The Witty Ways of a Wayward Wife.

Name The Pig!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 10:18:00 +0000

Firstly, I've not bought a Barbour jacket, green wellies and built a sty in my back garden. (Although with my kids wrecking it on a weekly basis "sty" is a fairly good description.)

Neither have I bought a small herd of pigs despite the fact bacon every morning is a tempting proposition. And let's not even mention sausages - I can work wonders with a sausage.

Gez, those jars of Homepride Sausage Casserole Sauce are just great aren't they?

I love sausages though and you can read my earlier thoughts on sausages here. If you want. No pressure; I still haven't bought my Christmas cards yet.

Well anyway I'm looking for the name of for a pig because over at The View From Here I've written an article on science fiction which has a Name the Pig competition attached to it. All you have do is pop over, enter your name for a pig in the comment section attached to my article and you could win signed copies of The Holy Machine and Marcher by award winning science fiction author Chris Beckett who is featured in my article.

Chris Beckett is the 2009 winner of The Edge Hill Prize for a collection of short stories by a single author. His winning entry The Turing Test is published by Elastic Press in 2008.

So some nice (and preferably amusing) piggy names please. And no one say Porky.

Coming next; the results of my Name The Pussy competition!

Music Monday; Me and My Banjo!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 10:19:00 +0000

Impressed hey? Didn't know I was so talented eh?

Oh alright I'm lying. I don't play the banjo although I can make a good sound with a pair of wooden spoons and some empty baked baked tins! I also tried using my cheese grater as a washboard but somehow it didn't quite work. Don't ask me why, but the paramedic said I should have been using Cheddar. I replied "Don't you know we are part of of the EC you can't say Cheddar you must say "Fromage du Anglais a la place avec le grand gorge and caves which emits a cheesy smell."

Oh alright I'm lying again. Anyone can make Cheddar Cheese and call it Cheddar cheese, even if they live in China. Although, apparently, only the Italians can produce Parmesan Cheese and only the Greeks can produce Feta Cheese. Cheddar cheese is a generic name. Well so they say.

I demand a recount!

Oh no, we can't can we? Cos not only have Blair and Brown renegaded on their election manifesto to vote on Europe now David Cameron has too. Huh. Well at least he got it out of the way before the next general election so we all know where we stand. Still good news for the UKIP and NF I suppose.

Hmm....I was supposed to be talking about banjos! Well I don't play the banjo but I know someone who does. Here's one of my favourite funny guys, Steve Martin, doing something entirely different. I've just ordered his album The Crow, a self penned banjo blues album. Sounds interesting! Let's take a look at Steve playing the title track on the David Letterman show back in 2007.

Oh boy. Steve is just so talented! I can't wait to start foot tapping around my house!

NB; I've been a bit quiet of late but I've got lots coming up soon including an interview with that spurious author, Gary Davison, who often appears in my comments section, the winner of my Name My Pussy Competition and an update on my car. Yes, that is the notorious CMAX with the Collision Syndrome problem.... So stay tuned!

Music Monday - I don't like 'em!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 09:24:00 +0000

Ordinarily, I like Mondays. Especially when it's a Monday after the school holidays. I adore my boys but when the day comes around that they return to school I'm looking forward to a few hours of solitude. Last week, which was half term here in the UK, was pretty hectic so today I'd plenty of ideas on how to fill my day; maybe some writing, a little tickling of my favourite ticklees and perhaps charring a nice spaghetti bolognese. Maybe even thinking about cleaning the kitchen but then coming to my senses and surfing the net for Christmas presents instead. Prezzies for myself obviously- someone's gotta do it - otherwise I'll end up with another gadget which I'll rediscover in about 10 years at the back of the cupboard. You know they don't call slowcookers "slowcookers" for nothin' you know...

And then I got into a bad mindset...........

So Master Ben and I get to school on time. Okay we aren't early but before the bell anyway- and what's more I didn't even have to go over the speed limit!(Well apart from that overtaking bit.) Anyway, I notice a few small reception children traipsing in at the last minute dressed in garish costumes.

Ha! I think to myself. A dressing up day on the first of term. Those poor reception parents! Oh well, most of them are still new to it. They don't realise the agony of years and years of inconsequential dressing up days there are yet to come! Ha, ha ha!

