made it harder to change bulbs and reach the light fitting, but we didn’t think about that, we just looked at it aesthetically.

This is why Chris (the good looking young lighting engineer) happened to be in the house.  Dave and I had no clue how we’d get to the ceiling without suffering severe vertigo and risking our lives.

Chris and I had discussed how to reach the ceiling and we’d set up something to make it happen.

There was an extending ladder (from the garage) balanced on one of the staircase turns and a stepladder (also from the garage) on one of the other turns.  Chris had brought a substantial three metre lump of wood which was then balanced between the ladder and the stepladder.   This provided a platform that was about four foot below the light fixing point.

The wood that Chris had brought with him had been lying out in his garden, and this meant that, while we were manoeuvring it around the house, this soggy wood was marking our ivory/cream (magnolia) walls.

Chris crawled along the wood and then sat, with two kilos worth of light, on a soggy piece of wood precariously balanced between ladders.

The next step was to fit a small piece of of metal to the ceiling.  To reach the ceiling adequately Chris found he needed to kneel on the soggy wood.

That’s enough for tonight…more another time.

Fate part deux

Remember Fate? The tumble dryer on Freecycle and the lighting engineer that came to pick it up?

Well, the lighting engineer, Chris, came over on Friday to fix our light. This is the light that’s been hiding under the stairs in a box for six years because we never managed to get around to finding someone with the appropriate skills to fix it. On Friday I discovered at close quarters what those skills were.

Fairly quickly we determined that the lath and plaster ceiling was not adequate to support the light which weighed in at roughly two kilos.

I know enough about DIY to know that meant going up into the loft.

What Chris didn’t know is that one of the first jobs we tackled when we moved into the house was boarding the loft. Dave did an outstanding job with tongued and grooved chipboard covering the entire loft. Each 12 foot board held down by eight screws. Boards were shaped to fit awkward areas with an accuracy one would expect from an engineer who’s also a perfectionist.

The other thing that Chris didn’t know was that our loft is full of stuff.

We got up in the loft together and we moved stuff, allowing us to analyse the problem.

We would need to unscrew several boards and then use brute force and ignorance to tent the boards thus easing their removal.

It was hard physical work.

We then nipped into the garage where we used Dave’s Black and Decker Workmate and some spare bits of wood Dave’s been saving (Honestly, what is it with men and wood? Our garage is full of wood) and we chopped and nailed using some nails Dave’s been saving. (What is it with men and screws and nails – we have thousands and yet whatever the job is, Dave insists on a trip to B&Q.)

We had fashioned a bit of wood that would fit perfectly between the joists providing a fabulous support for two kilos.

We fitted the wood support thing and then struggled man and womanfully to put the stupidly precision crafted chipboard back in place without damaging it.

I was a bit hacked off at this point. I was paying this bloke to do this and I was doing half of the work. OK, maybe a third. Alright probably 20 percent.

It got worse….

Junk food

I bake, sometimes, not often, but sometimes.

I’m not very good but I do have tried and tested recipes that I know I can do. I also have no fear of new recipes that I haven’t tried before.

If I want to make fairy cakes, I make them, using a recipe. I have friends who have a different approach.

One friend, let’s call her Tammy, because that’s her name, has a different approach to making fairy cakes. She buys a packet, adds an egg, mixes it together, bungs it in the oven and then burns it.

I don’t know which one she buys but I’d hazard a guess at the Disney Princess mix (£1.99 which makes 10). This is the ingredients list to which an egg is added:

• Wheat Flour
• Sugar
• Vegetable Oil (Containing Partially Hydrogenated Vegetable Oils)
• Whey Powder
• Soya Flour
• Dried Egg
• Skimmed Milk Powder
• Raising Agents: E450, E500,
• Rice Starch
• Salt
• Emulsifiers: E475, E471
• Colouring: E160, E102, E129, E132, E133
• Icing Sugar
• Tri-Calcium Phosphate (E341)
• Cornstarch
• Egg White Powder
• Arabic Gum

This is my ingredients list for fairy cakes:

• Butter
• Plain flour
• Baking powder
• Milk
• Egg
• Sugar
• Icing sugar
• Lemon juice
• Hot water
• Decorations

Tammy’s fairy cakes take about five minutes to prepare before they get burnt in the oven. Mine take ten minutes to prepare before they get cooked to a light golden brown colour.

I don’t understand the cakes from a box thing, and never will. I know what I prefer to eat, and I know what I prefer my children to eat.

Tomorrow I’m sharing a recipe or two with Tammy.

Genius

I’m not being big-headed, but my son is a genius.  Dave relayed this story to me.

Ethan left the table to go to the toilet.  After a short while he wandered into the kitchen with pants and trousers around his ankles.

Dave asked him whether he had wiped his bum, flushed the toilet and washed his hands.  The answer was no to all three.

Dave ushered him back out of the kitchen and started to help him sort himself out.  While this was happening Ethan was looking in the “pan” and said “my poo looks like South America.”

Genius.

Assisted death

A bit of a gloomy title I admit.

I fell across “A Short Stay in Switzerland” starring Julie Walters tonight (BBC1). There wasn’t much else on.

Julie Walter’s portrayal of Dr Anne Turner was inspired. She, and her fellow actors, brought me to tears.

I read an interview with Julie Walters and, in preparation for the role, she met Dr Turner’s three children. She also found that, during filming, the insomnia that she used to suffer from, but had overcome, returned. It was clearly a role with impact.

I know one shouldn’t really be influenced by drama. Drama is fiction and and can never completely and accurately reflect reality. But, I believe assisted dying should not be illegal in the UK.

I hope that if I’m ever in the same position as Anne Turner that I would be able to demonstrate the same level of courage that she had.

The tipping point

I think this year is Twitter’s year. I think their tipping point has been reached and passed.

