Tattie Weasle

Finding joy

2021-07-19T09:40:00.000+01:00

Wow that took a while!

Yeah I know what you are all thinking.

Who are you? And just why should I be reading this old tat again?

Honestly I can’t answer either question as it’s been a lifetime and would take far too long to explain but anyway here goes: I got hacked. I lost my mojo. Life got in the way. A myriad of reasons. None of it interesting enough to blog about...

But I am just so glad I got all this back. It’s like looking at an old photograph album you had stuffed in the attic. You know you find it when you are looking for something else and you stop for a moment to have a quick look then you find yourself swallowed up in the vortex of memory and when you finally escape it’s like you are stepping back into the real world after eons of time has passed by - or else you are caught out and everything comes abruptly to a full stop as your kids demand supper cos they are starving and it’s like 11pm when you only nipped into the attic just after 5...

So right now I am sitting in a darkened room on my bed trying to ignore the aches and pains in my legs, the sore throat, the dull headache just the fact that I have Covid really - and I was twice jabbed! It’s Freedom Day and I ain’t going anywhere. Nor are the rest of my household.

But despite that this has brought me joy. I am blogging again. I have my blog. I shall enjoy it.

Matters of the heart.....

2017-08-08T15:06:00.000+01:00

I have got all my bits and bobs together NHS number, insurance number, authorisation number, phone number and am basically just waiting…

Waiting to go and visit the Cardiologist.

At present I am trying to work out whether or not I want all this to be a storm in a teacup or actually something serious…

I don't want it to be too serious but I do want there to be something wrong…

If you get what I mean.

Nothing too wrong, mind.

To put you in the picture ever since I was put on Tricyclics/serotonin for depression back in 1992 (Yes I do mean last century) I have had dizzy spells. I stopped taking anti-depressants more than 20 years ago but the dizzy spells have persisted. Every now and then I get them so badly I sway and a few times I have blacked out totally. However, after 25 years I am used to them - more or less.

However recently they have been a bit more noticeable and the other day in Finbows, while buying some kit for the builders (when am I ever without builders), I had such a bad turn that I frightened myself. It was horrid and I remember thinking that people must have thought I was drunk.

I decided to get hold of the Doctor and rang them up. There was a spare slot that very afternoon so I took it.

Not such a clever idea, I fancy.

Or maybe it was a lifesaving move...???

I am afraid the jury is still out on that one.

Anyway, I saw the Doctor she asked what had happened and took my blood pressure and pulse.

I thought she was going to pat me on the head and send me away admonishing me for getting worked up and stressing myself out.

No.

She instead asked me to go immediately to the other clinic and get on the heart monitor.

OK says I a bit bewildered.

“Oh!” says she, “did you drive yourself?”

I looked at her as if she were mad – we live in the countryside FFS, its four o’clock in the afternoon in the middle of the week and bus services between villages are unheard of even at the best of times… “Yes.”

“Well you’ll have to leave your car here and get someone to take you.”

I was non-plussed to say the least, but so very forceful was she that I did as I was told.

I went to the other clinic, I was strapped into the monitor and the next thing I know an ambulance is called and I am on my way to hospital.

To cut a long story short I have low blood pressure coupled with a low heart rate of under 60bpm – which is fine if you are Mo Farah or Usain Bolt - not so good if you are me - an overweight 50-year old mother of two who instead of exercising for the past 11 months has taken up chocolate eating as a past time.

I stayed I the hospital overnight and was released back in the community the next day a bit shaken up but more or less OK with the promise that I will be booked into have an ECG and 24 heart monitor at some point as an out patient.

Not really knowing what was going on and keen to get to the bottom of this I went to speak to my GP the following Monday morning and what happened there put me in a real spin.

I arrive, having driven myself. I get to see the doctor.

I ask what is happening and when will I get to know what is wrong. I say I am fed up with being dizzy and tiered all the time and not getting any headway as to what is wrong. I suggest perhaps it’s my thyroid.

I get told forcefully that I have had every blood test known to man over the past 10 years and that the problem lies with my heart.

For a moment I am silent.

My heart? Seriously?

Yes seriously – the heart should always be taken seriously.

Oh…

And I would advise that you don't drive…

Oh! But I have to drive – FFS we live in the countryside, I am the sole carer of my children during the week, its the holidays, how can I shop….

It’s too risky for you to drive or take exercise

What do you mean too risky?

If your heart rate increases then the oxygen cannot get to your brain and that is serious…

Oh….

You need to talk to the DVLA and inform your insurance. I have written this down on your medical notes…

The upshot is basically no driving at all. The DVLA are happy for me to drive but I am uninsurable so I am stuck…

This has necessitated me calling in the troops and my mother turning up to act as chauffeur for the time being and it has brought home to me that perhaps: THIS IS SERIOUS.

With that in mind I am afraid my imagination has run riot.

I am one of those people who have to know and understand what is going on or else I worry.

So for the last week I have worried.

I have also Googled but luckily - or unluckily depending on your point of view - my symptoms are not very normal so there is not much about it.

If you look up slow heart rate and low blood pressure you get a lot of stuff about low blood pressure but the combo of the two there is not so much…

When you look up the technical medical terms for low heart rate and low blood pressure (Bradycardia and Hypotension) it just becomes far too bizarre and way beyond my technical medical knowledge.

And thus I sit here trying to calm myself…

No kidding I have devised a worse case scenario but it wasn’t pleasant especially the first couple nights when I could not get to sleep for fear my heart would stop beating. I only managed to calm myself enough by writing out my will…

Now that that has not happened I have gone onto other scenarios – heart transplant was the worst I could think of and managed to reassure myself that I would be Ok as I have bulk standard ordinary blood: Type O Positive.

I have also worked out that if I am never able to drive again I could move to Framlingham quite happily and live in town. There are a number of very nice homes available with big enough gardens for the dogs that I can afford and we would be able to buy a pad in London too for Charlie to live in as Fram is just too far away to comfortably commute with his long hours.

So I have crossed of the worst scenarios and found that I can survive quite happily.

But there is the thing…

What if there is actually nothing wrong with me at all?

The last week has been just a storm in a teacup..

THAT is a scenario I am totally unprepared for….and I will feel SUCH a fraud.

I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t my fault especially if it IS a storm in the teacup. I didn’t take myself to hospital. I didn't just decide not to drive…

So there is: I don't want there to be anything wrong and yet I do….

Somewhere along the way I have lost my confidence: problem is, I have only 20 days to find it again...

2017-03-24T22:45:00.000+00:00

That's it in a nutshell really.
I have 20 days to find my confidence.
My show jumping confidence that is.
Yes, I know someone my age really shouldn't be gallivanting around like a teenager - but I love it. And loving it should mean that I am confident about it - shouldn't it?
It does not seem so at present.
Two years ago I was persuaded to take part in the British Horse Society's Riding School Competition, which is held at Moreton Morrell in Warwickshire every year. It is a horse riding competition that is only open to those who do not own or loan their own horses or ponies and all the horses and ponies have to belong or be used at a BHS Affiliated Riding School or Equitation Centre.
It is a wonderful opportunity and somehow I qualified for it being one of three adult riders selected to go. I might add there were only three of us who could!
Nevertheless I thoroughly enjoyed myself and came last after a disastrous dressage test where I and my caller got in a frightful muddle as to what test I should actually be doing and generally mucking it up (note ALWAYS learn your dressage test off by heart). I then had complete a stable management test - where I astounded myself by getting all the answers right.
And finally I had to jump a course of nine show jumps in a professional arena with full watching audience!
My lovely equine partner at the time, Candy, took me round with aplomb and although not a tidy round - it sufficed. I was incredibly proud as only three months previously I had never jumped a show jumping course in my life!