I look at Master Ben with his creased trousers, smart black fleece and new haircut. Now that's how a child should look on the first day of term - not dressed as a space invader or a vampire with blunt teeth. Hmm...pity about the shoes I forgot to polish though....

Then I see one of the dads from Ben's football team coming towards me.

Footie Dad; "Bloody kids. I spent ages putting the face paints on and then he tells me he feels a twat."

Mrs T: (Innocently - knowing footie dad also has three kids.) Oh dear, is it a dressing up day today?

Footie Dad: Yes. And just as we're going out the door Karl tells me he feels a twat and wants to take the paint off.

Mrs T; (Mortified) Karl????? (Karl is in Master Benedict's class.) It's.... it's....it's... not a dressing up a day for the whole school??

Footie Dad: Yes.

Mrs T: Oh dear, fiddly dee! (Or words to that effect but maybe somewhat more colourful.) What was this delightful dressing up day in aid of? (Again words to that effect but maybe somewhat more colourful.)

Footie Dad; I have no idea!

Mrs T; I don't remember reading anything about it! Besides, they only just had Roman Day on the last day of term. Two dressing up days next to each other? That's blatantly unfair!!

Okay, so you get the idea. I ****** up. Good and proper. Now before you start worrying about Master Ben let me tell you he's a cool dude so he won't be particularly bothered he's not dressed up as a pumpkin or rat's entrails or whatever it was they were supposed to be dressed up as . In fact he's so cool he'll probably tum it to his advantage...

"Mum, you forgot it was a dressing up day. I was the only one without a costume. That's means you owe me £5.00 compensation."

"Yeah, okay son. Do you want cash or a banker's draft?"

Look, I know I've whinged about these dressing up days before but I've got to do it again. They drive me nuts, nuts, nuts. Master Sam is 18 in December - he went to school at 4 that means I've been making costumes for 14 years! 14 YEARS! And I calculate that I have at least another 3 years before I can lead a costume free existence when I can safely chuck out the cereal packets without the following happening...

Mrs T: Where's that cereal packet I left on the side?

Mr T: Oh, I threw it out.

Mrs T: Whhhatttt?! I had to make a sword/shield/ helmet/ wand/crossbow/staff out of that!!

Mr T: It's in the bin.

Mrs T; On my God, it's covered in spaghetti/tomato ketchup/baked beans/custard/jelly/ice cream! How could you be so stupid?!

Mr T: Well I didn't know...

Now correct me if I'm wrong but with rare exceptions men never seem to know about these dressing up days. Am I right Ladies? - Unless they're a carpenter or a painter and decorator - when you can bet your bottom dollar when their Little Johnny is cast as Joseph in the school nativity he'll turn out with an entire tool kit. And as for Greek History Day, Darling Little Johnny will be sat astride a giant wooden horse while Carpenter Dad proudly looks on whilst nonchalantly dusting the sawdust of his sweater.

And what about Diligent Mum? Yeah, you know the one Ladies. The mum who has spent two entire weeks sewing sequins on pieces of her wedding dress so her daughter, Darling Little Lottie, can look the most splendid Mary ever. Never Mind the The Three Kings look like they've been clothed in Oxfam (they probably have) or that the Angel Gabriel's shiny wings look like cereal packets covered in tinfoil so long as Little Lottie looks like Liberace who cares it's only a school production! First step a wooden platform in a cramped school hall, next step Broadway and Hollywood! Hurrah!!

Yep, I'm blown out on the school costume front. And as for all those letters... and I mean too many to count... I now just scan them. I look for two things. The one which says "Reminder" on the top and the other which has £ sign embedded in the sentence. Call me Mrs Cynic but when today's children can read, write and do arithmetic as well as we did thirty years ago then I'll be happy to spend an entire week making a costume out of paper mache. In the meantime dressing up, no matter how much you endorse kinesthetic learning, is just another symptom of our failing education system.

Someone pass me the chocolate.

Okay, so who remembers this song from 1979?

Well if you do remember this song and the background to it - the good news is Master Ben only has a plastic Nerf Gun and I only have a wooden spatula!

They're Back Once More!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 19:24:00 +0000

Back in February during one of my Music Monday posts I talked about the announcement of the reunion of 80's supergroup Spandau Ballet. Well this week saw the release of their new album and single Once More.

