Junk In , Junk Out

Car boot sale this morning. Not me but my husband. Up at 6.30 am to go haggle with the sleazy dealers. Not me . Another hour in bed at least. I had to admire the fact that he worked like a dog to load up the van then spread it out on an old duvet cover and take 50p here and £1 there for a lifetime's collected rubbish. You have to lay bare in front of everyone the kind of pottery vase with a picture of a cat you thought was cute a couple of decades ago. But then so does everyone else. One thing struck me was the myriad of unwanted gifts still in their packaging. The jokily titled books that no-one ever reads, the terra cotta tagine, the wok set with the out of date sesame oil. I must hold that picture in my head when I'm out Christmas shopping in a few weeks time. A word of warning . Never let your children loose with a fiver . They'll come back with a jokily titled book and an old wok.

Holidays From Hell

.. and we haven't even left yet. A word of advice from personal experience NEVER EVER decide to clear out your teenage son's bedroom the day before you go on holiday ready for re-decorating. For a start you'll find things that scare you and you'll find out things about him that you wish you hadn't. You'll also find several years worth of sweet wrappers , a dozen pairs of used underpants behind the chest of drawers and looking on the bright side possibly everything that had ever gone missing in the house. There will also be broken toys that will make you weep, homework that had never been handed in and things you thought he'd treasured that he clearly didn't. Another caution - don't stay up til midnight doing this as you'll lose the will to live and everything will seem very very bleak.
Of course I didn't heed my own advice and as a consequence it's now -8 hours til departure to the ferry and I'm only just starting the ironing and digging out the swimming goggles. Another midnight weep is on the cards I think.
And whilst I'm on the subject of holidays , the kind of people who say they loved their holidays are either gluttons for punishment or very rich and have just returned from a fortnight at a 5 star resort in Mauritius having chilled papaya juice ferried to them under their thatched beach umberella. They won't have endured a carful of bickering horrors or another day of rain... or else they're just lying which is always possible.

I'm just un unpaid babysitter. Always available 24/7 . Usually get the phonecall about half an hour after he said he'd be home. It usually begins with something like .. some of the lads are going out for a meal or ... we were just going to go for a couple of pints ... or thought I might just join a few of the guys for a quick drink ...

Ironically I don't really care whether he comes home or not but here I am sitting on my own again. Can't remember when I last when I went to see a film I wanted to see or did anything spontaneously. I wonder how it feels just to go out on a whim at the drop of a hat and know that someone back home will just be there and take care of everything. I can't imagine how that would feel .The freedom.

I know I can't have blogged for ages...

... beacuse I forgot my password. I counted up how many passwords I needed the other day and stopped when I got to 20. LIfe is too complicated. No-one can remember that many passwords and if you write then down somewhere it defeats the object and if you use the same one then one hacker can get into every account you don't want him to.

I've been on a sanity break. A 3 night scrapbooking retreat in Swansea - that wasn't the sanity bit, the scrapbooking bit was. 3 blissfuls nights without snoring , questions or having to load the washing machine. All meals cooked for me and cleared away. New friends to make, laughs to be had, watching rubbish on telly at 2am. Large bottle of Baileys by my bedside an even larger bag of Revels in my hand. I need to do this twice a year. I very nearly did't come home again.

Costa coffe for breakfast, doughnuts, chips for lunch by the quayside , shrimp net for the boys, nice cuppa tea , vist to a scrapbook shop , sunny but not too hot ... perfect day ? No , because an hour later I was sat at the Tinsley House Clinic being told that my youngest son had a bit of dyspraxia , a bit of dyslexia and some ADHD for good measure. I have of course heard it all before but last time , for my eldest son, it was more obvious. £350 later I leave with a couple of software programmes and a list of exercises and am told that it's nothing to worry about and everything will be fine. Tempting to believe it but only time will tell. Watch this space. Must buy shares in Omega 3 and 6 oil manufacturers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N3cSwOTalz4

