What a weekend

Feeling slightly damp around the edges but definitely uplifted. Just what the nation needed I reckon . A spectacular display of royal loveliness and patriotism ... shame the BBC were working to a different agenda. Mr River Pageant Commentator ... you should be ashamed of yourself. Possibly the worst commentary in the history of commentating . Might I suggest you do your homework before the event . It didn't help that it was peppered with a slew of 'celebrity' lightweight nonsense. So ill-judged and unnecessary.

Anyway , don't want to put a dampener on the events of the last 72 hours , not that the weather hasn't done that already... so here are a few of my own personal memories of the weekend in photographs - in no particular order , a pot-pourri of patriotism.

Strange Day ....

... was planning on cycling up to town to watch the Jubilee River Pageant but decided to stay dry instead and watch from the comfort of my sofa . Glad I did really , because the day turned out to be surprisingly lovely in a homely kind of way.

Waffles for breakfast , in shifts, as both the boys had friends to stay so the breakfast, or rather brunch cooking, was a staggered affair.

Amazingly even the teens entered into the spirit of things and started making up lengths of paper chains for our street party on Tuesday. Undaunted by this spurt of out-of-character activity they then went on to bake chocolate chip cookies , whilst the younger ones tipped out the contents of the Coronation Jigsaw I bough the other day and began the hunt for the corner pieces.

I thought I must have fallen into some Enid Blytonesque parallel universe, but no, the camaraderie continued with a trip to the sports club for a game of squash and a swim ( them not me ) whilst H and I returned to the sofa with a bottle of crisp white wine and some Cromer crab. Could have been worse , could have been sat by the Thames in the rain. I know it's better to be there in person but sometimes , there is another , dryer and more comfortable way.

I've Done It Again

Why oh why,  when questions such as .... "Who'd like to volunteer for ...." arise at meetings, does my arm suffer from an involuntary spasm and shoots upwards ? Is it a hangover from school days when I'd sit, arm higher than everyone's, shouting "Miss , Miss  ... " begging to be asked the answer to a question read aloud ? Can't be, I'd have been sitting on my hands hoping not to be picked. Maybe that's it then . I'm repenting for my lost school youth when I should have been participating rather than hiding behind my desk.

In any event , I find myself on a Sunday having just baked umpteen scones, whipped litres of cream and decanted jars of Robinson's finest, in preparation for my hosting of the  'Jubilee Street Party Bunting Get together ' for all the neighbours.

Now I know it will be fun when we get going but today of all days when I'm trying to fathom the difference between Osmosis and Diffusion , in an attempt to de-mystify eldest teen before his Biology GCSE tomorrow morning. Feel like I've just done a crash course on all 3 sciences and then there's Eng Lit as we used to call it , to wade through tonight ... and the perils of ' unseen poetry' .

My version of an English Lit GCSE would be to ship the whole class off to the Hay Festival to absorb ( by osmosis .... see I do know what it means ) the loveliness of the English Language in all its written glory . But no . The Head Honchos at Edexcel have other ideas, They're gonna make the parents suffer by forcing them to speed read every one of the set books the night before the exam in a vain attempt to explain their contents yo their reluctant teens, the morning of the exam. I'm talking here about my dyslexic and dyspraxic son who will read each book , albeit over the course of a year, thereby forgetting how it started by the end of the 12 months and be none the wiser at the end of the last chapter. Guaranteed to put you off reading for life.

I shouldn't really be wasting time blogging but it's therapy and cheaper than gin. Excuse me whilst I go drag the sewing machine downstairs , dust off the cobwebs and prepare to cut a million little triangles from assorted discarded clothing. This may just put me off bunting for life. When the next Jubilee wheels around in a decade ( pearl ? ruby ? Corgi ? ), I'll have learnt from my mistakes , in theory , and be sitting on my hands when the question " Anyone want to volunteer to make bunting ? " rears its ugly head.

Looking Out of My Window Today ...

 ... let me see .... we have hailstones , about the size of frozen peas, black skies and what might that be on the horizon , a plague of locusts perhaps ?

But not even the weather can dampen my enthusiasm for what awaits me at about 11.30am on Wednesday the 16th May . Eldest will have completed the second of 2 papers for his Maths IGCSE and I can breathe again. The house will relax back into normality and I can clear away the eggshells we've all been walking on for the past few months.