Me riding the wonderful Candy aka My Sweet Girl at Warwick in 2015

Roll on two years and I have jumped a lot of show jumps - with a variety of equine partners. But the other day I scared myself.
God only knows how but I really did.
Normally I ride ponies that need a bit of encouragement to get a move on and wake up - and that is fine with me. But I am getting better and so I have progressed onto horses, which thoroughly love their job - especially jumping.
And that is the rub I think.
I am not quite as keen to go at their speed as they think I should be and we tend to part ways - sometimes quiet literally.
Tonight I have fallen off twice.
Once I landed perfectly on my own two feet and would not have disgraced the most elegant of horse vaulters and the other time I involuntary dismounted so as to avoid being smeared against the riding school wall - the look on my mount's face was of total astonishment and consternation.
This loss of confidence - which I fear now is becoming a somewhat self fulfilling prophecy - all started I think about two months ago when I was competing to be selected to go once again to Warwickshire. I was riding the incomparable Poppy, a 15h bay thoroughbred mare with pretty white snip on her nose. Usually she is very quiet and will happily plod on if you let her so is excellent for those learning to ride. She was my mount of choice when I returned to riding through the 2012 Olympic Legacy's Take Back The Reins programme. While she is great to learn to ride on she isn't just a one trick pony: with the right rider she can also pull out all the stops: four years ago she and her rider Helen won the heavily contested Dressage competition at Warwick.
But the thing Poppy loves most is jumping.
The change in her attitude is astonishing from barely going forward, suddenly she is very up for it! Positively dancing in excitement. Her ears twitch forward and she flies.
However, she is not a push button horse and you do have to have her straight and balanced before a jump and when you do she just takes you - she loves it SO much!
When I rode her, I had actually never ridden a full show jumping course on her before. In fact, I had only ever jumped one or possibly two jumps in succession on her.
My mistake.
We did a lovely dressage test then we went in to show jump. I will admit I was a tad nervous - wrong make that suddenly very afraid.
We got to the practice jump and refused. I had taken her in at an angle and quite rightly she said (if she could talk): You what???!
It wasn't very elegant.
I bottled it and was not keen to ride at all. I was all set there and then NOT to do this silly thing and leave.
However, I was persuaded to jump the practice fence properly, which we did. And although I was ready to leave and everyone was just about OK with that; I realised that I could not do it and with the understanding that I would be overseen round the course, I went for it knowing I would only kick myself if I missed the opportunity.
I can honestly say I have no recollection whatsoever of how I got round - we flew. At one stage I was told by my coach to sit up and back as we soared over a skinny and tore round a corner. I never heard her but everyone says I did it beautifully almost before she spoke.
I don't think I breathed at all.
The whole way round.
I rode out not feeling pleased and happy as you would expect - but utterly shaken.
I burst into tears.
And that I think is when I started to overthink.
Get scared.
And lose my confidence.
Each and every time I have jumped since, it seems I go backwards in ability. If I watch others ride before me I almost start to hyperventilate and I look for almost any excuse NOT to do it.
It has landed up with me today - on a new horse I will admit - unable to jump a cross pole. And it was only one side of a cross pole as well - barely off the ground...
I have only 20 days to get this sorted and be able to jump a course of nine 2ft 3 inch show jumps on a new horse - the fabulous Earwig, with whom I really am doing very well with on the flat. We are unsure that the gorgeous Poppy will be fit enough to go - but that is beside the point as I am just as scared about show jumping on her at present.
So my many friends, and any who are into horses - what on earth should I do?
How am I going to get over this lack of confidence and do myself and everyone else proud?
Is there enough time?
Should I just forget it and stop the pressure and perhaps just concentrate on the dressage?
Do I go at all?

The one where I really don't want to be "Off Games"

2016-02-10T17:41:00.000+00:00

Corporal - like butter wouldn't melt...

"I would advise that you do not run."

How I used to long for such words in my youth - especially on a cold grey day like today. I hated games especially lacrosse which I was next to completely useless at. That feeling of inevitable dread that would settle on one as a 14-year old, as you watched the skies getting greyer and the relentless march of the minute hand on the clock taking you to the appointed hour of your doom - the Games lesson.

But now I don't like to hear those words at all - I want to run, I need to run, I've got a marathon in less than three months!

It all started with me landing my head on Friday. And it really wasn't my fault at all. I was doing everything I should and doing it properly but as I was reminded probably not properly enough. "If you'd been sitting well back and not tipping forward you'd probably have stayed on."

Probably.

Not definitely.

To be honest I don't remember what happened. The last thing I recall is trotting over a dry water tray on Corporal, the white-faced cob, and feeling pretty pleased with myself in that he went over it without a murmur...the next thing I remember I was getting up from the ground and not quite sure exactly why. My head was ringing and I could have sworn that the horse and rider I was looking at really should not have been there, they should have been behind me not in front.

After getting my bearings I remounted and continued the lesson, trying very hard to put all the pieces together and not really succeeding.

I seemed OK and got home later feeling a tad discombobulated.

The next day I surely felt what had happened with an uncomfortable case of whip lash, headache and sore back. Thank heavens I had been wearing my hat and body protector - as I obviously do not bounce anymore!

Headaches soon cleared away and apart for a good rest I didn't think anything of it - I mean I went to ride again twice at the weekend and one of those included a show jumping competition! But I wasn't daft enough to run.

Come Monday I was getting a bit stir crazy re the running but because my back was painful thought I had better hold off for 24 hours. Come Tuesday I thought sod it and went out for a quick four miler and that is when it became uncomfortable, the pain building with every step, so that by the time it came to the evening I could barely sit down!

Thus emergency call to the doctor today and the resulting "Off Games" slip - I've only gone and bruised my kidneys with the force of the fall and they are not happy that I did not get my head checked as well - I tried to tell them it was a lost cause, there was no point getting my head checked as I am considered as mad as a box of frogs anyway!

So as well as the bruised kidney I also have a mild case of concussion...

"So when can I run again?"

"When it is better but if you run now it will only get worse!"

Oh how I wish I could tell my 14 year old self that I should take all the days I can running about as one day it won't just be a case of not being able to, I won't be allowed to!

Doc says I will probably be alright by next week...

Probably

Not definitely....

Sometimes you open the door to shit....literally!

2015-11-20T22:03:00.000+00:00

For those of a delicate nature or who just happen to be eating lunch - turn away now! For the rest of you - well you are warned.
I am sitting here in the middle of a freezing breeze in my kitchen contemplating the irony of eating the last of the chicken liver pate and trying hard not to giggle.
Life sometimes is just shit.
Literally.
I arrived home not more than 45-minutes ago and it might as well be a lifetime. So much seems to have happened.
As I started to open the door I think it was the stench that alerted me to the fact that all was not well in Denmark or indeed my kitchen.
Radio Four droned on oblivious.
I opened the door further, and heard a frantic scrabble, a scratching, a slightly wet thump and more scrabbling as whippet feet and whippet nails tried to gain purchase to launch themselves to greet me home. The largest one was damp and in fact as I drew my hand away from him I realised that what I thought was damp was actually poo, very runny poo that was smeared all across his back and down one side; I stupidly ran my hand across my leg to get it off me at the same moment that I surveyed the scene in front of me.
Confusion can last a lifetime, similarly a heartbeat.
Before me lay a scene from Armageddon - it's the only way I can describe it - it didn't in the least look like my kitchen.
There was dog poop everywhere, splattered, splurged, splodged and smeared. There was even evidence of slippage which might explain the state of Jet Bag, the largest of my four whippets.
Having ascertained the problem and registered it, though not really acknowledged it, my first action was to open the patio doors and get the dogs outside fast. I left them ping ponging up and down outside. A thing they do often.
And that is when it the full impact of what had happened hit me.
At least two of my dogs had had the squits, possibly more, it was a little difficult to tell as evidence sort of ran together.
I vacated the scene swiftly to contemplate my next move and once outside the backdoor promptly burst into tears. It seemed the most logical thing to do - it hasn't been the most restful of weeks and this was the icing the cake - sorry...
However, a swift blub over and it was once more time to gird my loins and tackle the problem at hand. Donning a make-shift bio hazard suit made up of a pair of veterinary gloves, red wellington boots, waterproof trousers and a plastic festival cape, that I found rather fortuitously in my handbag, I was able to make in-roads on the kitchen floor.
And not long after I actually found it again.
Copious amounts of kitchen paper, capfuls of Miltons and a serious splash of lemon scented Flash later and the place is once more habitable.
Jet was manhandled towards the outside hose and while he was busy trying to snaffle a snack out of an old Kong I squirted him clean. I was extremely lucky and had him cornered for a good 10 seconds before he leapt out of the way, getting all the detritus off him. The art of these things is not to let the poop dry on the dog before you turn the hose on him.
As for me well I stripped off as soon as, flung everything in the wash, dashed upstairs and got into the shower at full blast to strip away the lingering stench.
So now I am here in the kitchen, wrapped in clean towels eating the left overs from the fridge and it can only happen to me that I am eating what looks exactly what I have just cleaned up off the floor!
A toast to a shit life!

