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!"

Why?

Beach huts can command high prices. A friend of a friend recently purchased one in West Mersea for £40,000.

I observed Beach Huts being used this weekend in Frinton.

I understand the benefit of storing beach stuff at the beach rather than lugging it down from the car but, at Frinton, the distance between car and beach really isn't that far. It certainly isn't worth £40K.

I understand the benefit of being able to make a cup of tea at the beach, especially as backwards Frinton doesn't allow food or drink trading on or near the beach. But again, this isn't worth £40K.

So having failed to establish the value of these benefits I thought I'd look at how beach huts were being used.

In the main, people had taken chairs and tables out of the hut and placed them directly in front of the beach hut on the concrete promenade above the beach. There they sat.

For me this does not constitute a beach experience. There's no sand, sandcastles, burying people in sand, paddling, swimming, flying kites, finding shells, admiring pebbles etc.

So why do people have beach huts? Even if I had the cash I can't see the point.

Smashing time

List of things broken whilst camping this weekend:

Washing up bowl - bashed with foam baseball bat by a three year old
Picnic table and seat set - sat on by husband
Pegs - several during extraction from ground
Guy rope - during peg extraction process
Bucket - hit by stone thrown on a beach
Airbed - although this may have had a puncture before the weekend
Picnic glass - perhaps broken by aggressive washing up
My spirit - only kidding, I'll be back for more of the same next year.

Bad smell

In case anyone is interested, I don't even own one home.

My name is on the deeds of one house but until the mortgage is paid I figure it isn't mine.

Oh, and when the mortgage is paid it still won't be exclusively mine as I'll only own half of it with Dave owning the other half.

And if a pair of legal eyes were to look at this situation they may say that because I contributed less, financially, towards the mortgage then I would own less than half.

Would that be full disclosure? Could that be twisted by political spin? Probably.

I know that the Presidential candidates face extreme scrutiny and criticism. But of all the issues facing either of them, it's the initials of my preferred candidate that I think are the most unfortunate.

Stop it!

Medal is a noun. It is not a verb!

Will the BBC Olympics team please stop talking about people medalling.

People can meddle, but not medal.

Got that? Good.

OK, maybe I'm 40 years out of date.

(Is it appropriate to mention here that the Blogger spellchecker didn't like the word either?)