I hear on the radio this morning that our Educational System's method of assessing and dealing with Special Educational Needs is to have an overhaul. Hurrah ! Now you won't have to prove that you're at least three years behind before you get dragged out of class to learn your vowel sounds with an unqualified assistant , thereby missing another essential lesson back in the classroom in the process, which will probably get you off onto the wrong track in arithmetic or some such.

Apparently lots of children have been 'mislabeled'. What happened there then ? Did they get the wrong barcode or sell by date ? A bunch of experts have been wheeled out to express their views on radio 4 . These range from 'regret' that so many children have fallen through the net , right up to anger that they'll leave school without being able to read. And meanwhile if you want a statement for your child , which still sounds like they're being classified as educationally unsound, rather than failed by the system, unless you can dig deep and hire a barrister to 'defend' your case in court  (.... yes court !) , at eleventy squillion pounds a minute - you're stuffed.

So what's the answer ? More teachers, better qualified, smaller classes and differentiated work for those who can't do quadratic equations by the time they're three. Wouldn't it be lovely if our children could just ... wait for it .... enjoy school rather than endure it ? Poor loves , I wouldn't want to be a schoolchild these days.

4 Eyes

I am helpless with laughter. If you haven't tried it yet , go straight to Specsavers website and try out their new gizmo where you upload a photo of yourself which enables you to 'try on' any of their frames.
Trouble is ... I look like a cross between Dame Edna and Eric Morecombe in every single pair.
Still .... worth a good laugh on a Friday night if nothing else.




                        
                  


And talking of Friday night ... what is it about wine O clock on a Friday that still makes me feel like a teenager getting home from school ... childishly excited about the anticipation of the weekend ahead ?

The fridge is bursting with 4 lots of M&S dine in for a tenner meals ... should keep us going until Monday - I have no intention of cooking for the next 3 days . Instead I'll be taking my pick from chargrilled chicken and prawn paella, salmon marinated in soy and ginger, fish pie and pork medallions in a creamy something or other sauce. And that's just the main courses ... wait til you hear the puds - Irish Cream tart slices, trifle, raspberry panna cotta and key lime pie. The 4 bottles of wine alone would have cost £32 which means that the 4 main course, 4 side dishes and 4 puddings came to a grand total of £8.

As they say ... this is not just ordinary food this is ... an absolute bargain.

Food

A subject close to my heart ... and hips ... and thighs etc
Why do carbs taste so good and broccoli tastes like ... well broccoli ?
Why is everything deep fried delicious ?
And why can some people eat for England and never gain a pound ?
And why do I have to eat every least chip including the dodgy one at the bottom of the scrunched paper that looks like it may have succumbed to a spot of potato blight ?
Why does only wine hit at the spot at the end of a bad day ?
Why won't an apple do instead of a Cadbury's Wispa ?
Why can't spinach have the same allure as salt and vinegar crisps ?

The answers my friend are not blowing in the sodding wind but just plain facts of life so I'd better get over it and go bake myself a fat - free broccoli and spinach casserole.

I'm in the danger zone .. I'm poised over my keyboard lusting over scrapbooking papers as an antidote to the pouring rain outside when I should be preparing some lesson plans for my next pupil. I can't face getting back on my bike . My clothes have only just dried out since this morning's drenching. Tough choice but do I indulge in a little retail therapy in the dry with a cuppa or do I get back on my bike and pedal off into the downpour ?

Hmmmm , kettle's boiling.

And just so that you now what I may be tempted by .... it's these ...

and these ....

and these...

I could eat this

Every now and then a delicious new range of papers comes along and you find yourself wondering why they look different from the myriad previous releases . Just like with music - there are only 8 notes and yet an infinite number of arrangements of those notes which makes every piece of music unique ( apart from the majority of the top ten chart which are virtually identical of course ) .

So if ether are only so many colours in the rainbow how does yet another combination manage to look so fresh. This range from Prima look good enough to eat ( most of my analogies are based on food I have realised ) but I may resist the urge to munch them and cut them up instead into an interesting layout or two.

Thank you Prima for presenting me with an unquenchable urge to purchase ... not that I ever need an excuse to buy new stash.

Titter Ye Not

And for those who aren't old enough to remember, that's one of comedian Frankie Howerd's catchphrases from an ancient comedy called Up Pompeii - think 'Carry On' Meets 'I Claudius' ... oh dear, showing my age again.