I leave you with a picture I took of a rose in my garden just before it turned cold so much more pleasant than a steaming pile of poo...

A Rose from the Garden - wish my kitchen could have smelled as sweet!

Walking in the Air and prepations for a big busk....

2015-11-19T15:29:00.000+00:00

So if you are about Framlingham on Wednesday 16th December and you hear what you think just maybe sounds like a recorder version of "Walking in the Air" squeaking and souring its way to your ear - it probably is..."Walking in the Air" that is and yes it is also a recorder.
We are now officially starting to raise money for Young Epilepsy and the Bog Boy and the Big One are ~~being forced to practice~~ happily practising any piece they know that is remotely Christmassy for our first foray into the cut throat world of charity fund raising at Christmas.
We were hoping to get the Saturday market but a brass band beat us to it - well actually they are there every year and they are amazing - and to be honest the Framlingham Market would probably prefer us not to be about on a day so near to Christmas less we send potential shoppers fleeing to the relative safety of Saxmundham.
Or at least they think it safe - I have plans to stake out Waitrose in the Spring and someone has told me that Tesco can get quite a good crowd. Personally I reckon Lidl would be the best as everyone is always so happy when they come out of there either because they have actually managed to come out of there in one piece - did you see the mad rush to get the smoked almonds at the Thirsk branch last year? Made Black Friday look like a picnic in the park - or else those who do come out are so blooming pleased with themselves for getting such a bargain that they are incredibly generous.
Anyway back to the task at hand; preparations for the the Big Busk.
"Walking in the Air" is one, or used to be one, of my favourite Christmas tunes but following the rendition I heard today I may have to review that. The first bit is OK and if you hang in there and ride the pregnant pauses and close your ears to the inevitable note stumble, it's not that bad. You can recognise it - sort of. I'm hoping that with nigh on a month to go Bog Boy will clinch it. (I have bought my ear defenders and I will be overseeing practice both night and day #thethingswedo)
As for the Big One, he's channelling his inner Sally Army vibe and going large on his trombone with "Bring me Joy" following that up with a rather nifty Jingle Bells 'avec glissade' as long as I remember to buy the trombone oil and cleaning kit.
Which of course I forgot to do today...
So fair warning folks Framlingham Market, Wednesday 16th December - bring your ear defenders...I said BRING YOUR EAR.. oh never mind!

Meanwhile enjoy Walking In The Air as sung by Peter Auty from The Snowman. The wonderful animation was first shown on Channel Four in 1982. It is based on the comic book by Raymond Biggs which I had one Christmas in 1978. Much better though was Fungus the Bogey Man and very scarily When the Wind Blows which for anyone who lived through the 70s and 80s brings back the very real fear we had of a Nuclear War - ah such lovely thoughts and memories close to Christmas...

The Last Place

2015-10-12T10:56:00.000+01:00

The reason I am running for Young Epilepsy in the Virgin London Marathon 2016. This picture shows my eldest (some time ago) having an absence seizure, which is a type of epilepsy frequently affecting children. My son was diagnosed with Childhood Epilepsy when he was 5 but had been having seizures like this for at least 18 months - wish I had known what they were and got it sorted out so much sooner!

I've got the last place to represent Young Epilepsy in next year's Virgin London Marathon!
I had hoped I would secure the place. I had even prayed, in my own sort of way, but there was enough uncertainty that when the call came to say that I had got the place I was momentarily silent.
Not a natural thing for me - silence.
And then it gradually sank in.
I had got the LAST place.
The full weight of expectation became a reality and I could hardly breathe.
I had got the last place. I was the last person that had been selected to represent them. There were others who put forward their bid and mine won.
This is huge.
Charity places are like gold dust and with nearly a quarter of a million* applying to run next year and approximately 40,000 entries allowed, securing one of those place needs more than running ability.
I had a huge form to fill out with all my details from why I was running - because my eldest son now 12 has epilepsy - to what fund raising I had done in the past.
More importantly was how much fund raising I would be doing in the run up to the marathon. What ideas did I have, what did I think each idea would raise, how I would go about hitting my target of £5,000. It was a kind of risk assessment, I suppose, aimed at testing out my resolve and how committed I would be during the whole process.
The London Marathon is the most successful annual single day charity fundraising event in the world and last year (for the ninth consecutive year running) a new world record of £54.1 million was raised.
No pressure then.
So as well as training for the Virgin London Marathon 2016, I will also be baking, busking, selling, cleaning, collecting, organising and well, doing anything to hit that target...
I hope to raise more and to that end..well that's another story!

*A total of 247,069 people applied for a place in the 2016 Virgin Money London Marathon following the decision to keep the online ballot application system for 2016 open for five days. More than 55 per cent of the applications for 2016 were from people who have never run a marathon and more than 42 per cent of the applicants were women. In 1981, less than 300 of the finishers were women. More than 100,000 women have applied to run next year. Approximately 37,800 people ran the marathon in 2015 making it the biggest ever in its 35 year history. More than £770 million has been raised for charity in that time.

50things2dob4iam50 - #1 The One Day Event

2015-08-25T07:07:00.001+01:00

So here I go - the start of my 50 things to do before I hit 50 - and I am straight in there with one of the biggest: the one day event*.
It must be one of the biggest indulgences ever and also one of the scariest.
I mean - what if?
What if I fall off? What if I break my leg/arm/neck? That really is going to cause a problem. Who will look after the kids/dogs/house?
Dear Charlie tells me to stop being so negative after I confess to him my worries as I drive him to the station at 5:45am. And then he tells me something else. He says he is proud of me. He's full of admiration that I am doing something I love even though it could be dangerous. He says I shouldn't worry about it being indulgent because if I do then his relatively new found passion for cycling is also indulgent and dangerous.
"Life is too short to stop doing the things we love just because we may get hurt or injured doing it! If we did that we'd land up doing nothing!"
I get his point.
But I still worry.
Probably not helped by reading about someone who was out riding and had a very bad fall. And it was not clever watching all those YouTube clips of people falling off their horses while doing cross country...
So in a few hours I am going to start my odyssey, my personal quest in the year running up to my 50th birthday with a one day event.
I am scared.
But I am also excited.
I am going to challenge myself to go further than I ever dared to and if I fall off...

*A one day event is a horse riding challenge whereby a rider competes across three riding disciplines: dressage, show jumping and cross country.
Dressage is a bit like ballet but for horses and shows how well a horse and rider can work together. It is judged on the bearing, demeanour, discipline and elegance that the partnership brings to arena. The test consists of a sequence of movements to test the suppleness and obedience of the horse.
Then there is the show jumping bit which is a test of agility, precision and control of both horse and rider over a course of show jumps.Finally there is a cross country section where Horse and rider must negotiate a course of solid obstacles within a certain time limit. This part of the one day event is designed to test the fitness, technique and all round ability of both horse and rider.

Moving matters: When is the right time to buy a house?

2015-06-08T10:59:00.000+01:00

Soon to be on the market...