Once More is an album consisting of some of their biggest hits updated and two new releases including the title track. It's a fabulous song and with Tony's splendid voice, Gary's consummate composition skills and Martin, Steve and John's musical abilities if Once More is anything to go by then Spandau Ballet's comeback maybe one of the biggest comebacks of recent times. Let's face it the guys make Take That look like amateurs!

Here's the new single;

I love it! Fancy having a hint of how they've reworked some of the old hits? Then check out this free album sampler courtesy of The Guardian newspaper. I liked what I heard and I'll be picking up my copy as soon as I can!

Supermarket Fantasies!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 10:30:00 +0000

Okay, I'm gonna spill the beans this morning. I have a secret. And it's time for me to come out! No, not that kinda "come out" I just mean just admit the truth!

You see, I have a fantasy where I'm in the supermarket and suddenly I burst into song and dance, everyone joins in, the whole supermarket goes crazzzzzzy and the manager is so taken with my dance moves he gives me my spuds for free. You know - rather like that bit in the film Fame where all the kids start dancing in the streets and leaping on cars. Yep, that's my fantasy - cartwheeling down the bread aisle, shaking my butt amongst the loo rolls and vocalising amongst the chocolates. Heaven. Sheer Heaven.

Blimey, I'm soooooo bored with shopping that even making a trip to the supermarket loo and inspecting it for cleanliness provides some light relief! I'm a total utter failure as a housewife because making the decision about whether or not to buy toilet cleaner with limescale remover just doesn't light my fire. Fact. And as for whether to buy economy, home brand or Heinz baked beans - it's hardly Mastermind. I mean I used to be an intelligent woman but now I think my brain has solidified into a grey mass that very probably resembles a mummified gerbil. In fact, I reckon if I did go on MasterMind my special subject would now to be something like "The History of The Shopping Trolley 1986- 2009" or "The Life and Times of Lord Sainsbury" or "Nestle Cereal Packet Designs 2000 - 2005."

Yeah, so much for having a degree in History; I can't remember what I did last week let alone who Chamberlain was. In fact the when Master Sam asked me did I know about Chamberlain and his "piece of paper" I thought it was a new brand of toilet roll.

Anyway, what I want to know is if I started getting down in Tescos or Sainsburys would anyone join in? I mean I don't want to be getting down all by myself whilst the old biddies are huddled in the corner timing how long it takes for the ambulance to arrive. So anyone care to join me next time I'm in Tescos?

Anyway, I guess you're wondering what brought this rant on. Well I was on my way home from yet another super dooper life enhancing trip to Tescos when I heard a tune on the radio that has been getting my feet tapping lately. (I should point out at this juncture that foot tapping is not too good an idea if you drive a manual car.) So when I got home and duly plonked the shopping down where I like to leave it for several hours defrosting before shoving it in the freezer before the salmonella start reproducing and went to have a look at the video on You Tube.

And what did I see? The lovely Michael Buble who sings I Just Haven't Met You Yet has stolen my fantasy! How dare he! I am going to sue him for copyright of my thoughts! It's outrageous and what's more it shouldn't be allowed because he's a man! And as I am woman, shopping is my domain and I therefore demand return of my fantasy! I'm calling Mr Buble up and I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind! Yeah, right now!

Well okay, just after I've listened to his fab song one more time....

Huh. Blonde women. They always get the best parts. I would have done it for free. Although it might have had to have been head shots only

Damn.

Name My Pussy!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 16:09:00 +0000

I have a house guest!

Sometime before my two cats Tigga and Tash died earlier this year, I realised that another cat was visiting our house in the dead of night. Sometimes I heard the cat flap bang, a tin fall on the floor and in the morning tell tell footprints on the kitchen work tops. My cats never made a fuss and just let the cat come and go - I guess Tigga and Tash weren't up to fighting and as Miss Cleo, my remaining cat, is as daft as a brush The Interloper found no resistance.

Then one day, I inadvertently locked the cat flap one way only and the next morning there it was - a big, furry, black and white cat who looked extremely well fed and like he might need a course of slimming pills.