They must be into exponential growth.

I think the great Stephen Fry might be partially responsible. He’s a great Tweeter. He started tweeting on October 9th 2008 and was prolific and interesting. He has a significant following and other celebs have also started to join the fray.

Once there is interesting content, then a buzz is going to be created and more and more people will want to join for fear of feeling they might be losing out if they don’t.

It’s not often I’m ahead of Mr Fry in any arena. He had the second Mac in the UK, second only to Douglas Adams. He now has nine Macs and seven iPhones. But I did my first tweet on May 3rd 2008, 5 months before the great Mr Fry.

Fate

The tumble dryer went on Freecycle and, despite the description that mentions it leaving black marks on clothes, we had a lot of interest.

I wrote to everyone who was interested letting them know that whoever came back to me first would win the prize of an unwanted tumble dryer.

Chris won the e-mail race and came to pick up the dryer. I had some trouble lifting it and undoing the wiring. I need to talk to Dave and explain that when he dies I’ll have to do stuff on my own, so don’t do screws up so tightly, in case I have to undo them.

Chris and I got chatting. He’s a lighting engineer. What a coincidence, I need a lighting engineer.

We have a light that we bought about six years ago. It was intended for the stairwell but has lain in the back of the under stairs cupboard instead.

The light hanging point is really difficult to reach. We have high ceilings and a simple ladder won’t get you close.

Anyway Chris was recently made redundant and is looking for work. The difficulty is that he has a 4 year old and 18 month old to look after.

Not a problem as far as I’m concerned. Ethan can play with his 4 year old Harry and Hannah can help me look after Thomas, the 18 month old.

Maybe it was fate that meant Chris responded to my e-mail, or maybe it was the fact that he had the time to be sat at the computer during the day.

Freecycle

Sorry if I’m preaching to the converted, but Freecycle is brilliant.

I think that maybe Freecycle has crossed a tipping point which means there’s likely to be a group near you.  Let me explain the concept.

Everyone has stuff they don’t need and want to get rid of.  There are different ways top get rid of stuff: ebay, a garage sale, local classifieds, loot, charity shop, a trip to the tip, donating to friends or family, storing in the garage or shed.  Oh wait, those last two options are what we do and don’t constitute getting rid.

Freecycle sets your stuff free.  This is how it works.  Freecycle allows people to tell a community what they want to get rid of, and gives that community to have it for free.

Freecycle is a Yahoo group and you start by clicking www.freecycle.org.  Search for a town near you to find your nearest local group.

When you find a group near you, read the blurb and click to visit the group and then click the blue button on the right to join.

Complete the details and hit the Join button.

I can post things that I want to get rid of by starting a message on the Yahoo group page with the title OFFER: Thingamagig (Brentwood) and people can e-mail me directly if they are interested. 

I can also see what people are getting rid of and it’s amazing what people are shedding.

The right decision

I bumped into someone yesterday that I haven’t spoken to for a long time.  We had a corridor conversation.

We chatted about a number of things, including my husband.

I would like to think people would talk about me in the same way that this individual was talking about my husband.  I know they don’t.  It did make me feel good about some of the choices I’ve made though.

I knew I wanted to marry Dave on March 28th 1991.  That was one good decision.

Security versus stupid

I’m not quite sure what’s right here.  I’ve just had a call from the credit card company checking my expenditure.  Could I confirm some purchases?  So I did.

1. Train fare and parking at station
2. Tesco groceries online
3. Amazon purchase
4. Farm shop
5. Sainsbury in store

“Excellent, thanks for confirming.  Did you try and buy something online this evening?”

“Er yes.  Well I didn’t try, I succeeded.  I bought a tumble dryer”

“That one’s been declined”

“What?  Why?”

“Because it’s an online purchase and there’s a lot of online fraud right now.  The company you bought from are bound to get in touch, and when they do you can tell them we’ll approve the transaction the next time it’s put through.”

“That doesn’t help me right now does it?  In fact it’s jolly inconvenient.”

On the one hand I don’t want to have my credit card abused but, this isn’t an abnormal purchase for me, so don’t decline it and give me the inconvenience!

Healthy choc krispies

OK, not overly healthy due to the butter, chocolate and syrup.  But the rice and oats are good for you and I do use plain chocolate which isn’t too naughty.

The reason this is being posted is that I knew I had the recipe somewhere but didn’t know where.  Because I’ve blogged so many I searched the blog to find I hadn’t blogged this one, or if I have I couldn’t have tagged or labelled it well.

I did find that I have blogged the winter trifle twice.  That serves to illustrate how easy and successful the recipe is, and also how bad I am at admin.

Apologies if you’ve seen this recipe before, but I couldn’t find it.

• 75g butter
• 100g golden syrup
• 60g plain chocolate, broken into pieces
• 50g rice krispies
• 50g rolled oats

Put the butter, syrup and choc into a small pan and melt over a low heat. Mix together the rice krispies and oats and stir into the syrup mixture. Line a bun tin with paper cases and put a spoonful of the mixture in each. Chill until set.

Try not to eat them all immediately.  Actually it’s quite good that one has to wait for them to chill because that delays the opportunity for scoffing.  Kids love them but it does make them very chocolatey in a “please don’t touch the furniture” way.

The art of Marketing

I had the joy of a trip to Basildon this week.  The office car park is adjacent to this building.

I work in Marketing, but clearly lack the vision of the talented people at Weston Homes Plc.

I don’t know about you, but I see this building and I see the signage.

The words Luxury and Apartment don’t seem to fit with the building.  I’m not sure Basildon is ready for such sophisticated marketing techniques.

Running versus walking

I’m trying to create a website from scratch.  I’m struggling a bit.

I have zero training and zero experience (current job aside).

I have considered doing some evening classes to learn about this but I think all I will learn will be a sanitised antiseptic approach.