So the mystery is over. The squeaking bedspring birdcall that's been irritating the pants off me for the last couple of weeks has finally been identified as the Great Tit ( hence the title of this post ) by Emma and verified by Sandra, courtesy of Chirp - an inspired App for your iphone which she kindly shared with me, which gives you sound-bites for every known resident bird in the UK.

Now I just have to work out how to get rid of my annoying little feathered friend. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the double entendres of being able to post comments like ' managed to upload my  Great Tits ' on here and elsewhere. Nothing like the word Tit to get a cheap laugh .. as Frankie Howerd knew well.

Sarah's Cards Retreat

Despite the fact that it's held in Warrington ( no disrespect to Warringtonians ... just the fact that it costs an arm and a leg, takes half a day and about 500 underground station steps with an overweight suitcase to get there ) it is well worth the trip and that's an understatement.

I missed my train buddy Emma en route this time , especially as she'd had the foresight to bring some tinnies ( G&T ) with her last time but this was more than compensated by the fact that she and Kate were both there on arrival for a celebratory bounce on the bed, a quick room search for the minibar ( sadly none) and a forage in the shop within minutes of hitting the crop room.

Several bottles of red wine later we were underway with the first of 6 superb classes, all of which are accompanied by class kits full to the brim with luscious new scrap goodies . You have to pass by the Rhubarb and Custard sweet shop en route to the classroom and it was here that I discovered blackcurrant and liquorice toffees. A love affair at first bite.

A game of bingo and a raffle later we were sat around our enormous tablecothed crop room table armed with fabulous new cocktails courtesy of Emma - that girl is a master at ferreting out tinned alcohol. Note to self for next time .... bring Wine Box as well - an inspiration.

The weekend continued in much the same vein - food , scrapbook shopping, coffee, pecan pastries, a class or two, more shopping , chocolate brownies , and armful of those lethal toffees something new and alcoholic in a tin ( or bottle ) , more food , more scrapping , you get my drift.

The icing on the cake was that we got to spend the Sunday night there too. A great to way to relax after a wonderful time .. with the inevitable bottle or two of red wine with which to reminisce about the weekend's events and count the days until the next one.

Thank you to Lianne and Sarah and the Design team for your exhaustive pursuit of the perfect retreat, seemingly achieved with such ease and yet I can only begin to guess at the amount of hard work you put into the weekend.

Here's my layout from the challenge kit ....
Before They Fly the Nest .... Make Sure they Know How.

Storage Solution

I'd been looking at The Tim Holtz trinket boxes to hold all my bits and bobs but when I saw it in real life I was really disappointed. It looked very cardboardy and rather cheap and nasty and yet still cost about £25.

Then I realised that the solution was right under my nose all the time , sitting on one of my shelves. An old wooden, cantilevered embroidery floss  display box that I'd bought at an antique fair years ago. It's been through various re-incarnations through the years but I feel that it's now found it's true spiritual home in my craft room.

Funny how a mile high stack of packaging translates into a mere handful of stuff. Only problem now is , I'll have to buy heaps more to fill it !

Day Two on my VLCD

... and for those who have never had the misfortune to have HAD to do Lighter Life , this stand for a Very Low Calorie Diet. In fact I'm doing the Cambridge Diet this time but same difference. Having done Lighter Life before, it's just easier to call it that . Either way it is HELL.

So to keep my mind off food , here's a little mathematical peculiarity for everyone out there revising for their Maths GCSE Unit 1 paper on Monday .


If                                            x   =  0.999 999   (1)
Multiply by 10             10x   =  9.999 999   (2)
Subtract (1) from (2)    9x  =   9

Therefore                          x  =  1
And so                                 1 =  0.9 recurring


Weird or what ???


And so must I be to be spending my Saturday afternoon doing maths .
Still, it keeps my mind of food.

Now if only I could make 12 stone 3lb = a size 10 , I'd be really laughing

By the way GCSE students ... I am 53 year sold and I STILL have that dream that I'm going into an exam without having been to any lessons or done any revision and then wake up in a sweat. If you don't want to experience the same fear , stuff Facebook down the toilet and get your maths books out . Trust me , you'll thank me.

What's not to Like about Valentine's Day ?