Well as it turned out he was a stray because over the summer months my neighbours and I have watched him get thinner and more frightened. A number of times I've approached him and he would run off but last Saturday morning I found him crying outside my door, skinny and ravenous. He'd quit the "I'm gonna be a tough old stray" lark and decided he was gonna move in. Maybe he realised I was now 2 pussys down and there was room at the inn. But I tell you he has taken to my house like a duck to water. Miss Cleo hasn't managed more than a few girlie hisses while he lies resplendent on my sofa and dining out on her chicken. He seems perfectly at home, is easy to lift up and stroke and what's more the children are delighted with their acquisition. Of course, I said I'd never have any more pets but well...I can hardly refuse a poor hungry cat crying on my doorstep just when winter is setting in.....

Well since The Interloper seemed exceptionally well house trained Mr T didn't make too much of an objection. But Houston we now have a problem. Because today The Interloper ventured upstairs for the first time. I was in my study typing and Miss Cleo was sitting at my side and in walks The Interloper. Cleo hisses, I turn round and check there's no sign of an impending cat fight. All is well. I turn back to my PC and then I hear it....

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.....

Cleo's ears tweak, my ears tweak. I hear it again...

Psssssssssssssssssssssssssss.....

I get up and peer behind the chair in the corner. The Interloper is decorating my carpet - in a major way. It is probably the biggest piss in history; he must have been saving it up since the millennium. In fact, I have time to go to the bathroom, return with the litter tray, put him in it and he is still weeing!

Hmm. This is not good as Mr T has a very sensitive nose. He can tell just by raising his hooter in the air on the doorstop whether or not I've done the laundry. I swear to God his mother trained him at birth to distinguish the difference between Persil, Ariel and Fairy Automatic. Anyway, this is bad news for The Interloper, so I've scrubbed the carpet, covered it with carpet cleaner, scrubbed it again and sprayed it with perfume twice. I've even cooked curry for tea to disguise any remaining odours. In fact I shall be cooking curry all week I think; Balti, Rogan Josh, Korma. In fact anything that has a potent smell; I might even slip in some smoked haddock jut for variety -Anything to save The Interloper from the clutches of the evil Mr T...

Anyway, I need a name for The Interloper. I've been racking my brains and all I can come up with is....

Bond.

Yes, yes. I know that is sooooo predictable for Mrs T. But just think - I get to say all those things I've always wanted to say!

"Bond, will you please please stop pawing my breasts!"

"Bond Baby, you are so silky I can't stop stroking you!"

"Bond Honey, will you stop licking right now it's ruining my concentration."

"Nudge the door closed Bond; I don't want anyone to see us cuddling"

" Don't stop purring Bond, it's driving me crazy!"

Yeah, you get the idea. So I'm thinking The Interloper probably needs another name. So.. anyone want to offer up any suggestions?? I pay well - a kilo of smoked haddock and a slightly burnt Chicken tikka.

Okay So let's have some serious suggestions please or I'll be committed to 15 years of corny Bond jokes!

Here he is;

Do your best folks!

Music Monday; Oh No, Not Another Boy Band!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 09:55:00 +0000

Yes, yes alright I do like boy bands! Now I've had to endure a little rib tickling from some quarters about my fondness for such groups but I think it's perfectly healthy for a woman of my advanced years to be looking at young men. You know - it keeps the mind active! I mean I've got to fight off the dementia somehow haven't I?

One of my favourites Boy bands of recent years is Boyzone. I played one of Ronan Keating's solo songs a while back but with the sudden death of band member Stephen Gately, aged just 33, I feel in the mood to play one the group's songs. So here we go;

That was great! Stephen had a lovely voice and I regularly enjoy listening to him and his fellow bandmates on their Greatest Hits CD. Now by all accounts Stephen was a very pleasant man so last week when I picked up the Daily Mail, as I do about once a week, I was deeply shocked to read THIS ARTICLE written by their columnist Jan Moir. Frankly, I cannot remember the last time I have read such a rude, crass and downright offensive article. I was not the only one who felt like this because I have since read that The Press Complaints Commission website was so deluged by thousands of complaints it actually crashed. In addition some advertisers have either complained or withdrawn their adverts. And rightly so. It was an abhorrent, insensitive and factually incorrect article with unpleasant overtones. Heaven knows what poor Stephen's friends and relatives must have felt on the eve of his funeral.

Now the least offensive remark that Jan Moir said was;

"A founder member of Ireland's first boy band, he was the group's co-lead singer, even though he could barely carry a tune in a Louis Vuitton trunk. He was the Posh Spice of Boyzone, a popular but largely decorus addition."