This means I’m trying the bull in a china shop approach.  At the moment I’m breaking a lot of china and it doesn’t seem to matter which way I turn, it doesn’t get any better.

I honestly think that a little bit more patience and more reading of documentation would fix the problem, but I’m hoping a friendly soul will spare me 30 minutes which will achieve the same results.

Ambition

Ethan wants to drive fifteen cars.

It’s quite sweet really that he’s decided the way to achieve this is to become a rockstar.

As a mother I’m more worried about him having a drug dealer on speed dial.  Condoning violence towards others and anorexia are also concerns. 

I guess if he dates a glamour model who has expensive tastes then I’ll have to try and bite my tongue.

I’m not sure I should be concerned about him taking baths with ten friends though.  I mean that’s what rugby players do.

Anyway, thanks Nickelback.

Chocolate pudding in a mug

This was posted by a friend on Facebook and, because it was easy, I tried it.
It’s sooooo easy and when my children ate it they told me it was the best pudding I had ever made.

• Get a mug, yes a mug! I used a very big mug, the sort used on the continent for dunking breakfast baguette or croissant.
• Throw in 4 tbsp plain flour (I used SR flour and this seemed to work very well), 4 tbsp sugar & 2 tbsp cocoa & mix well.
• Add 1 egg & mix again.
• Pour in 3 tbsp milk & 3 tbsp oil (I used corn oil) & mix well.
• Add 3 tbsp chocolate chips (I used chopped up chocolate coins) & a splash of vanilla (I omitted this because I forgot to put it on the shopping list this week).
• Mix, then cook in the microwave for 3 minutes!!! Don't panic if it goes over the top of the mug.
• Tip out onto a plate, cut in half serves 2 adults very well with a dollop of ice cream on top (I didn’t do the ice cream because the kids would have exploded)

Very yummy.

Following feedback and experimentation I revised this recipe here

Discrimination at the BBC

Ever wondered why it’s usually a man that wins the BBC MasterChef competition?  I have the answer – sex discrimination!  Let me explain.

I’ve watched two of the programmes this week and the men have an unfair advantage.

In each programme they start with six contestants: three men and three women.

The first challenge is to cook a dish from a surprise selection of ingredients in 60 minutes.  After the food has been tasted, the judges retreat to decide which three wannabes will be kept.

This is where it starts to go wrong.  The judges discuss the contestants in turn deciding whether to keep or reject people. 

They start by discussing the men in turn.  In the first programme I saw, two out of the three men were selected to stay in the game. 

Then the women are reviewed.  At this point three women are being considered for just one place.  Earlier the three men were being considered for three places.

Later in the programme we see the remaining three do a stint in a professional kitchen and then they cook two dishes of their choice in another 60 minutes.

After the tasting of these dishes the deliberations start again with just one place in the quarter final up for grabs.

Once again the order for consideration is men first.  By the time they got around to discussing the one remaining woman there was no point as they had already found their quarter finalist.

In the second show I watched, a woman managed to make it through to the quarter finals but that was just because the men were really talentless.  In the first show where a man prevailed the women, who were rejected, did demonstrate talent.

So, on behalf of the talented women who didn’t make the cut, I’d just like to say “It’s not fair.”

Banana and chocolate muffins

Makes 12 yummy muffins and is handy if you have ripe bananas.

• 280g plain flour
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp soda bicarbonate
• pinch salt
• 3 large well ripened bananas (weighing about 450g in total) will yield 140-190ml when peeled and mashed
• 110g granulated sugar
• 1 egg beaten with fork
• 60ml milk
• 90ml corn oil
• 85g choc chips (although I substituted with unwrapped and chopped chocolate coins)

Prepare muffin tins (put paper cases in muffin tin).  Preheat oven to 160 deg C for fan oven.

In a large bowl, sift together (or if lazy like me stir with a fork): flour, baking powder, soda bicarbonate and chocolate.

In another bowl, mash bananas thoroughly with either potato masher or fork.  Add sugar, egg, milk and oil.  Stir well.

Put wet ingredients into dry.  Stir until just combined.  Batter will be lumpy but no lumps should be visible.

Spoon into tins.  Bake for 20 mins.  Tops should be lightly browned and spring back when pressed gently.

(If you only have SR flour then omit baking powder but don’t alter soda bicarb)

I should say that these are best eaten on day they are baked, but they do freeze very well.

Unwanted mail

TV Licensing have written to “The Present Occupier” at my Dad’s address. Dad died in April, aged 86. The age at which TV Licences are free is 75.

“OFFICIAL WARNING – THIS PROPERTY IS UNLICENSED”

“You are hereby notified that we have authorised officers from our Enforcement Division to visit your home, as our records show there is still no TV Licence for this address and as yet we have received no response from you to our previous communications.

If evidence is found that you watch or record television programmes without a valid licence, our officers may interview you under caution. Your statement will then be taken in compliance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 and you may be prosecuted. If found guilty….”

I had two thoughts when I read this:

1. It is perhaps a little heavy handed
2. Have they not heard of the Bereavement Register?

Old age and incontinence

We went to visit Dave’s granny yesterday, and I know what you’re thinking. You’re putting two and two together aren’t you? Well you’d be wrong, so read on.

It’s never a particularly easy visit. She’s rather ancient at 92 and has been more than a bit deaf of late. She is admirably obstinate (depending on your point of view) and still has about 95% of her marbles. Conversations do have a tendency to be rather one way though as she can’t hear what you’re saying and she hasn’t mastered the skill of lip-reading.

She has two English toy terriers. They’re a bit mad, and a bit old. When we’re just about to arrive the dogs get sent upstairs and locked in the bedroom so that they don’t bite or scare the children.

Yesterday, although we arrived spot on our expected arrival time, the dogs were still downstairs. We did a bit of a manoeuvring in which we stood in the hall and the dogs went out past us through into the front garden. We then went into the living room and the dogs were brought back indoors and went upstairs.