The title is ironic but having said that the whole heart shaped fiasco can be just a bit of fun in an otherwise gloomy month. The fact that most of it involves my favourite colour (pink) , chocolate ( if you're lucky) and flowers ( if you're even luckier ) has got to be  good thing. Anyway the boys love it as it hasn't quite become the emotionally overblown, potential disaster that it can turn into in adult years. It's also an excuse for a celebration , which in our house always gets the thumbs up.


The boys made cocktails from pink grapefruit juice, passion fruit and lemonade.

I made little American Mail style mailboxes stuffed with chocolate hearts.

I also made some heart shaped placemats and Valentine's crackers ...

... and my husband made ... no effort whatsoever and bought neither flowers nor card. So that's why Valentine's should be treated as a bit of fun filled nonsense which should be banned from age 18 onwards.

I'm consoling myself with the belief that you only get a dozen long stemmed red roses if your husband is having an affair, so not all bad then.

That's My Boy

The paperwork says it all .....

One proud boy ... one proud Mum. One step close to a career in media production. Well done Theo.

The Digital Age

In our house I refer to it as the mosaic age. This is because when I can find a channel that actually works, it is displayed as a pixelated mish mash resembling a psychedelic mosaic, accompanied by a stuttering of sound bites which may or may not belong to the programme , who knows , you can't make out enough of the picture to know what the hell is going on anyway.

We have a telly in the bedroom. Nothing posh but at least flat, unlike the dinosaur sitting in the living room which I'll be donating to the Design Museum before long as one of those laughably enormous pieces of equipment that people actually used to watch in the 80's.

So, my smallish , flattish telly sits in our wardrobe which glows like a scene from Encounters of a Close Kind when the door is shut, as I can't find the button to turn off the luminous blue glow that emanates from within. It  comes with a remote ( notice omission of the second word 'control' - a complete oxymoron ) , just the one, thank God, which you press at random in an attempt to locate a channel. There are about thirty something channels, apparently, but none of them actually work. When I say 'work' I mean display a picture which you can recognise in synch to a soundtrack which doesn't sound like the recipient of a recent tracheotomy.

So here I am at bedtime trying in desperation to find something, anything to watch. Eventually I narrow down the thirty something ( more like twenty something actually, as at least a dozen are named salubriously along the lines Boobs 'n' Tits or Dave +1 . I'm sure just plain Dave without the 1+ would be bad enough but in case the neanderthals watching it first time around couldn't quite decipher any words longer than one syllable , they clearly needed another dose but then it was probably all pictures of cars and boobs and gadgets anyway so who'd need words ) to just one solitary channel. So much for choice.

So here I am at nearly midnight watching a couple of ponces fannying around in Sicily, gushing about the lemonyness ( yes that's actually what they said and it had 4 syllables) of a lemon sorbet. It got worse , a lot worse. They then went to watch a Good Friday parade from the local church from which a weeping Madonna icon was held head high, borne through the cobbled streets, by costumed locals in celebration of the imminent resurrection of Christ. Gosh , the gushing continued , this is just so ... so .... so Sicilian . Well yes , that may have been because they were in Sicily.

Enough. One last press of the remote and the picture thankfully reduced to the size of a pin prick of light. Silence is golden and not at all pixelated.

That's it ...

... no more sale shopping for me. But I'm very happy with my lovely goodies that I bought today.
These were too pretty to resist.

Can't stand all those Special Purchase buys they have in the stores although I did succumb to a set of towels from John Lewis but only because ours are threadbare. Oh ... and there's one more thing arriving in the post soon - a very gorgeous half price dress from my favourite label Avoca. If only they had stores in the UK. Almost worth a trip to Dublin ... now there's an idea .

Holidaying with a teenage boy

My top tip - don't

I've just dragged our 17 year old away with us , possibly ( hopefully ) for the last family holiday - only 2 nights away - not too much to ask ?

I have some advice for those considering the same ...

1. Expect to have at least a week of "Do I have to come?" Ignore their pleas to be left at home - the house will be trashed when you return or razed to the ground.

2. Don't expect to be able to leave before midday

3. If he claims he'll be able to pack, ignore him and pack underwear at least on his behalf. Their idea of packing includes headphones and mobile and precious little else.

4. Do NOT plan any activities - they are allergic to the word activity.

5. If siblings are involved, anticipate bickering for the entire duration of the journey.

6. Do NOT under any circumstances ask if they are looking forward to it. You have been warned.

7. Expect no thanks

8. Don't expect them to emerge for breakfast even if you still have to pay for it.

9. Bring emergency sugar / chocolate rations to avoid dangerous blood sugar drops . The Pot Noodle that they ate the night before will not keep them going for more than 6 hours.