Prize Giving

Hands up who likes going to Prize Giving? Those with hands raised ... that wouldn't be beacuse your dearly beloved is receiving a prize would it ? Let's be honest who wants to watch the celebration of other people's children being heaped with applause and praise when yours are languishing somewhere near the bottom of the class. I couldn't help but notice that the names appearing in the programme were either offspring of teachers, the scholarship pupils or multiple recipients. Is it really neccesary for one child to win an assortment of 4 or 5 different awards ? How big are their trophy cabinets becasue they usually recieved the same awards the year before. I've never been able to understand why the parents of gifted academic children have money thrown at them in the form of scholarships whilst the parents of strugglers who've had to shell out for remedial tutors, educational psychologists and various bogus educational so-called experts become increasingly penniless and desperate.

My 7 year old son is tri-lingual. According to his Booklet 'All About Me' which I had the privilege of viewing at his school open morning, he can speak not only English , but American and Scottish. Bless.

I love it when you post a new comment and this site responds with unfailing cheerfulenss with the comment ' Your new post published successfully ' . If only real life were half as optimistic. Fancy posting a letter and hearing the postbox cheer ' Your letter posted successfully' or flushing the toilet to hear your lavatory happily inform you that 'Your deposit flushed satisfactorily'.

Driving down a quiet side road. Man pulls out in his car from where he's parked about 100 yds up ahead. Sees me coming but aint gonna stop so keeps driving right up to my car until he's an inch off my front bumper. Gesticulates rudely , take this to mean he'd like me to reverse back up the road from whence I've come .... he certainly isn't going to. Anything for a quiet life so I obligingly reverse back up the road . Meanwhile he's still an inch from my front bumper . Car behind me now so I have to slow down. Arsehole in front of me drives into my car then calls me an arrogant b**ch. No wonder people give up driving because they find it too intimidating. Clearly an angry sort of a***hole type so can only hope he dies prematurely of a heart attack. One lives in hope.

There's a menacing little blue rectangle on my screen , bottom left corner that says, unpromisingly, AOL not responding. If only life could be like that. I'd love to reply to unsolicited or unwanted correspondence or phonecalls with an abrupt little pharse like ... Pissed off, not responding. When some people are told they only have 6 months to live , they immediately set their affairs in order. Not me , I'd start telling it like it is. How fabulous to be able to be rude to evryone you'd ever hated and not care , it's not as if you'd want them turning up at your funeral so what've you got to lose ?

Its very easy for a blog to fall into the category of moaning ground for everything that pisses you off. Much harder to find something positiv, uplifting and inspirational to write about . That may be because more things happen to piss you off than inspire you. I think the ratio is about 10:1 in which case for the last 20 moans I should have written at least 2 nice things. Maybe I should wait until something nice happens before blogging again but then that may not be for some time. See ? This is turning into another moan.

I've applied to become Sir Alan Sugar's next Apprentice . Mad isn't it ? I reckon it's about time he had a series devoted to SAHMs who want to get back into the workplace. The fact that I haven't even had an acknowledgement to my application probably doesn't bode well but I couldn't sit back and watch another bunch of hopeless cases screw things up. The one good thing about ageing is that it brings wisdom or maybe just the belief that you know how to do everything better than everyone else.

Just finished reading Mark Haddon's glorious book ' A Spot of Bother'. Sheer poetry and now I'm heartbroken that I've read it all and don't know what to read next that will come even vaguely close to being half as good.