I always sit in the same place when we visit Dave’s Granny. She doesn’t have central heating so, selfishly, I sit right next to the coal fire.

I sat down and thought the chair seemed very cold for one placed right next to the fireplace. I pondered this for a while and then became aware of another sensation. The seat felt cold, and wet.

I stood up rather quickly to discover that the seat I had been sitting on was wet, and that meant my seat was wet. I stood with my rear facing the fire and said to Dave “The seat’s wet….is that your Granny, or the dogs?”

That was unfair. I know Dave’s Granny only ever sits in one seat, and it isn’t the one next to the fire.

The dogs had been over-excited when we arrived and before being sent upstairs had seen fit to lose bladder control on one of the armchairs – the one near the fire.

Yuk, yuk and triple yuk.

Homestyle pork casserole

I tend to judge my culinary exploits by the requests for the recipe or a peek at the recipe book. This recipe prompted one diner to buy the recipe book and consider buying a slow cooker like ours, which I consider to be positive indicators.

I like easy, foolproof recipes and this one fits the bill. It’s also one that can be cooking merrily while you sit getting sloshed with your guests.

Ingredients

• 150g of mixed dried prunes, apples and apricots
• 125ml amontillado sherry (or tawny port)
• 250ml dry red wine, eg. merlot or pinot noir (I used whatever was next off the wine rack)
• groundnut or vegetable oil
• 75g seasoned flour (I used gluten free flour and upped the amount of stock added)
• 2 tsp ground cinnamon
• 2 tsp ground cumin
• 2 tsp ground coriander (I had coriander seed and crushed using pestle and mortar)
• 1/2 tsp ground mace (or nutmeg)
• about 1.7kg lean pork, eg. pork loin or leg (well-trimmed and cut into large bite-sized cubes)
• 4 large shallots – finely sliced (I used small onions)
• 2 sprigs of fresh thyme or oregano
• 2 bay leaves
• 1 ltr hot chicken stock (I used stock cube)
• the zest and juice of 1 lemon

Put dried prunes, apples and apricots in a pan with sherry (or port) and red wine and heat to just below simmering point over a low flame. Remove and leave to marinate for 6-8 hours, or overnight.

Preheat oven to 140 degC for a fan oven/gas mark 3, although I used slow cooker for 3 1/2 hours and that worked very well too.

Combine flour and ground spices into a large dish or bowl. Toss in the cubes of pork and coat them. Keep any surplus flour. A large tupperware container works well here – add meat to seasoned flour and shake tupperware with lid on and voila, meat is coated.

Heat a frying pan over a medium flame then pour in enough oil to barely cover the base. When the oil is hot throw in the shallots and fry for about 5 minutes or until they have lightly coloured. Transfer them to casserole using a slotted spoon.

Reheat the pan over a medium flame, adding more oil if necessary. When the oil is hot (but not smoking), toss in some of the pork. Don’t crowd the pan or the meat will stew rather than colour – on the other hand, put in enough cubes to keep the oil “occupied” or it will burn. Once the chunks of pork are coloured on all sides, remove them with a slotted spoon to the casserole, and carry on browning the remainder. Put the pan on one side for a moment.

Scoop out the dried fruits from the marinade (reserving it, and add them to the casserole with the herbs. Tip in any of the remaining deasoned flour and give the pot a good stir.

Return the frying pan to a high flame and pour in the reserved marinade. Bring to the boil and deglaze the pan for 2 minutes. Add the hot stock, bring everything back to the boil, then scrape the contents of the pan into the casserole.

Cover the casserole and put in the oven to cook for 2 hours, stirring it halfway through. When the meat is tender and the sauce is shiny and thick it’s ready. Just before serving, stir in the lemon zest and juice.

Yummy.

Original recipe Ruth Watson "Something for the Weekend"

Yay. Nay.

Yay.  Those British gas people came and worked on the boiler. 

I know they were supposed to turn up on Sunday, and didn’t.  And I know they were supposed to turn up yesterday, and didn’t.  But they turned up today and we made them coffee and we all celebrated with champagne and chocolates.  (I made that last bit up but after such a long drawn out disaster it might have been nice to celebrate.)

Nay.  Those British Gas people came and worked on the boiler and the bloody thing still doesn’t work properly.

My husband tells me I should only worry about the things I can influence and he believes I shouldn’t worry about this because I can’t influence the outcome.  Those British Gas people have promised to come back tomorrow and I can’t control how successful they’ll be.

I can’t help myself.  I do get wound up by these things.  I also develop a systematic pessimistic view of such situations.  I knew they’d screw up at the weekend which is why I insisted on a fix for the weekend, it would give me a bit of a buffer before Christmas in which to have the rework, or in this case initial work, booked.

The depressing thing is that I know tomorrow’s visit will just be an attempt at diagnosis.  Parts will need ordering and a seventh visit will need to be booked.  That will fail leading to another diagnostic visit and so we go on ad infinitum.

Money down the drain

Relatively recently we decided our washing machine had died.  Our washing was emerging ripped and marked.

We had attempted to get the darned thing fixed.  The nice people at Mackfields in Brentwood tried to fix our Bosch.  The replaced the rubber seal which had been sadly neglected and had gone a bit skanky. 

The clothes and linen abuse continued and we decided it was time to get rid, and buy a new one.

I wanted a decent quality machine that would last forever so we ended up buying Miele with 10 year guarantee.  It cost an arm and a leg but the laundry that was being chewed was becoming costly too.

Today I was having a look at some clean laundry that was showing the same kind of marks that the laundry was displaying before we switched machines.  These were duvet covers that were new and hadn’t been washed before so I knew the damage was fresh.