Well I beg to differ; I think he sang pretty well. In fact let's hear Stephen sing on his own;

Fantastic!

And as for the rest of Jan Moir's article.... Let's just say I will be voting with my feet and my wallet.

A Year On...

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 09:48:00 +0000

Well today is a day which has been looming in my mind for quite sometime; it's the first anniversary of my mother's death.

It's been a tough year. My mother was not just my mother but also my best friend and I've missed those times where we shared personal triumphs or upsets. As we travelled through life it was those intimate moments that brought us closer together. Learning to share our thoughts, feelings, opinions and problems made the bad times better and the good times happier.

A few weeks ago I took delivery of some of my mother's furniture. Her small two seater sofa and matching ladies' chair now sit comfortably in my study which is looking more and more like a parlour straight out of a Jane Austen Novel. (Although perhaps not quite so tidy!) Most of the time I'm still at my computer but sometimes I just sit in her chair and read just like she used to do.

And you know I rather like it that way.

My mother on The Costa Del Sol in about 1952

School Photographs.. Don't You Just Love 'em!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 03:29:00 +0000

Mrs T is walking from the school gates with her good friend Mrs B (Also known as Fordfocus mum in my comment sections) deep in conversation. It goes something like this....

Mrs T; Have you seen Master A's school photo yet?

Mrs B; Yes.

Mrs T; I think Master Ben's is the best school photograph we've ever had. Kinda ironic as I haven't got anyone to send it to this year. Can I send one to you Mrs B?

Mrs B; I think you should save yourself the money.

Mrs T; What! You don't want a piccy of the lovely Master Ben?! Shame, shame on you !

Mrs B; I was thinking of getting a jotter pad with Master A on it.

Mrs T; Yeah, I was thinking of getting a book mark.

Pause

Mrs T; How sad are we??

(Mrs T and Mrs B dissolve into uncontrollable laughter.)

Huh. I'm gonna have a moan. Look, what is about this school photo thing? I have years where I don't have a decent picture and I have to send off piccys of my kids to relatives looking like Jekyll and Hyde and now all my folks are dead I get a decent piccy. That is so unfair!

What's more, it's so infuriating as I can't even buy one simple piccy for myself cos these school photos are always arranged in huge packets for people with millions of relatives. For example;

Packet A :
3 10x7 inch photos,
2 5x7 2" photos,
6 5 x3.5"photos
4 3.5 x2.5"photos.

So that's 15 photos for £28.95 for which I get another 9 mini prints and a calender thrown in free. Hurrah!

Hmm... maybe I should have the gift pack;

1 10x7" photo
4 "FUN" 5x3.5"photos
1 10x7 calender,
3 photo bookmarks
9 mini prints.

All for the lovely sum of £22.50!

Hmm.. would someone kindly please explain the "FUN" elements of the 5x3.5 photos are? Perhaps they come equipped with darts so Master Jacob can throw darts at his brother? Or free colouring pencils.? Now I'm not a cynic, as you know, but somehow me thinks maybe the "FUN" element is for the photographer who is raking in my hard earned cash for photos I don't need.

Look, to be speak plain, I haven't got any aged relatives left who aren't mad or bonkers. And those ones would be hard pushed to recognise a picture of themselves let alone a picture of my son. Yep, so why, why, why do I need trillions of those tiny photos that are gonna plague me for the rest of my life?!

You see, if it's a piccy of your child you just can't throw it out even though they might look like they've got a severe facial deformity and been hit over the head with a giant saucepan. It's just not moral! Yep, for years I have be plagued by small photos of my boys with bad haircuts, monstrous spots and lop sided squints popping out of my drawers and albums. In fact, whenever I clear out a drawer and I reach the bottom I usually scrape the remaining debris into the bin. This usually consists of receipts, bills, an obligatory solitary screw, buttons, pins, the missing part of a toy I was gonna fix 3 years ago, some paracetamol dated 1998 (Okay better keep that), several decomposing sweets that have amalgamated with a collection of disused batteries and a voucher for 50p off if I spend over a fiver on haircare before Christmas 1978. And of course...lying at the very bottom, face down, is a small rectangular shape... I flip it over....and....

Oh God no! It's Master Sam looking like Quasimodo! Nooooo!!!!!

Okay so what can I do with it? Do I want to be reminded for the rest of my life that Master Sam went through a "living dead " phase? No. So I look furtively around. Can I make it to the bin without anyone seeing? I creep into the kitchen, peep round the door and just as I posed with my hand over the bin...