The spa industry is positively obscene. I've just come back from a day at the Sanctuary. This was a gift from my husband who should know me better. In desperation he took advice from a bunch of twenty something year olds at work ( all smaller than a size 8).I'm pushing 50 and haven't seen a size 8 since my teens. Never been a spa bunny , never will be. Doubtless there are a breed of women out there who thrive on that sort of experience.
Here's the opening paragraph in their brochure, written without a hint of irony ...
' Every woman deserves to feel like a goddess from time to time.' Sadly this is unlikely to happen at their spa. I really don't want to sound ungrateful but if you've never been to the Sanctuary , think London in the 80's, white paint turned off white over the years, plastic cups of lukewarm water, last weeks Hello magazine on the slightly shabby coffee tables. The champagne brunch was a dollop of tasteless scrambled egg served with a slice of vacuum packed smoked salmon and a lettuce leaf turning brown at the edges. Pudding if you can call it that was on the same plate , a dollop of youghurt served with a tinny little teaspoon washed down with a glass of cava ( not champagne) in a plastic glass .
My facial was administered by a dull therapist and smelt of slighly rancid oil as did the stiff bathrobes and everything else in the place. Too much black mould on the tiled swimming pool for my liking.
My idea of a spa is somewhere on a remote island with an infinity pool spilling into the Indian Ocean and an array of freshly sliced fruits attractively piled on a rustic platter. Not some shabby backstreet affair where the only sound you hear over the tedious whalesongs on an endless loop piped into every treatment room is the wail of an occassional siren out on the street.
What un ungrateful cow I am. I really don't deserve a sweet husband who treated me to what he thought would be ' realaxation and pure escapism' .... the brochure's words , not mine.

Another day , another load in the washing machine another trip to Tesco's. I've just realised there's another good reason to Keep on Blogging ( apologies to Eddie Kendrix) is that when I'm dead and gone my family can see what my life was really like. There's this software you can get that counts how many times you use certain popular words in something you've written ... so for interesting people the words party, champagne, New York, loaded, Jimmy Choo, Harvey Nichols, Louis Vuitton, Paris, Mauritius, promotion would pop up several times . For mine the top ten list would probably read ....

Tescos
Sainsburys
Washing machine
Dishwasher
Homework
Ironing
PE Kit
Get off that computer ( do phrases count ??)
NOW !
Sorry

What would your top ten most used words include ??

I know the saying goes a picture speaks a thousand words but I'd like to change that to ..... a thousand words is better than a picture any day and anyway I haven't got time to work out how to upload pix and do the ironing and help the kids with their homework and prevent my world from descending into anarchy. So until further notice words are all you're gonna get here. It's been yet another 'one of those days'. I sometimes think that life is just like one big Apprentice ( as in the TV series) and that God is really Alan Sugar in another guise and that when we get to those pearly gates he's just going to tell us that we're fired.

Can't find the post I mad the other day - wonder whether it's orbiting cyberspace now ? Oh there it is below - phew , all that writing and nothing to show for it !

Want to know how a 12 year old would spend £20 in the space of 2 hours ?
Here's how ...

2 bags of Starburst
1 bag of Fox's Glacier Mints
1 tube of Jalapeno flavoured Pringles
1 bag of smile face sweets
1 tube of hair gel to add the 17 others he already has
1 tube of Millions sweeties
1 XL milkshake from Shakeaway
and he lent his mate £3
3 bags of popcorn
Well at least the last act was unselfish.

I'm relying on this blog for inspiration further down the line when I run out of stories although I don't think that will ever happen.

I'm trying to remember the kind of things I talked about on the phone to my friends the minute I got home from school having just spent all day in their company. What more was there to say ? Did I relive every tiny detail or had I just remembered something new and interesting that I'd forgotten to share with them all day ? Or maybe I just wanted to go over the good bits and laugh about the bad. I suppose it must have been good for the soul because I seem to remember spending hours saying nothing much at all but it all seemde so important at the time.
I was transported back in time the other day when I inadvertantly picked up the phone to make a call and found my 12 year old already on the line chatting to a school friend. The converstaion went something like this.

My Son: Hey - wasn't it funny in Maths today .... (long 7 second pause)
Friend: What ?.... ( equally long pause)
My Son: You know ..... ( painfully long silence this time)
Friend: Oh yeah ..... ( you get the picture)

I don't think I ever did find out what happened in Maths but they seemed to know and enjoyed sharing the moment. I'm hoping that future overhearings will reveal that his converstaional technique has improved ... that seamless give and take, talk and listen ... he's still learning the art of converstaion. I hope he learns it well.