I couldn’t believe it.  The new machine was causing the same problems that were being caused by the old ones.  Nightmare.  Loads of money down the drain.

A few minutes later Dave came into the room and said (rather over-dramatically) “I’ve caught it in the act!”

It transpires that Dave had caught the tumble dryer in the act of trashing the laundry.  Great!  I ditched a perfectly good washing machine and kept a crappy tumble dryer.

So I’m now looking at Miele tumble dryers, three days before Christmas.

British Gas

Are crap.  And so are Sky.  And you know what, I think things can only get worse.

Which is why I shall be waiting until the promised final, final, final boiler fix which has been rescheduled a million times, and is booked in for tomorrow afternoon.

The good news is that a very nice man called Michael did turn up yesterday and fit a 7 day thermostat.

The bad news is that it’s a bit complicated.  I did start to work through the programming whilst following the instructions but I was saved from this tedium by my patronising husband who said “Just write down when you want the boiler on and off, every day, and I’ll programme it.”

I could be generous and assume this was a genuine offer of help or I could assume that he wanted me to steer well clear because he thought I’d screw it up.

Blog blog blog

Blah, blah, blah.

I could do a bit more ranting about British Gas. I get the feeling that this thread has legs, or maybe it would if the right engineer ever turned up at the right time with the right bits. (Because engineers have legs...Oh, never mind!)

I could rant about TV reality shows but my angle is a little unorthodox and might need a bit more thought.

I could rant about the fact that it's coming up to Christmas and I have a cold and all I seem to be doing is drinking and eating and feeling ill.

Haven't you had enough of me ranting?

Acceleration works

The e-mail to Sam Laidlaw at British Gas seems to have had an impact.

Darren (who loves his job and works in Customer Services) now phones me regularly to make sure I'm happy.

I'm not happy because they still haven't fixed the boiler and fitted the thermostat, but the thinking is that if I can vent my anger at Darren it means Mr Laidlaw doesn't get anymore annoying e-mails.

The idiot that couldn't install a new thermostat yesterday, and who had the wrong parts to fix the boiler, will return tomorrow morning. I've told Darren that I don't hold out too much hope.

A senior engineer will also turn up at some point tomorrow to fit the thermostat.

It is a measure of my lack of faith that I requested a weekend appointment so there may still be an opportunity to rectify any screw ups on Monday or Tuesday.

Old boiler

I might have mentioned a certain irritation with British Gas before, maybe here, here, here and here.

Well the boiler is up to it's old tricks.  It usually decides to let us down about seven times a day.  This is an inconvenience but I know how to fix it.  Next week when the house has guests, they might be less understanding if, mid shower, the hot water suddenly turns cold.

I've been through the usual two appointments before we get to the one where they promise to fix things and they sent an idiot.  Granted it wasn't his fault the previous guy had ordered the wrong parts but, you know what, I don't think he had the wrong parts.  I think he decided he couldn't be bothered.  Lazy git.  And I made him a decent coffee.

I'd arranged to have a different thermostat fitted today too.  Killing two birds with one stone was the plan but it's sort of turned into the Hitchcock film Birds, which is rather scary.

How can a qualified British gas technician (sorry I am beginning to resent using the word engineer) say that the wiring looked a bit confusing and he wasn't sure what to connect to what?

He started to suggest he'd leave that for the guy who would arrive with the right parts but then it transpired that they're "a bit busy 'cos it's Christmas".  (No shit Sherlock!)  That means I'll need a further two visits which of course assumes no further screw ups, which we know is ridiculous optimism.

Sam Laidlaw's minions were quick to respond to my first e-mail, but the promised speedy contact from Customer Services is still pending.  Maybe they're hoping I'll cool down.  Well without a fully functioning boiler I might do more than cool down; I might freeze!!!

This one's for Victoria

Went on Christmas lunch duty today.

Lost my scarf. Yes the one I bloody well knitted and I liked. I am gutted, but not gutted enough to about turn when I got to Moorgate and realised.

Nearly snogged a girl. Lucinda nearly got snogged. Nobody dared me to do it which is why it probably didn't happen and, to be fair to Lucinda, she might have told me to get lost.

I found out a few things about colleagues that I didn't know before, and honestly Vish and Rana I never had a clue.

Talked about sex toys for a while.

And Michelle, you have a lovely bum which should be shown off more often, and if you ever want to go bra shopping together, it's a date.

I lusted over Apple product. I want an iSomething. Phone or Touch, not sure I'm fussy but probably Phone.

I discovered that someone has a plan that involves me and that's all the detail I have.

Anyway I sit here wrapped in a towel sipping Alka Seltzer doing this for the lovely Victoria who I have always appreciated but now so even more so.

And the answer is....

Conversation between Dave and Ethan:

Ethan: Daddy, what's the third biggest country in the world?
Dave: I'm not too sure, maybe India.
Ethan: No, silly. India is the seventh biggest country.

For those who are wondering, the third biggest country is either the United States of America or the People's Republic of China. This is disputed and depends on whether territories claimed by India are included in the China figure.

No No No

Every Monday I catch the tube between Liverpool Street and Euston Square. Well not every Monday, but enough Mondays to have an opinion.

As we pull into Kings Cross there is an announcement advising us of the fact and suggesting that should be need the Royal Institute of blind people, we should alight when we reach the station.

No, no and thrice no!

It's the Royal National Institute for the Blind. The omission of the word National isn't the thing that irks me, it's the use of the words "of blind people." The Institute, I'm sure, does not comprise entirely of blind people. I understood it existed to make life better for the blind and partially sighted, i.e. it was for the benefit of those who were blind.

Anyway it winds me up every Monday, so I thought I'd share it with you to see whether anyone else might find it irksome.

Tim is my idol, sort of

We were having a chat in the office about entertaining the other day.

Whenever I know people are coming over to the house (e.g. this weekend) I start to worry.