I am just about NOT raiding the biscuit box, I think I may have a lower lip tremble and I have this sort of pricking feeling behind my eyes.
I AM being VERY brave.
My offer for a new home has been turned down virtually flat and needless to say I am feeling pretty cut up about it.
The thing is though, as I was told by a very knowledgeable Estate Agent friend (he sells houses I could never afford in a million years in London): "The only way to buy a house is to sell a house first."
I got turned down flat despite going £30,000 over the asking price because my house is yet to go on the market.
"To be honest," said the local estate agent big wig, "you are just not in a position to proceed and in my great experience you may not get an offer on your house for six months even if it was on the market today."
Personally I was rather affronted at that - seemingly implying that I had obviously got my home on the market for way too much and that I would land up being very silly when trying to sell. In fact I got the feeling he didn't think I was serious about the property or indeed that I was a buyer worth his time and effort.
Can I blame him? There is no evidence whatsoever that I am serious. My home hasn't even made it to Rightmove let alone OnTheMarket or indeed the local papers.
Yet I am selling. Honest - even though I am not desperately happy about it (but that's another story).
The national estate agents have been selected to market and sell our home and we've signed on the dotted line, the photographs have been taken, the description has been written, the lawyers have been engaged and I have just been e-mailed the floor plans.
My home will be there for all and sundry to see by Wednesday.
And yet without having it under offer I feel that no one is ever going to think I am deadly serious about buying.
So the thing is, do I wait until I have sold my property then look? Or do I carry on in the hope that everything will fit like a jigsaw?
Cash is king - as they say but did you know only 38% have been sold cash in the past quarter of the year and it does not look to increase according to statistics by Nationwide. So that means that 62% of home buyers are just like me....
That is of course unless I sell my home first then I too will be that most vaunted of buyers, the estate Agent's dream - a cash buyer...
Wonder how I will be treated then? Wonder if that will be the right time to buy?

Bringing up Boys - The Art of Being Ill

2015-03-16T22:03:00.000+00:00

Bog Boy
Being very ill indeed

The art of being ill is hard one.

You must not be SO ill that you cannot take advantage of it nor must you be to not ill enough that you have to go into school anyway.
You will need to be just sick enough to get at least two days off as one day off is no good as your Mum will think you are just trying get out of a spelling test or a maths exam or basically something you don't want to do particularly; like English.
Throwing up is a good one as you have to be off school for at least 24 hours for that but you must get the timings right, if you throw up at night you'll only get the one day off but if you throw up in the way to school you might be able to squeeze two days off as technically you will have to clear the morning of the day after tomorrow as well before you can go back.
A good dose of chicken pox can be great - only as long as you get it mildly - but make sure your Mum has had it first as she's no good at pandering to your every whim if she's laid up as well.
Remember Calpol is your friend - reduces feverishness and that really spaced out feeling fast and allows you to play Minecraft uninterrupted all day but still won't really knock a nail on the head of a persistent virus so that when Mum takes your temperature the next morning it's raised too high for you to go back to school just yet...
Don't forget to get picky with your food (preferably don't eat at all to begin with) refuse all our favourites with a sigh and say things like: "I'm just not hungry Mum' "I can't Mum it hurts when I swallow." And allow her a small moment of triumph when she tempts you to eat with a Belgian Chocolate Choux bun*
Get practising with your cough a good flemmy coughing noise will keep her just off balance enough to give you the benefit of the doubt - possibly allowing you an extra convalescence day at home.
A really good idea is to wake early and trip your way to Mum's room saying you really don't feel very well. She'll be too sleepy to argue the point and more than likely allow you in for a cuddle. If you are too old for a cuddle in bed with Mum you can always sit on her bed and shiver. She will be so concerned that she'll jump out of bed, insist that you get in and keep warm while she gets up to fetch you a lovely cup of tea.
Waking up in the middle of the night to say you've thrown up, feel really ill or have a headache is another good way to make the point however, don't do this too much or you will rapidly lose her sympathy as she gets more and more tired and you'll not be able to get that extra day of convalescence.
Keep buttering her up with the want smile or the demands for a cuddle and always say thank you for everything she does and technically you could get a whole week off - and that might mean you manage to miss a spelling test, maths exam and the dreaded English
WARNING: Don't milk it too much or else Mum won't be as amenable to letting you stay home the next time.

I have been ill enough to be off school for three days and have missed my spelling test, piano lesson and double English

Have a happy illness

Bog Boy

(Aged nearly nine)

*Top Tip: Show a great deal of reluctance to eat this or indeed any treat as you are sure to get another to tempt your appetite back

Being Mum

2015-03-11T22:07:00.001+00:00

My Boy and Whippet

It's been twelve years - twelve years today to be exact.
The ultimate Mother's day.
I remember vividly what I was doing at this exact time all those years ago.
Feeling completely and utterly lost.
I had had a long birth - three days and after an emergency cesarean and all the excitement of finally holding my baby boy, introducing him to the rest of the family, I was suddenly left alone.
I stared out into the far night from the third floor hospital window searching down onto the car park, trying to make out where my husband and Mum were, desperately wanting them come back and not leave me alone in this place. I wanted to go home now.
My brain was not functioning and thinking about what had happened was far beyond me.
My baby boy was not even in the room to remind me of my very changed circumstances; he was in the nursery under the watchful gaze of the midwives so that I could get some rest.
But I couldn't rest.
And I couldn't stop the tears from falling either.
I was just too exhausted.
I wanted my mum.
It didn't occur to me at all that I was a mum as well.
I went from being me to being more than just me, but my brain took a while to adjust.
(It still does from time to time.)
It was sometime early in the morning the following day (though to be honest all the days and nights had melded together and I had no idea 'when' anything was) that The Boy was wheeled into me for a feed. I can't say my heart leapt.
I was mildly curious.
I think I was also disappointed.
I expected there to be this sudden rush of love at the mere sight of him and this magical transference of knowledge allowing me to know what it was I was expected to be doing - no such luck in either case.
I think I panicked a bit about that, then dismissed this mother love thing that everyone had ranted on about as just tosh. I had felt no rushing feeling of love when I saw him. I was just devoid of anything.
However, that is not something you should admit to, so I didn't. I made what I thought were all the right noises. I did as I was told. I smiled and held him as directed. But I felt untouched by his presence.
However, my curiosity grew in spite of myself, my tentativeness with him lessened as he lay in my arms heavy with sleep.
I relaxed.
He was small and wrinkly and really rather skinny and long and sort of squashed looking. His skin was loose but so soft. His shock of dark hair surprising and he smelled good.
He was so real.
I lay that night in my bed with him just resting beside me. In utter silence; and I just watched. I didn't talk to him. I just lay there curiously assessing him.
You see there is this thing called mother love, it is very real but it can as easily take you unawares as much as it rushes straight at you.
For me it was all unawares
The slow burn of passion had started, I just didn't know it.
It grew on me.
Entwined itself about my heart.
Indelibly stained my whole life.
I was a mum and nothing in the whole of my life would ever be the same again...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOY!

The Wickedest Whippet returns: the case of the wandering walnuts and other bits of thievery.

2015-03-09T21:12:00.005+00:00

The Wickedest Whippet - Butter wouldn't melt...

Life has been uncomfortable of late - literally.
I seem to have a walnut problem - in that walnut shells are to be found all over the house. Squirrelled away in corners, under cushions, on chairs, under chairs and sometimes even blatantly on the carpets; basically wherever I go barefoot I usually land up hopping about in absolute agony.
It's worse than Lego - believe me!
And it's getting downright dangerous.
I love walnuts, so we have a lot of them in the house - especially at Christmastime. I pile them in a big round basket available to anyone in passing. I say anyone, I actually need to be specific here.
Anyone that is HUMAN.

Check out the walnut detritus!