10. Inure yourself to swearing.

That's about it .

Compatability

I like to turn the music up , he likes to turn it down

I like to shop 'til I drop , he'd rather not shop at all

I like to cook , he'd prefer take-away

I like to stand up , he'd rather sit down

I like to have the windows open, he'd rather close them

I like to chat, he likes it quiet

I like to drive fast, he'd rather slow down

I like to let it all out , he'd rather keep it all in

I like to tell  the world , he'd rather keep it to himself

 I like to live a little


So what does it all add up to ? Are we compatible or do we compliment each-other ... discuss .

No More Bah Humbug

I might have given the impression that I was fed up with the whole Christmas malarkey in my last post . Who am I kidding ? I LOVE it .

Kitten Jack helped me wrap the boys presents today.

... and I had my first turkey sandwich, the first of many I hope. Oh and I've decided what I'd like ( or rather need) for Christmas ... gift vouchers for my dentists ! Managed to break a tooth last night and so my dentist ( who's lovely really ) relieved me of a large wodge of cash today . Having said that I'm eternally grateful to him for fixing it up this afternoon, albeit temporarily, as I can now glug down a few gingerbread lattes without wincing.

More Christmas shopping tomorrow which hopefully will include a trip to Jo Malone's if I have anything to do with it.  So if  you're reading this dearly beloved, anything from these shops please and not the electrical department of  B & Q.

Christmas in Advance

Never one to do things in a orderly fashion, I think I'm going for a different approach this year. I'll be celebrating the festive season in advance.

That means I get to drink all the BOGOF bottles of plonk now instead of waiting for the so-called BIG day , much better to pace myself. Mince pies - why wait ? I'll be sated with the little currant infested lard pastries by the second week of December in any event so might as well enjoy them in advance whilst the brandy butter is still fresh in the jar and not tasting like a rancid oil slick.

Presents. Hmm , judging by husband's previous record there's nothing more dispiriting than opening another kitchen utensil on Christmas morning so best to stock up on self purchased Jo Malone and Thorntons special toffee this week whilst the affordable gift sets are still in stock . I suppose there is one benefit to the male ritual of the 5pm on Christmas Eve shopping trip though. The reasonably priced gifts have gone by then so they have to opt for the all singing, all dancing, break the bank option and throw money at it, as my friend pointed out the other day and she should know as she now owns Anya Hindmarsh handbags by the dozen.

I could dole out the children's gifts now . Saves schlepping up to the attic to hide them and now they know where the pokey tool for the loft hatch is , they can go take a look between now and the 25th anyway - and usually do. No need to wrap either.

So that just leaves carol concert, annual bun fight for the perfect turkey at Waitrose at 6am on the 23rd with no-where to store it for the next 48 hours and up to my elbows in pork sausage-meat and chopped onion late into Christmas Eve when I should be watching White Christmas on the telly. I have an answer to all of these dilemmas.

Frozen turkey - why not, its half the price and gets slathered in gunky sauces anyway. I can never get enough of the stuff really so I'll be gorging on M&S turkey sandwiches for the entire month anyway and will doubtless forget to defrost the big bird in sufficient time so it'll be ready for Christmas 2012 .

Will I miss the Christmas sing song at church ? Nope, now that I've got Classic Christmas FM on speed dial, I should be suitably jaded with every Christmas hymn known to man by the 1st of December . And anyway you usually get sat next to a snotty nosed, dribbling infant who'll doubtless infect you with a dose of tonsilitis in time for the 25th so best give it a miss or just sing along at home during November and get it out of my system. And no-one likes stuffing anyway , so that means curtains for the sausage-meat and the Christmas Pud come to that whilst we're on the subject of extraneous festive food.

So there we have it. I'll have done Christmas in advance and dispensed with the rituals and the feasting in advance whilst my trousers can still be zipped up, although not for much longer.

I could never understand as a child, when asked "What's your favourite thing about Christmas Mum" by mother would always reply " Boxing Day". But I can now.

Christmas Fair Season

The boys' school very sensibly hold their Christmas Fair at the end of November before the frantic silly season notches up a gear. That gives me a chance to put together some goodies without cursing at midnight that there are never enough hours in the day to get everything done, which I'd be doing if it were held mid December.