I just try to plan and re-plan and think through when the preparation will happen, when any cooking will happen, what to cook, where to serve it, when to serve it. You know what I mean. You might think I'm mad and you'd be agreeing with Tim who didn't understand this at all.

Tim's view was that one doesn't need to worry about any of this until the day and even then a couple of hours prior to guests arriving.

Tim obviously has an immaculate and very well organised house. He obviously has a kitchen of unlimited possibilities and a chef-like ability akin to Gordon Ramsey.

My ambitions run more along the lines of sausage rolls or chicken goujons (which are just posh long nuggets), Pringles or tortillas, pizza slices or vol-au-vent. OK, I'm exaggerating for effect (the goujons are way beyond me) but there are things to consider: the fussiness of children, the ease of eating without having to sit at a table, food that can be eaten by children without it ending up all over the walls, how much to cook, how to accommodate everyone's likes and dislikes, and this is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of considerations.

I'd love to be like Tim and not worry about everything until the day, but my house is a picture of disorganisation which matches my mind. Stress and worry are my bedfellows.

How blonde?

I checked in for a flight at Stansted with Tracey, a seasoned traveller.

We checked our bags and headed over to the security section. Just before we went through I had a horrible realisation. In my handbag I had two penknives.

I know, one penknife is a mistake and two is criminal. Well actually, if David Cameron had his way I'd be arrested.

I realised it was too late to put the knives in the checked luggage because it had been checked and had disappeared into baggage handling hell. So we approached a gang of three men wearing fluorescent jackets with the word security emblazoned. This was a risky strategy, as we realised when they threatened to lock me up.

We explained my problem and the lovely men had a solution. They explained that I could leave them in lost property but I'd be charged £5 per day and a better solution was to buy a jiffy bag and stamps and post the knives to myself.

We started to edge away from the lovely fluorescent men towards WH Smiths when they caught us to ask a question. "Have you got a car?"

Of course. The car. How blonde were we? It never occurred to either of us that we could nip out to the car parked in the short term car park right next to the terminal and drop them back in the car.

Very blonde.

Little donkey

It's that time of year again - nativity preparation.

I'm sure most of you will remember the song Little Donkey...you know, "Little donkey, little donkey on the dusty road. Got to keep on plodding onwards with your precious load..."

Hannah's been learning this, but she and a couple of friends have come up with an alternative:

Little donkey, little donkey on the M25.
Got run over, by a Land Rover.
And then, he died.

Ah bless, how sweet.

Fat swimmer

I've taken up swimming. Well I say taken up swimming but that makes it sound as though I can't swim. And actually I can't swim very well, and that's my point.

I swim once a week now because it's an exercise that I can fit into a relatively short period of time. On Thursdays I have two hours to myself. If I were to go to the gym I'd have enough time to get to the gym, work out and get home, but no time to shower and feel human again. A swim, on the other hand, takes less time and allows me to get to the pool, change, swim, shower, change back, get home and have a swift cuppa and magazine read. This is a more efficient use of time and therefore the preferred course of action.

Going back to my first point....I can't swim very well. I can manage breast stroke but not the professional looking breast stroke with goggles, nose clips and head under the water. Mine's more of the old lady breast stroke where someone doesn't want to ruin their perm or shampoo and set. (I hope it's not necessary to point out I have neither perm or set.) The head is definitely above the water but only just because my technique is so awful that it takes a fair amount of effort not to sink.

Breast stroke is a fat swimming stroke and I take up a lot of space when I'm swimming.

The swimming lanes that are available at the pool are the width of a racing swimming lane which, in my defence, I consider to have been designed for one swimmer. If one tries to cram more than one swimmer into one of these lanes, then things get a little crowded. This isn't generally a problem if swimmers are doing the crawl because crawl is a skinny swimming stroke. When two breast strokers meet then arms and legs are likely to come into contact. Even if I'm swimming and encounter a crawler in the other direction, a collision is possible.

The thing is, that it doesn't matter how much swimming I do, I'll still be a fat swimmer.

Balance

Remember when companies used to talk about downsizing? Everyone knew this meant job losses.

Then companies started to talk about right sizing. Everyone knew this meant job losses too.

Some companies are currently talking about rebalancing the business.

Do they think we're stupid?

Negative effects

Marketing departments make some poor decisions.

Nescafe have made the poor decision to sponsor Disney. This means that the Nescafe logo can be seen anywhere that refreshments are available.

This, I could live with. The lack of any decent tasting real proper coffee made from real coffee beans in any of the dining establishments on the whole of the Disney site, I can't.

The exclusivity clause that must have been a key part of the sponsorship deal has succeeded in alienating this potential customer.

I resented forking out three euros for an instant coffee. I then understood why I was in that situation; I needed a decent coffee and Nescafe were restricting my choices because they believed, in their ignorance, that my Nescafe drinking experience would convert me once and for all time and that forevermore I would only buy and consume Nescafe.

Wrong. I had neutral feelings towards the brand that are now twisted and negative and it's all their fault.

Found

It's rare that I found something but today, it happened.

Ethan had lost a watch. It's been lost for months. It's been so lost that we bought a replacement.

It's been so, so lost that Ethan wanted an exact replacement for Christmas.

It's been so, so, so lost that I called the company that made it and who have discontinued the product and begged them to look in the marketing department cupboards to see if there was a sample or something that could provide my little boy with the watch he misses so much. They couldn't help. But I don't need their help anymore.

I found it.

I just need to find Hannah's DS case, my binoculars and the little pendant amethyst heart surrounded by silver that used to belong to my mother. If I find those I will be content.

Normal children

So there I lie on the bed in the doctor's surgery. The door's locked, I'm naked from the waist down, I've assumed the position and have been told to relax. Ladies will realise I'm prepared for a smear test.