I am not fond of anything other than humans eating walnuts - I don't like the idea of mice, rats or even squirrels having free rein inside my home; so you can imagine my consternation when I started to find the shells all over the place.
It started fairly innocuously, the odd shell here, the bit of husk there; so I moved the basket on top of the display cabinet by the stairs to be out of reach of small human hands - suspecting that the prime culprits were the boys.
But the shells kept appearing and then it started to get worse. I'd clear it all up and then the next day there would be even more shells all over the place.
I got the rat man in...
But.
There were no rats.
I put mice traps down (and only managed to catch one in the drinks cupboard - but that's another story).
I double checked all the windows to see it it were squirrels coming int o the house, I religiously patrolled the outside of the house for rat activity and spent hours just listening at the dead of night just in case I could hear the fiends.
I even began to worry if it were me - eating walnuts in my sleep.
So I decided to lay a trap using my old camera.
And this is what I found.....

The Wickedest Whippet returns...!!!

Are you there Mojo?

2015-03-04T13:19:00.001+00:00

Hey Jet! is that my MoJo?

Are you there Mojo?
Have I got it back?
It's been nearly two years now since I started to lose it and for the past year I almost totally forgot that it ever existed.
I only blogged twice.
In a whole year!
Of course I didn't quite have total writer's block, I still wrote.
But not for fun.
Not just free writing for the hell of it.
Why did it happen?
Still not quite sure.
Did I just get bored? I don't think so; I just couldn't write. All these words and images and sentences got stuck in my head and they couldn't or wouldn't come out. The just repeated themselves over and over and became like sticky mud that I couldn't wade through. I attempted to write - I hate attempting anything. I wanted to do!
I tried so hard but then it all fell apart - a bit like me.
The harder I tried, the more ridiculous the words sounded as they splashed on the page.

Higgledy piggledy

splish! splosh! splash!

They didn't make much sense and then I got angry and frustrated and I thought:

Give it a break.

Give it a rest.

Slow down.

And then life whizzed by and I thought about it, and thought about it, and then slowly started to write again.

Not for me but for others hoping, praying and crossing my fingers that by doing so I would find my voice again.

It's a bit rusty.

Not sure how it sounds.

But willing to write again however it sounds is good enough for me!

And we shall talk horses....

2015-03-02T21:22:00.000+00:00

Hamlet

It's difficult not to be shocked when you first see her - that's if you recognise her at all. 

I didn't. 

My gaze slid past her as I searched and all I registered about the patient on the bed was how small and bald he was, and how very red and beaky was his nose. 

Then it dawned on me that that was my friend. 

Luckily for me her eyes were closed and I was able to compose myself before announcing my arrival.  I felt such a fool. But what was I expecting? 

Whenever I had seen her in the past, she was always poised, always in control. I only got to see what she wanted me to see. I always had to tell her when I was coming over to visit and she would always be ready.

 It's one of the things I admired - being a person who is so often totally out of control and desperately disorganised. 

Now, lying in the bed more incapacitated than ever and totally at the mercy of the system, I had to adjust my expectations fast, think on my feet and realise that the only thing I could do was to treat her as normal with no idea what her normal was any more.

 I have only ever known my friend with cancer. She had it before I knew her and when I first met her she didn't tell me. It was 18 months before I found out and I suspect if she had been able to hide it for longer she would have done. 

Here, for the first time in ages, at the stables where we all met she wasn't the cancer victim - rather like the rest of us, just a woman who was proverbially girding her loins to mount up and ride a horse once again.

It was the golden Autumn of 2012 and Hoof, the British Equestrian Federation’s (BEF) Olympic and Paralympic legacy campaign, had just launched its "Take Back the Reins" programme to encourage people like us to get back in the saddle (or driving seat or whatever was the case).

There were six of us, a couple like me who had ridden as kids but had lapsed due to life taking us in different directions and those who had started but not got any further. Whatever the reason we turned up at Newton Hall Equestrian Centre in Suffolk because we wanted to ride again. Perhaps we were trying to prove we could do it before it was too late. Perhaps we were indulging ourselves. We got more than we bargained.

What we found was that for a couple of hours a week we didn't just learn to ride - we found we could time travel - we could be who we once were: kids again with no thought other than to ride. Horse-mad teenagers but with possibly less conviction that we were invincible and a greater appreciation for the art of falling off.

When you ride a horse you can only really think about what you are doing, you cannot go off into a daydream for the effort to stay on, especially initially, takes up every living second. When you ride you have to be in the here and now. No other thought can intrude; not if you wish to do it right and we all so desperately wanted that. So, goodbye money worries, goodbye work concerns, goodbye demanding family, goodbye cancer!

To be honest those first few weeks were terrifying as we all got to grips with it. My friend was a revelation she was born to it - she made it seem so easy. While I struggled to sit deeper and go with my horse, to keep my hands still and and to smooth my transitions, she tackled far more advanced fair. It was if this was what she was meant to do, quite literally why she had been born.

Just the other day, when she was clearly very poorly (on her last ride as it turned out) she was playing about with leg yields while I still struggled to ask for a clean transition to canter. But here's the thing about my friend, even though clearly she was far more advanced than I, she never lorded it over me or indeed any of the others, never became impatient with us in the lessons when she had to sit and wait for us to get it together, never got cross when I lost it and refused to do more than walk or trot, she was so genuinely pleased to see me progress.

To be honest we all were pleased when someone suddenly got it but without her I don't think we would have been confident enough to say so out loud to each other. She encouraged us to share our triumphs and to make little of our failures in the knowledge that next week we'd be better. She exuded positivity in the best way imaginable and it was wonderful.

So there I am in the hospital, beeps and bleeps and coughs and snorts and does she even know who I am? For having been knocked back by cancer again and again, she is here in the Stroke Unit, her left side totally gone and the prognosis is shit.

So I say to her: "What a bugger!" and could she: "Please help me because I am so very stupid - do you know who I am?"

I get a thumbs up.

She knows.

So I blather away about Hamlet her favourite equine and how he's just dropped a rider and playing up quite dreadfully. How he's obviously feeling a lot better now he's back in work. And would she like a picture and I'll do that tomorrow.

The magazines I've bought are totally useless, she can't read them and the damage done by the stroke is far more than I imagined. The only other thing I have in my handbag is a small bottle Cow Shed's Cow Pat - which thankfully doesn't smell of cow pat. I ask if she'd like me to massage her feet I think I get a consent and so I massage her feet and they go from cold to warm, from dry to smooth. I think she likes it but it's difficult to tell.

I say I'll have to go but I'll be back with some photos of the horses and I do go back every other day during half term week bringing photographs and massaging her hands and feet and I chatter and as the days progress she gets better and starts to make her presence felt in no uncertain terms. I begin to understand her new way of talking and negotiate with doctors and nurses to get what she wants.

And then I am away for a week with work and family and she 's there at the back of my mind and the next thing I know she's in St Elizabeths Hospice. I visit and it's not good. She knows me and not knows me but she looks a hundred times better.

But I am uncertain.

And then I go back on Saturday morning and there she is - my friend. She's talking so much better and she seems so alive, positively buzzing. I tell her about the stables and the horses and how I am worried about going to Warwickshire for the British Horse Society Riding Schools Competition. I can just about get half marks for the ridden test, I can jump a clear round but not desperately elegantly and as far as knowing any horse lore forget it. I say I can't go; it is a ridiculous indulgence. She says do it! Have fun! Don't worry so much and that she can help me learn for the test. She makes me feel good about it all and then she asks me to take her to her niece's wedding at the end of May. We'll buy hats and look glamorous and we're going to have a spa day and paint our nails.

She has beautiful hands. Long tapering fingers. Strong hands. Hands that can talk to a horse and hold him in check, that give him confidence, that can make him dance.

She says I'll have to be with her at the wedding reception: "And we shall talk horses..."

I leave and feel so happy promising to be back on Monday morning.

"I'll get a movie of Hamlet and all the horses, would you like that?" I say. She gives me the thumbs up and although I am at the stables on Sunday morning I never get round to it. I'm helping with the course building for the jumping competition, waiting for an opportunity, I have my eldest wanting to go home. I'm late and I'm disorganised as usual. I console myself with the thought that I can always drop by the stables in the morning after getting the boys to school and take the photographs and movies then. It will probably be better.