Packing

A friend of mine leaves all her packing until there's only an hour left before she has to go. The logic being that it can only then waste an hour of her time. I start about 3 days before we leave . Ergo , it takes 3 days. It goes something like this ... wash every item of clothing in the house, end up wearing at least 50% of newly washed items in the 3 days leading up to holiday , re-wash every item with only 1 day to go, end up being up until 1am on the day of departure having to iron knickers dry. Will I ever learn? Why don't I just wash every item the day before we go then we can't wear it and get it all dirty again. There's something very OCD about my packing style too. Toiletries have to be new, washbag has to be scrubbed, no creases, clean shoes, emergency suppliesin duplicate. It's a nightmare going on holiday and even worse coming home again. What's the answer ? A virutal holiday, in a flotation tank, followed by 3 days sleep plus laundry service , online shopping spree with cash saved . Bliss.

There's only one thing worse than being collared by one of your children's teachers and hearing the words .. 'I thought we ought to have a chat about your son' and that is coming home to an answermachine with a message from school that begins something along the lines of ... 'There's been an incident at school...'
I should know as I've had both. Although I'd rather have the ...'Incident at school type' as it normally involves nothing more serious than yet another prank or silly dismeanor , the last one involved a bottle of green food colouring, enough said.
The other variety involves your having to sit down in a teeny weeny chair that wouldn't accommodate an average sized bottom let alone my wayward arse. The teacher then bgins in a sympathetic tone that attempts to re-assure that it's nothing serious really which of course it is. Alarm bells start ringing then you hear the words , learning difficulty and your heart sinks. The next bit is a blur. There's usually something about it being better to catch it now whilst they're still young, then some feeble attempt at re-assurance along the lines of ' I'm sure it's nothing really' then there's the sting in the tail about how much it's all going to cost and all the while my only thoughts are of sadness , of lost potential , of nightmarish revision for exams , of the utter humiliation that you know your child is going to suffer knowing they're behind everyone else, of hating every other parent whose children win the prizes at the end of term , the scholarships the choice of whatever school they want to go to next. I've been here before. I was hoping for a normal school life for my youngest but sadly it's not to be. It's no consolation trying to belive the twaddle that you've been given difficult circumstances becaause you're strong and therefore better able to cope with them . I'd settle for mediocrity any day.

With thanks to Wife in the North for her idea ...

Here is what I have been given this week...

A hard time by my 7 year old for making him switch off the TV
Too many unsolicited pizza delivery leaflets
Some lovely scrapbooking presents by my scrapping buddy Stef
An afternoon off courtesy of Jasper's mum
A guilty conscince by the list of spellings sitting untouched in my youngest son's holiday homework folder
Some coupons by the supermarket
A burnt hand by the Aga
A demand for £11 from Customs and Excise for an unwnated parcel
A clamping release fee of £300 , yes £300 that a whole other story
A good time by my new friends at North Cheam crop
Grief by my 12 yr old for having to do homework as well as go to school
A cup of tea every morning by my lovely husband

Here's what I have given this week
Not enough

Easter may be over but the easter holidays are not. Worse .. eldest son has to go back to school a whole week sooner than youngest. He's incensed. Never thought I'd reach the day when I said no to another Cadbury's Cream Egg. Even mini eggs have lost their appeal. Back in London after an idylic time at the cottage and the first thing I notice is the constant roar of jets overhead. Not quite the peaceful hoot of an owl or the restless baa of a sheep in the fields that I've been used to this last week. London stinks , literally. Saw a pigeon sadly strutting around a Bp garage forecourt on the North Circular Road on the way home and wondered why on earth it would choose to shack up in dirty old London when it could choose to live anywhere , then I realised that was me.