In fact I can honestly say the last few days have been a pleasure of baking, crafting and wrapping. This year I've made white chocolate drizzled cinnamon loaves, little packets of mulled wine muslin bags which youngest son helped to fill and treat bags filled with chocolate balls and candy canes. And rather lovely they all look too.

Two Ways to Spend Money

Can you tell that finances are occupying a good deal of my thoughts these days ?

I have broken down spending into 2 categories :-

1. Undesirable - parking tickets, speeding fines, Customs and Excise, Inland Revenue, electricity bills, bank charges ... you get my drift.

2. Desirable - good causes , spontaneous gifts, scrap-booking stash, happy days out, chocolate, cake ... more drift getting.


This weekend ( apart from the exorbitant cost of the train fare ) I spent a good deal of time on category 2 thankfully ( of course the upside of traveling by train is no need to worry about speeding fines or parking tickets or the duty payable on fuel ) , in the company of good friends , never further than an eight second stroll to the scrap-booking shop and never 2 hours away from another feast of fabulous food ( think chocolate fountains, bacon butties, pecan pastries ) , Rhubarb and Custards, Chocolate Limes, Refresher Bars and Candy Necklaces on tap. Perfect.

I was , of course , at Sarah's Cards Retreat. Thank you girls for another wonderful weekend.

Six delectable classes , make and takes, challenges, bingo , no washing up , king sized, snore free bed, out of earshot of the "What's for tea " cry of hungry teens. I only have to wait another 20 weeks before the next retreat in March , in celebration of which I made this ....

... as my entry for one of the challenges - which was to fashion an item using only a 5" x 7" canvas and scraps leftover from the classes at the retreat. Now I can open a window for every week between now and the next retreat in March ( 20 in total ) and get myself well and truly prepared. 1st window says " Book Place" which I have now done.

Bought myself some stash lovelies too. Ironically though, my scrapping seems to be working in inverse proportion to my stash acquiring. The more I buy , the less I use on my layouts . What's that all about ? In love with simple scrapbooking at the moment - the " less is more"  school of thought. Leaves more time for chatting and eating as well, brilliant on all fronts.

Setting Light to Tenners

I love a good bonfire but urban life prevents it ( neighbours washing on the line etc ) . Therefore I succumbed to the temptations of a chiminea at the local garden centre. It's the kind of thing I'd have looked at a few years ago and thought " Who the hell would ever buy one of those ? "

So fast forward to Autumn 2011 and here we are , new proud owners of this bulbous terracotta monster ... and I have to tell you its the best fun of a chill evening. We lit our new friend last night and burned a decade's worth of bank paperwork, which felt good ... very good indeed. Quite cleansing , almost like expunging ourselves of former financial burden ... if only . So as we sat and watched the pound-signs singe and flicker into fiery life, I felt compelled to write this poem.

I'm not given to arty farty poetry writing , but I'd been to see and hear Roger McGough earlier in the week , one of my all time most favourite poets ever and so thought  -  better late than never to have a go. This is an ode to all the monies we've ever spent , as hard working tax-paying workers and I've called it .... Setting Light to Tenners.


SETTING LIGHT TO TENNERS


... with apologies to Roger McGough who would probably laugh out loud ( but not in a good way ) at my feeble attempts at poetry, but he isn't that way inclined and so he may politely smile and encourage me to write some more because he's a very nice, kind man.


We bought a chiminea
and half filled it with sand.
It weighed a flipping ton
So eldest gave a hand.

We shoved it on the patio
and waited until dark,
matches at the ready
this should be quite a lark.

Husband fetched some paper
scrunched and tore and shred.
Lit the match and poked it in
Just like instructions said.

A satisfying flame
took hold, the paper burned.
Bills, receipts and statements
All our money ever earned.

School fees, mortgage , council tax,
it all went up in smoke
If only life were like that
for us ordinary tax-paying folk.

Fright Night

It's that time of year agin, love it or loathe it ( and I fall in the former camp) , Halloween is upon us.

I'm thinking that maybe the days of the novelty latex mask and the bag full of hideous sweets are numbered and therefore I'm making the most of it this year. Youngest is inviting some friends over for a 'Fright Night' evening of calorific overload. We cycled home from Sainsburys today laden with litre bottles of blood coloured pop and a plastic cauldron to serve it in ...a tin of peeled lychees will suffice for lookalike eyeballs that should float nicely.