That evening I get a call.

At some point in the afternoon of March 1 2015 my friend dies.

"....and we shall talk horses..." echoes in my mind.

Fatigue, exhaustion, chronic tiredness - am I ill or is this how we all live?

2015-02-10T18:00:00.001+00:00

I am exhausted, in fact, I am always exhausted. Is this just a function of being a Mum or could there actually be a problem?
I took this imponderable question my local GP and the answer I got back was to go and get some CBT and why don't I try anti depressants.
I did point out that I wasn't depressed. I was feeling - apart for being knackered - quite fine thank you and had no negative thoughts whatsoever.
It didn't wash.
I pushed.
I was allowed to have some blood tests but they came back within the normal bandwidth. I asked for them to be checked again - maybe look at hormone levels etc?
This time there was a slight depletion in my cortisol levels - nothing to worry about but we'd like you to go see a specialist.
In London.
And in fact it turns out that there really could be a problem, a minor one I am sure...
Has anyone else had it?

Feeling knackered?

NetParanoia.com - fear of the net and being a parent

2014-06-03T11:43:00.000+01:00

So you have kids. Do you let them play in the playground at school? Do they get hurt there? Fall over? Fall out with their mates? Get teased? Possibly bullied?
Being at school and playing in the playground and learning how to deal with all that that entails is part of growing up and we wouldn't want to stop that - would we?
But are we as free and easy about it on the net?
Judging by the headlines the net is a far scarier, and more deadly place, for kids to be than in the school playground, than at home...
But statistically speaking children are more likely to be harmed at home and by their parents on a physical, emotional and mental basis than they are ever likely to be anywhere else - the net included! These were the points raised at a brilliant lecture I went to last night: NetParanoia.com The Great Internet Paranoia Swindle with Euan Semple: an internet guru you could say.
He was not advocating that parents should negate their responsibilities and that everything and everyone on the net was a benign force with only the best intentions at heart; but what he was saying was that we, as parents, should be learning about the internet and using it ourselves the better to understand the opportunities it can give, they way it works so we can understand the threats, and how we can all benefit, not just as families but as a community.
Just because our children can turn on a smart phone and switch on a computer, without having to look at a manual, does not mean they are experts at working the web or indeed how to behave online. That would be like saying that just because they can walk and talk means they know how to behave full stop - they, like all of us, have to learn.
The talk, and discussion after, jumped about a bit covering topics such as how freely should I let my children play on the internet to how do I deal with horrific and indeed sexual images on the net? How do I help my children with on-line bullying? And what about the glare from computers? How do I deal with a child who keeps playing with computers way into the night...
The simple answer was this: be a parent and do what you always do.
If you don't want them playing the computer way into the night don't have the computer in the bedroom; if you are worried about your kids never going outside; tell them to go outside. On-line bullying is the same as bullying full stop and deal with it as you would if it was happening in the playground.
Dealing with horrific and sexual images on the net is just the same as if you came across them in a magazine or newspaper. Some will say they are more accessible on-line but take a look around you and you will probably find that the local news on the radio is just as graphic. My kids certainly know all about Operation Yew Tree and what happened to the two girls who were hung from a tree in Pakistan as it was on the radio news on their way to school.
Most of the time they tune out: "News is boring!" Sometimes I am put on the spot and I have to explain the best I can.
We should not be fearful of the internet or indeed fearful for our children - it is an amazing place where we can learn and share and just because we are told: "Muuum! You are SO old!" does not mean that we should not learn and share too.
The use of the internet has freed me to earn money as a journalist from home; I have connected with a community that has stopped me going barking mad, I have met people on-line who are amazing, kind, collaborative, witty, wise and I have learnt so much!
Long may it continue for me and my family!

Are you the parent of a cyberbully?

2014-01-28T12:33:00.004+00:00

Come on hands up do you really know what your kids are saying online? Can you honestly say you know what they are doing? What they are posting? Do you even know if your kid's online or not?
I didn't know my eldest was online.
I didn't know he was on Instagram.
I didn't know he'd got himself into a situation - one that was rapidly becoming toxic.
For heck's sake he's only 10!
I thought I was being so clever. I thought I had it all under control. I had given him an iPod what, two years ago... I had it so that it was essentially registered to me and anything he added to it would always show up on my account and on my iPad.
I had the usual buying apps without asking, sneaking face time with Granny at 10pm on a school night, playing games when he should have been doing homework/sleeping/getting ready for school but I had not had him actually on-line for real.
But things change...
At the end of last term The Boy's two best mates left the school and while I was concerned I knew he'd be fine. He gets on with everyone.
What I had not expected was that he'd start to try too hard in an effort to fit in and be accepted. So last week they were all off on a day trip and during the bus journey there the kid persuaded him to join Instagram. Of course he was flattered and everyone gave him their tags and he started to follow them all. He watched what they did and tried to join in. But he doesn't really know the etiquette and made a classic blunder.
He tagged a whole load of kids when he uploaded a photo of himself with his fingers pointing like a gun at his head. He didn't realise he should have pout a witty one liner caption on the photo or that he possibly should not have tagged all and sundry.
The first response was why did you tag me, then there was another why, then a child said the photo was the most cringeworthy photo they had ever seen, the next was about perhaps The Boy wanted to kill them, there were a whole load more who kept asking why were they tagged. There were a lot of blank/angry/puzzled emoticons and The Boy was overwhelmed and did not understand. He said he came in peas and got a more grief for poor spelling.
Basically the situation started to go toxic and The Boy brooded. Kept stealing looks at the comments trying to figure out what he had done wrong. And it was when he stole the iPod on evening that I caught him and found out what was going on. Found out that I had had no idea that he was online.
I don't think the kids he was online to really understood that they were taking things out of proportion or how much hurt they cased. It was a kind of pack mentality - but we know that it has to start somewhere. And for me this is a wake up call.
If half the parents realised what their kids were saying and doing online I very much doubt that half the children would be allowed.
I told the school to watch my son; I have taken him off Instagram until he can handle it. I am never going to get complacent again...
My approach now is three pronged.
School - when they talk about Cyberbullying and what you should do to make yourself safe online I suggested that they also talk about how to behave online.
The Boy - I am going to organise for him to be taught (along with me and his father) how to use Instgram/Twitter etc and how to behave online and what to do when faced with problems such as this, how to report bad behaviour and also how to minimise damage caused.
Parents - I am going to ask that worst question in the world that any parent can be asked: Is your Child a Cyberbully? Are they or could they be part of a pack that sends another child over the edge? Do you know what your children are saying/doing online? And the biggest of all: if you don't know why not!!!!!

Pants to 2013 - or is it?

2013-12-31T14:12:00.000+00:00

Sitting here freezing cold because HE is on an economy drive (I forgot to fill up the oil tank before Christmas) and all I can think is it’s been a PANTS 2013.

Blogging wise I may as well have got a monkey to do it for all the sense I have made or actually not done anything at all – it’s not been a stellar undertaking.

I had such high hopes!

It was meant to be my year and… actually it wasn’t. Things just sort of got on top of me and then I decided to do something about it and then things REALLY got on top of me and yet there is a chink of light at the end of the tunnel as long as I keep digging, as long as I keep on going - perhaps 2014 could be better.

It’s not as if 2013 was ALL bad. It was just a bit like a curates egg; bad in parts which tends to make the whole thing rather off putting.

Bad in parts: well I had several visitations from the Black Dog cumulating with a massive appearance over Christmas coupled with mountains of work, too little time and a 10 year old boy with teenage attitude problems.

Hey – what can I say

All of that was over shadowed by the fact that HIS company came up for sale at the beginning of the year and it was rather touch and go for the rest of it as to whether he would A) keep his job; B) like his new bosses; C) stay in his job…

We are still out on C but at least he HAS a job and so do I – for the moment and that cannot be a bad thing.