I know that many women complain about the smear test process but to be honest I think they should just put up and shut up. I've never found it painful although some claim it is. And as for the indignity, frankly I think it might be just as awkward for the nurse. In my case though I can't remember when this encounter was awkward. My last test was six months ago and I was back for a retest because I'm not normal. I'm not quite sure what that means but I'm not worried; I've never been normal.

Anyway, it's perhaps not an everyday experience but I've had so many examinations "down there" (do I need to clarify here that I mean medical examinations?) that it's really no big deal.

The nurse looking after me was one that has been at the surgery for a while and, at the risk of sounding patronising, she is the lovely little Chinese nurse. (She is lovely, little and Chinese). She has seen me through pregnancies and also administered MMR and other immunisations to the children.

As she was warming the implements she was about to use, we were chatting about how the children have grown, and then she asked "Normal children?"

I thought about this, taken aback such a strange question. I thought that they were fairly normal. I mean they both have their moments, but don't all children? I know Hannah's doing well at school and I assume Ethan will too but it's too early to tell. Is Hannah doing abnormally well? I didn't think so. Just as I was about to reply, she repeated the question; "No more children?"

"No" I replied, somewhat relieved, and the conversation moved onto cervices and how easily, or not, they can be found.

Blog Action Day - Poverty

Today is Blog Action Day. The subject is poverty.

That seems quite apt with the credit crunch crunching right now.

At lunchtime I was listening to the radio and someone was suggesting that China could help us out of this mess.

This evening I found this:



Somehow I don't think China can help.

Makes you feel very sorry for those bankers who won't be getting a bonus this year doesn't it?

Politics

Hannah's school has a school council and pupils are elected to represent their classmates.

Last week all pupils in Hannah's year were asked if they want to stand for election. All of the children in her class, bar one, decided they wanted a chance at power. All interested children were told about elections and were told to think about three questions:

• Why do they want to be a school councillor?
• What would they do?
• Why do they think they would make a good school councillor?

In addition to considering her policies and campaign speeches, Hannah was tasked with preparing a rosette and was given a paper plate as starting block. The instruction was to make a rosette with the candidate's name clearly visible.

Hannah and Dave got busy with a stapler and sellotape, some ribbon, a safety pin and the paper plate. This is what they produced:





I have a feeling Dave was more involved than Hannah.

Scam

Generally, I hate the warnings that get sent around, but I have to admit that this one is important. Please protect everyone you know by sending this to your entire email list.

If a man comes to your front door and says he is conducting a survey and asks you to show him your bum, do NOT show him your bum. This is a scam - he only wants to see your bum.

I wish I'd got this yesterday. I feel so stupid and cheap.

Proof of the pudding

Well I definitely didn't eat it, but I did take a picture of the burnt pasta.

Voice of the future consumer

Me: My next car is probably going to be a bright green Fiesta.
Ethan: I thought it was going to be pink.

Me: Well I don't think the pink is bright enough, but I think the green might be.
Ethan: Why not blue?

Me: Well I think the blue might be a bit boring.
Ethan: When I have my first car....

Me: ...your first new car?
Ethan: ...yes, my first new car. It will be a multi-coloured Fiesta.

Me: That sounds really exciting. How old do you think you'll be when you have your first car?
Ethan: 111. No, 40.

Me: And will you have a second hand car before that do you think?
Ethan: Yes.

Me: And what do you think that car might be?
Ethan: An S-MAX.

A hint of

I was lucky enough to go on a cookery course on Saturday. There was a little bit of watching, some preparation, some cooking and a lot of eating and drinking.

I was so inspired that I even made bread on Sunday and I didn't cheat with a bread maker or a packet mix.

My gorgeous children (probably primed by my gorgeous husband) had told me I didn't need to go on a course to learn how to cook. They didn't know my dirty Friday secret.

Ironically, given that I was making fresh tagliatelle on Saturday (which was absolutely delicious by the way), I was cooking some dried pasta on Friday. My plan was to cook some pasta and then store the cooked pasta for reheating later. I figured that later in the day this would save me ten minutes.

I put the pasta in the pan, added boiling water and put the hob on a low heat. I then went upstairs to do some stuff (I can't remember what).

That day was a bit hectic. I had to grab the children from the school and take them straight up to the dentist where we all had an appointment. We then had to get back home, jump in the car and travel to Leigh-on-Sea because Ethan needed to be taken to a friend's house for a sleepover (how American....we never had "sleepovers" in my day).

As we walked in through the back gate it was clear that Dave was home and the children wanted to say hello to Daddy before hopping in the car.

It was then Dave told me he'd come home to a house full of smoke, smoke alarm blaring with a saucepan on the hob that contained black burnt pasta.

Pasta with a hint of burnt anyone?

Haunted handbag

This morning I had a call from Al.

He'd called because I'd sent him a text. "What text?" I asked. He explained it was the text that said "I'm at home. Please call."

I was confused, and said so. Whilst it was lovely to chat with Al first thing on a Monday morning, I hadn't sent him a text.

I hung up and checked sent items and there it was: I'm at home. Please call

I explored explanations. Al could be the first person in my contacts list and it was a random text that just went to the first person in my contacts list. Not a good explanation as Alan is my first contact. Plus I didn't remember having that as a text message in my drafts folder. And it wasn't as if Al had been the last person I remember sending a text to. In fact it had been weeks since I'd sent Al a text.

My attention moved to the content of the text, and for that the explanation is strange. It's the second template available on the phone.

This means that my phone had selected the second text template to the second person in my contacts list.

Later today I received a text from Louise. It read "Are you OK? I've had 7 empty messages from you in the last 10 mins! X." I replied "Haven't touched my fone. :-S"

I checked sent messages and Louise was right. Seven messages, all blank, in under 10 minutes.

After the Al incident I'd sent him a text to explain what I'd thought had happened.