The walls of the playroom will be transformed into a dungeon and kitten Jack may even oblige us with a toad or two , captured from next door's pond. Cobwebs will hang from the ceiling and neon skeletons will dangle from above.

Meanwhile DH and I will hide upstairs until it's all over - teenage boys , takeaway pizza and a bucketful of fizzy drink will be too much to handle at our age.

Had great fun making the invites - the splattered blood is courtesy of a bottle of Cosmic Shimmer and the Cricut has been working overtime.

Bruises and breakages

I'm dyspraxic , so are my boys. At least I know where and who they got it from.

I didn't realise until they were diagnosed although it was staring me in the face. I hadn't put 2 and 2 together when I thought back to my schooldays' nickname of Clumsy Clobbers.

Many broken plates, bottles and minor mishaps later , it dawned on me that there was a name for it. It now has me in stitches , literally ( we're regulars at A&E ).

So today , whilst shopping in John Lewis , I was reminded yet again of what its like to be so clumsy. I'd treated myself to a quick sneak peek of the Christmas goodies ( yes I know , still 2 months to go and all that but what the hell)  and had just picked up a delightful gift box to have a closer look. What then unfolded was a piece of pure slapstick. Somehow, I managed to lose my grip and in a desperate attempt to regain my hold, managed to bat the thing , ping pong style,  across the shopping aisle, but not before a sort of slow motion juggle first. If this wasn't bad enough, once I'd retrieved it and replaced it on its shelf , I then managed to do the whole thing all over again with a thankfully slightly smaller box. It was farce. There was a fellow shopper within a yard of me who watched with disbelief. You honestly couldn't make it up . A few years ago I might have blushed and moved swiftly on but these days I usually have to laugh out loud.

At about the same time as this comedy was taking place there was an almighty crash followed by the sound of breaking glass. It sounded expensive. I looked up to see an elderly gent standing alongside a pricey lamp that was now missing its glass shade. The price ticket was clearly visible to all - £199. He had my sympathy vote already . The poor man then had to go through the pretense of pretending to be interested in the cabinet it had been standing on, going as far as to enquire whether it was in stock. I felt his pain and shame. That could have been me.

The price tag for my shopping breakages to date has been relatively slight all thing considered. I knew my youngest took after me when we managed to shatter a glass topped coffee table in M&S some time ago , although I suspect it was cracked already. It was enough to put him off furniture shopping with Mum for life although I suspect this was just a rouse to get out of ever having to go to Ikea ( must take after his Dad on second thoughts). I'm a constant embarrassment to the boys although I do consider this to be part of my job description as Mum.

There are a few rules I now have to follow:

• Never try to get car keys out of my handbag whilst standing over a drain in the road ( that's how my youngest first learnt the F*** word.

• Avoid carrying cans of paint whilst lids are slightly ajar

• Do not attempt to place tray containing hot drinks onto table whilst handbag strap is sliding off shoulder with a jolt

• Greasy hands and glasses don't mix

• Avoid old fashioned milk bottles with foil tops, screw caps are the only safe option.

I could go on but then I'd be here for some time. Mealtimes are hysterical in our house to which the kitchen table bears testament. Glassfulls of water are usually horizontal within seconds and bottles of sauce with indelible ink staining properties have re-coloured our kitchen floor over the years. If you want to know what dye they put in something called Ass Kicking Hot sauce , check out our floorboards ... and its not one you'd find in the Farrow and Ball palette.
I was considering replacing our table a while ago but decided to preserve the memories of a lifetime of food serving disasters for a while longer. Besides, the table I'd set my heart on was made of glass. Enough said.

A Place for Everything ...

... and everything in its place. Forgotten who said this originally but I'm getting close to achieving it. A brand spanking new Expedit arrived yesterday along with a new desk and a couple of whizzy chairs for my scraproom which I'd recently raided to kit out my tutor room.

In record time they were all assembled and so my scrap room has now been resurrected courtesy of Ikea. Loving the new storage and now I can start filling those shelves. It's still a little messy around the messages but I'll soon find a place for everything.

The best part is that I can now have my Cricut and sewing machine out permanently and ready to use at the drop of a hat. Off to Ikea again next Monday to buy some more storage boxes and accessories to kit it out properly. Watch this space.