But with all the uncertainty comes stress; a low lying thrumming stress and that has lead too many Black Dog visitations and hence my belief that 2013 was PANTS.

So as an exercise I will catalogue the good and bthe bad and if I am right then 2013 WAS pants and if I am wrong…well I’ll get my arse into gear and prove 2014 is going to be even better…

January

Sassy Whippet aka wickedest whippet gets pregnant on purpose - good

Hubbie’s work up for sale. Will he still have a job at the end of all this?– bad

Boy passes LAMDA exam – good

I take back the reins and go horse riding after 20 years – good

Hubbie celebrates one year of weekly commuting: I miss him – bad

Boy gives up piano: no battles as I try forcing him to practice - good

Bog Boy (youngest) takes up piano: now have to FORCE him to practice - bad

February

Got invited out for Valentines night – good

Drowned car – bad

Missed Valentines night out – bad

Got new car – good

Used up all holiday money to buy new car – bad

March

Had puppies – good

Good mate had massive heartattack – bad

April

But survived – good

May

Boy off epilepsy drugs – good

Sold puppies - good

But fell in love with one puppy and still had to sell it - bad

June

Mums 70^th she is still alive and kicking! - good

I get amazing article to do – good

Having written article get amazing opportunity – good

July

Boy wins school prize - good

College mate dies of cursed cancer – bad

August

Had staycation – surprisingly good!

Article published and everyone thinks it’s – good!

September

Boy takes up trombone: WHAT more practice battles!!!!– bad

Bog Boy takes up recorder – bugger…

Boy gets girlfriend – good

Boy gets dumped – bad

Mate tries to kill themself – very bad

October

Keep getting work opportunities – good

Had amazing birthday party – good!

Boy gets girlfriend back – good

Boy gets dumped again – bad

Boy gets cool haircut – good

Boy gets girlfriend back again - good

November

Have amazing trip for work – good

Meet extraordinary people – good

December

Best friend gets annoyed with Boys flicky fringe and cuts it while I am away – bad

Get back from trip too close to Christmas – bad

Boy gets dumped by girlfriend yet again as not cool with dodgy fringe - bad

Boy pisses off mother on virtually daily basis with severe teenage attitude problems - bad

Fail to write Christmas cards – bad

Major major major crisis of confidence (I can’t do all this! I am going to fail!!) – bad

Manage to meet work deadlines so far – good

Plucking up courage to write all about trip – good

Feeling fragile but hopeful – bad and good

Good: 27 Bad: 20

Roll on 2014….

Anxiety, in-laws and too much chocolate...

2013-12-11T21:01:00.000+00:00

Do you have those days when it just does not kick start? It fails to ignite and try as you might basically it should be skipped.
Today was one of those days.
I should have just skipped it.
I am getting increasingly anxious about an imminent visit from my in-laws, which is in fact more than six weeks away, but I am not really looking forward to it.
Suffice to say like a lot of people I find my in-laws are problem. Not that they are bad people or anything; they are not - it's just we don't get on. I rub them up the wrong way and they do the same to me.
I feel not quite good enough and approaching 50 and after 15 years marriage I really should be far more gown up about it. But you can take away the childhood but you may never take away the child and I am that child.
Nervous, anxious and then just badly behaved because I don't want to be nervous or anxious.
I have managed to avoid my in-laws for the past couple of years and personally I think this is a good thing for all of us. I am happy not to see them and truth be known I very much doubt they are anxious to see me. But there comes a point when we must all meet and at least pretend to get along for appearances sake.
So that my children can be free to love them as grandparents and my husband not find himself in a bind pulled between his love and desire to protect me and his love and desire to be with his family.
Possibly my failure to see my in-laws has given rise to comment, and this of course must be rectified. I cannot believe they are in any hurry to see me at all. But I think they feel that they ought to be more involved with their sons and grandsons and I am obviously the problem.
So in an effort NOT to be the problem I am hosting a Birthday weekend for my mother in law. I fear it is going to be disastrous and just another excuse for them to say how awful I am and I probably won't let them down - behaving as usual in a manner unbefitting.
I have never ever been rude to them bar the once when I told my MIL to foxtrot oscar - though I did have post natal expression at the time. And in general I am very accommodating allowing them to bring their dogs, invite their friends over etc etc but after such a long time away from their company I fear they are now bogeymen so my chocolate intake is increasing as I try to stay calm and days like this drift by without me getting much done…
Wish I could wave a magic wand and be the perfect daughter in law

What would you do if you were given an extra day?

2013-11-20T23:33:00.001+00:00

An unexpected day.
An extra day.
And the thing is, what would you do?
I was given an extra day the other day. It was absolutely glorious.
Guess what I did?
Did I indulge myself with a pampering experience? Did I go for a slap up meal? Was I surrounded by family and friends?
Nope to all of that.
I
Did
Housework.
And more than that I loved it.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself - and I usually hate housework. I avoid it at all costs. I am brilliant at breeding dust bunnies, and expert on the finer points of sweeping stuff under the carpet. I excel at creating more mess without even trying.
I resent housework, I resent its endless monotony. I resent that it's always me that has to do it.
But on my extra day, my bonus day I had the time of my life.
I think I finally got it.
On my extra day I was not doing housework really. I was thinking of all my boys. I was thinking how they would come home and find that I had cleaned their rooms and made their beds, done their laundry, cleaned the bathroom and left everything perfect just for them.
Would that it was always this easy!
Perhaps it could be, if I knew that I would not be doing it again for a couple of weeks. Maybe it's one of those "this is the last time I am having to do this moments", even though I will probably come home to a complete tip after my trip away and be straight back to major groaning and griping about it.
Maybe I felt happy because it's the knowledge that if I leave it perfect they will be obliged to keep it that way and realise during the course of the couple of weeks that I am away that housework is not as easy as it seems and thus on my return I will be all the more welcomed. More appreciated because of my absence.
It doesn't really matter why I was happy about it I am just hugging the thought that for a brief moment in time I was happy doing it.
I'm not going to knock those moments.
What would you do if you had an extra day?

Being Middle Class - Getting the wind up....

2013-10-27T12:21:00.002+00:00

There's nothing like an impending emergency to get the old heart thumping or indeed in the case of us Brits to start talking to one another. Even better the impending emergency is all about the weather.
Normally on a Sunday I see the mummies and daddies standing in splendid isolation on the edge of the hockey pitch whiling away the hour or so until their children's training is over.
Every week they come and every week they stand alone together. Occasionally one may break ranks and try to start up a conversation. Usually it is a case of crash and burn not due to meanness or even being unfriendly just a case of chronic social ineptitude and acute embarrassment. I applaud the bravery but would of course never actually say out loud that I did, I mean that would just be embarrassing for all concerned!
But give us an excuse to talk, on a non personal level naturally, and then there is no stopping us. All sorts of secrets come out: like the fact that so and so's husband has run off with the local vicar's wife or that the reason why that nice couple are always up for meeting new people is that they are swingers...the mind boggles, really it does.
While this is all well and lovely but the startling nature of these Bon motes can of course render one speechless, so thank heavens for being able to move the conversation swiftly on with talk of the impending storm. Concern about ones' trees and the question of the probability that one may or indeed may not get into work on Monday morning covering for the fact that you are now in a serious social dilemma regarding how you are going to gracefully decline the invitation for a cosy soiree next week from the nice couple you have just heard are swingers.
Maybe I'll be too busy clearing up after the storm...

Getting back in the Groove

2013-10-16T20:50:00.001+01:00

Refusing to stick my head in the ground!