The messages to Louise might have been easy to explain if I hadn't texted Al (once inadvertently and once deliberately) because the last text I sent consciously was to Louise. It said "They might if I'm naked."

Either my phone is haunted, or it's the handbag. It's the only logical explanation.

I discovered today

I discovered today that it was Enid Blyton that first coined the term "google." Google buns were available in The Land of Goodies which featured in The Magic Faraway Tree (one of my favourite childhood books).

Strange, but true.

Important Health Advisory for Women

• Do you have feelings of inadequacy?
• Do you suffer from shyness?
• Do you sometimes wish you were more assertive?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, ask your doctor or pharmacist about White Wine.

White Wine is the safe, natural way to feel better and more confident about yourself and your actions. White Wine can help ease you out of your shyness and let you tell the world that you're ready and willing to do just about anything.

You will notice the benefits of White Wine almost immediately and with a regime of regular doses you can overcome any obstacles that prevent you from living the life you want to live.

Shyness and awkwardness will be a thing of the past and you will discover many talents you never knew you had. Stop hiding and start living, with White Wine. White Wine may not be right for everyone. Women who are pregnant or nursing should not use White Wine. However, women who wouldn't mind nursing or becoming pregnant are encouraged to try it.

Side effects may include dizziness, nausea, vomiting, incarceration, erotic lustfulness, loss of motor control, loss of clothing, loss of money, loss of virginity, delusions of grandeur, table dancing, headache, dehydration, dry mouth, and a desire to sing Karaoke and play all-night rounds of Strip Poker, Truth Or Dare, and Naked Twister.

WARNING:
The consumption of White Wine may make you think you are whispering when you are not.
WARNING:
The consumption of White Wine is a major factor in dancing like an idiot
WARNING:
The consumption of White Wine may cause you to tell your friends over and over again that you love them.
WARNING:
The consumption of White Wine may cause you to think you can sing.
WARNING:
The consumption of White Wine may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to telephone them at four in the morning.
WARNING:
The consumption of White Wine may make you think you can logically converse with members of the opposite sex without spitting.
WARNING:
The consumption of White Wine may create the illusion that you are tougher, smarter, faster and better looking than most people.

Mad cow

I went to the new Community Hospital for a blood test this week. I had a transfusion a few years ago and they need to do regular checks to see that I don't have mad cow disease.

Anyway, when I made the appointment I asked where I should go when I turned up at the hospital and was told, "Just follow signs for Blood."

I drove from work to the hospital and as I entered the grounds there were signs for the car park. I drove in the direction indicated and thought I'd reached the car park but there were these signs everywhere.



Plus all the spaces had numbers and letters. Even though the direction signs made me think I was in the right place, the environment made me feel I was in the staff car park.

I drove on. Well I would have but I'd reached a dead end. I couldn't see anywhere else to park so I took the risk of a ticket, parked and went in to reception.

I asked the receptionist about the parking situation, explaining that I hadn't requested, or received, authorisation to park in the car park.

She assured me that authorisation was not necessary and that I'd be fine. I said that in that case the signs were unnecessarily threatening and certainly hadn't made me feel welcome. She said she'd make a note of my concerns and I thought "Yeah, right."

I thought we'd end on a light note as there were no signs for "Blood" and I asked where I should go. (I had seen a sign for Phlebotomy but being a pedant and having been told to follow signs for Blood I thought I'd best check.)

She advised I shouldn't follow signs for Phlebotomy or Blood as it was currently sited about as far away from its intended location as possible and where the sign suggested I should turn left I should, instead, turn right.

The good news was that the phlebotomist was ready to see me as soon as I arrived.

Amusingly as I walked back out past reception I noticed the receptionist pointing at me. Within seconds I was being introduced to the Patient Liaison Manager.

I guided the Patient Liaison Manager around to the patient and visitor car park and explained my confusion when presented with the car park signs. She placated me by agreeing with me so I took the opportunity to mention the Phlebotomy signs.

I bet they can't wait for my next mad cow test.

Diggerland

I have to admit that the thought of spending a day at Diggerland did not inspire me.

I've always thought that diggers required a reasonable amount of skill to master. I didn't think it was something one could pick up in a couple of hours. I was wrong.

I was also wrong to think I wouldn't enjoy a Diggerland experience. I can thoroughly recommend it.

Where else do you get to operate a big digger that costs £38,000? Where else can five year olds drive real tractors, scoop earth with real diggers and drive a go-cart? Where else can you sit in the scoop of a digger costing £118,000 and get lifted as high as the scoop will go and get spun round as fast as the digger will spin? Where else can a five year drive a digger around a muddy track? Where else can you travel on a merry-go-round constructed with a digger at its centre?

It is heaven for kids (and kids at heart). They can do things that would normally be forbidden and it is very muddy.

Mother's little helper

On Wednesday I listened to the news and heard about an increase in the street value of Valium because heroin has decreased in both availability and quality.

On Thursday I took Dave to the doctor with chronic back pain and he prescribed Cocodomel and Diazepam, more commonly known as Valium.

Now I'd always thought that Valium was prescribed for depression and was prescribed with abandon in the seventies before people realised the extent of its addictive qualities.

But the doctor knew his stuff, and Diazepam can be prescribed to help with muscle spasm.

It doesn't get better than this

I could have put this on my work blog but it was too good not to share it here too.

The team at work needed to restore data using a backup of the system. They contacted the department that do the backups.

I'm not exactly sure of the detail, but I was told that the latest backup was only done five months ago. This was a shock because backups were supposed to be happening regularly, daily.

When this was investigated the team responsible for backing up the system said that they used to get daily e-mails reminding them to back up the system, but the e-mails were irritating them, so they set up a rule to delete them automatically.

No reminder e-mail, no backup.

I laughed and laughed.

Did someone say "Muppets!"