It's been a long time.
A very long time and no it's not about the blog, even thoughit has been so long since I posted that my rankings are now totally off the scale and I am in danger of being forgotten.
It's about work.
And I am in danger of being forgotten there too.
Not only forgotten - which may imply that I once was remembered - but there is also the realisation that for some I have actually never existed.
And now I am trying to get back.
Get into the groove.
I feel as if I have been in some kind of stasis - frozen in time like Austin Powers and totally without any mojo.
I haven't been doing nothing for the past 12 years. I have managed to keep my foot wedged in the door so to speak- while renovating our home and birthing and bringing up two boys - but the foot has been so long wedged that I think it has mortified.
I do have some work but lately it has been squeezed and I fear that because I am not in the office on a daily basis I am fading fast in everyone's collective memory.
Hence the need to rejuvenate myself; be reborn - faster, stronger, better than before.
And I feel an utter fraud.
I fear I may never work properly again.
Why on earth would anyone want to give me gainful employment?
I have forgotten how to do it.
Not that I have forgotten how to write, I can do that OK. I write 1,000 words a week and get paid for it. But I am beginning to fear that all my eggs are in one basket and if that magazine were to decide to close down my column - then what?
No one knows who I am!
I wasn't widely known when I was working full time but at least all the PRs knew where to send the press releases and would ring me up with useful bon mots and stuff. I'd get invited to functions and press days and the like.
Now I find I am having to scrabble about on line searching for stuff more and more and increasingly I am having to telephone PR Execs, begging them to put me on their mailing lists. They invariably mispronounce my name, get confused and then ask me again just who I am and why I am calling.
It's so scary.
Scary that I am going to have to risk rejection, ridicule and condescension from editors and publishers young enough to be my kids as I start all over again at the bottom.
I am going to have to prove, not just to them, but to myself that I can do it
I am terrified.
Can I make it?
Can I do this?

Being Middle Class: Acting like a fishwife

2013-08-14T19:08:00.000+01:00

Today is a day NOT to mess with me....

If I were terribly, terribly, middle class and frightfully, frightfully proper I wouldn’t have done wot I did in the Tesco Car Park at lunchtime.

I think my father would have described me as acting like a fishwife. At least that would be the polite version.

Mea Culpa

I hold up my hands.

Guilty as charged

BUT

But I did have an excuse.

Honest.

Come on have you ever had to work from home AND get your kids to do holiday work?

It’s a recipe for disaster and there is a lot to be said for just giving up and giving in and letting them kick back in front of the TV all day eating crisps. It would be so much easier if I did and I’d get a heck of a lot more work done.

But I know better of course.

I get my kids to do their holiday work come hell or high water and it’s usually both.

They whine, I rumble.

They whine some more and muck about, I growl loudly

They stubbornly refuse to get on with it and I start to shout

They shout back and I explode and there are lots of tears.

After about two hours they settle down for five minutes to get on with it and are then distracted and start to whine all over again about how unfair it is that they have to do holiday work when surely none of their friends have to do any…at this point I go into melt down and basically everything all goes horribly wrong.

I storm out of the house leaving a rather shell shocked family behind. I jump in the car and slew my way down the gravel drive before hurtling into town and Tesco where I intend to pick up sandwiches for lunch and grab some cash – any excuse to get me out of the house so I won't actually carry out my threat of murdering my two boys.

So there I am wondering around the Tesco car park and I see a space; I drive into it then notice there is a space in front that I can drive into allowing me a quick forward getaway when I have finished my chore. But there are two, I’ll call them ladies, gossipping in the space. I nudge my car forward to get them to move so I can park.They stop talking and glare at me momentarily before carrying on.

I wait for them to move.

They don’t.

I rev the engine a little more in case they don't realise that I wish to park where they are standing. I expect them to raise their hands in apology and move away.

They don't instead older woman barks out: “What’s your problem.” Before turning her back on me to carry on talking to her friend.

Normally I would have got all embarrassed and apologised for trying to park and all that but today I have had enough.

Today I am NOT going to be polite.

Today no one had better get in my way.

I flip.

Today I am a real witch.

I rev the car more and hit the horn LONG and LOUD as I drive forward.

"What do you think you are playing at!!" she hollers at me.

"I am parking my car..."

"You could park anywhere!"

"But I don’t want to park anywhere," I say sweetly through gritted teeth."I wish to park here..."

"Well am talking to my friend and I can talk to my friend wherever I like!"

"Great next time try doing it in the middle of the motorway. In the meantime I am parking my car right where your standing - so shift…"

I am not sure if I would have driven right over them but I am glad that they thought I might have driven straight over them.

They even backed right off when I got out of the car still hurtling insults as they walked away.

I should have left it like that.

But as I said: NOT today.

I stalk after them with murder plainly written across my face.

"You want to take this further? Do you? Come on then…"

I honestly believe that I would have got into a full on scrap there and then in the middle of the Tesco car park – talk about anger transference!

They scarpered and I felt…

Brilliant!

It was a total relief.

No shaking, no guilt, no shame.

Went into Tesco and was utterly charming to everyone.

Frightfully Middle Class….

Being shamelessly middle class – and apologising for it…

2013-06-26T20:08:00.000+01:00

You go away for 24 hours and you come back fully aware that you need to shout it loud and proud.

My kids go to private school because it never entered my head that there was an alternative. Or words to that effect.

My name’s Tattie Weasle and I AM Middle Class.

If there’s one thing I learnt during my brief sojourn in Town (London for the uninitiated) at the glorious Britmums Live event, is that to have an authentic voice you need to be true to yourself.

For years I have been apologising for being Middle Class. In fact that is one of the traits of being Middle Class (pronounced “Clarse” as in arse) – forever saying that you’re sorry for being so.

That being so, I now humbly beg forgiveness.

If I were Working Class I’d tell everyone to “Foxtrot Oscar” and “What You LOOKIN at” and if I were Upper Class – well I wouldn’t speak to you anyway, or if I deigned, I might raise an eyebrow in askance.

I think being Middle Class is very confusing as you vacillate between being very proud for being so and worrying what others may think of you.

There’s a lot of guilt being Middle Class.

In fact there are 9.63 million Google hits about it and I think that is a lot.

Secretly though it’s not so much guilt as fear; fear of being laughed and derided by the Upper Classes or else beaten up by the lower orders and having everything taken away.

Thus you land up trying very hard to be invisible by seamlessly blending in to one and frantically claiming solidarity with the other. One requires expensive shopping trips and claiming that you know who won this year at Burghley and that yes you do know your chukka from your bump; and the other renders you incomprehensible to English speaking nations as you reclaim your Working Class roots (Class now pronounced as in ass) along with dropping you aitches and hastily adopting a mockney accent even though your antecedents hailed from Wales.

So it is with a great deal of trepidation and frantic crossing of fingers that I promise to speak with my own voice – possibly for the very first time in my life.

And I won’t be apologising…well, not all the time!

Bringing up boys - one dog at a time!

2013-06-20T21:10:00.003+01:00

One boy and his dog...

"If that little bugger goes anywhere near my new boots!!"
I'll what? - Sell it after all?
Of course not.
They are as bad as each other. No blooming respect for anything.
Out the kitchen door, straight up the stairs and into the bedrooms. Slippers, socks, biros, teddies - nothing is sacred. He's been up on the table, in the dishwasher. He's stolen from the fridge and piddled on the carpet. Chewed two baskets and nearly given me a heart attack appearing from the laundry room with my knickers in his mouth
That puppy is worse than his mother, and I thought she was the ultimate Wicked Whippet. This one! Well, he is the devil incarnate, a diablo and not helped one iota by his new master.
Thick as thieves. One forever in search of the other.
I don't know whether to congratulate or kick myself.
You might have guessed but I finally gave in - he's got his dog.
I suppose it was kind of inevitable that I'd let him but I hope he never really knew that. I hope he felt that he has really earned his dog. It was certainly hard going.
I cannot count the times he 'lost' the dog for continually answering back, showing attitude. For lack of respect and thumping his brother.
But for all of those mistakes there were a thousand good ones in their place. Being kind to others, laying up the table, clearing up the dog mess without asking, and more than that for keeping on trying at school even though it never seemed as if there was any progress at all.
There he'd be struggling away with no reward; being knocked back countless times but still trying.
He's won the ultimate challenge. He kept his end of the bargain - just.
So I am keeping mine.
Another wicked whippet enters the annals - welcome to the pack - Jet Bag!