"What have you got there mummy? A picture of Sam! Why he looks just like me! Shall I put it in the album?"

And I'm thinking.... I now have two sons who look like the living dead...... God help me! Where are those paracetamol?!

Okay, so here's Master Ben's winning photograph;

Oh, he looks soo sweet! And that's just how I see him with grinning smile and cheeky eyes! What a handsome fellow! He reminds me of this hugely attractive, soon to be sex goddess and housewife extraordinaire;

Okay. That piccy was before I had my teeth done. So no comments please. And if you're wondering why my fringe was lopsided it's because my dad used to cut my hair.... We were poor for goodness sake - it's not that he was a scissors-wielding nutter you know! Well I don't think so.....

So anyone want a piccy of Master Ben? I can also do bookmarks for £2.50, fridge magnets for £6.00 or hey if you're feeling adventurous a mouse mat for only £5.00!

Yeah, okay you can have them for free. Just so I feel good. But don't forget to send him the Christmas cheque please - he's saving up to those ears pinned back.

Well toodle pips for now. And please check out my latest offering to the BBC- The Therapy Blues. Umm...you probably won't find any useful remedies if your feeling under the weather but hopefully it'll give you a giggle or two.

Sunset over Coral Bay

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 19:48:00 +0000

In our daily lives we are often so busy working, commuting and fulfilling our obligations that we don't get the opportunity to appreciate the really simple and beautiful things in life. I know I don't. More often then not, I'm travelling when the sun is setting and although I frequently glance at the sky and fleetingly admire the beauty, I never really have the time to watch the day turn into night.

I suppose that's the real bonus of holidays. Having a little bit of time away from the daily grind that allows the senses to re-awaken and take in our new surroundings. The tastes on our palettes, the fragrances in the air, the warmth of the sun seems so incredibly vital and strong. Maybe that's why holiday memories are often so poignant and remain with us for years.

It's pretty hard work entertaining a family wherever you are in the world but there was a few quiet moments I recall in Cyprus that made my holiday memorable. Late at night, when all was quiet, I got to swim in the pool by myself, float on my back, and gaze up at the stars. One night I was convinced I saw a shooting star... and I remember thinking to myself There's a story in those stars.

Then down at the beach one evening I took these photos;

You know sometimes words are not enough.

Toilet Talk

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 19:54:00 +0000

Well it's time for another installment about my holiday in Cyprus. I know you're all still intrigued to know how I got on with the lavatory problems so let me tell you I managed to survive. It wasn't the ideal situation for a refined lady like myself but that decontamination suit worked wonders. Being fully prepared for the worst (including packing 3 packets of nappy sacks) I managed to cope with the horrors of cleaning up after 5 males. Not easy, I know, but then the drugs do help.

In fact the most memorable toilet experience I had was actually at Pathos airport where on entering The Ladies I found it was spotlessly clean with an attendant in residence. (An almost unheard situation in the UK.) This meant I could relax and upon entering the toilet compartment I could actually contemplate sitting on the loo seat and not adopting my usual squatting position.

Now I've often wished I had lovely long thin legs but when it comes to using public loos stout legs are a major advantage. For example I don't have to grip the loo roll holder for balance thus ripping it off the wall or call for the attendant because I've toppled over and trapped my head under the door. The disadvantage is that sometimes I forget to stand tall again and find myself walking around the shopping precincts like Quasimodo - Although this does have the less obvious benefit that I might pick up one of those lovely young gentlemen from the New Zealand Rugby team.

Apparently, The All Blacks Haka war dance scares the hell out of the opposition. I can see why because the thought of 15 grown men letting loose in front of me would be like finding out that Pierce Brosnan is a cross dresser. Mortifying.

By the way I should add that I don't do the Haka arm movements. (Unless there's no loo paper and I've hung my bag on the back of the door.)

Well back to the loos at Pathos airport. Well after getting up the nerve to actually sit on the loo (which was most comfortable) I thought I'd follow in the tradition of most men and sit there for a good half hour and let a queue form outside. I therefore pulled out my copy of Rugby Weekly and did the crossword.

Three Across. "You don't want to do it in Cyprus." Four letters. First letter S.

Hmm.... that's a tricky one.

So anyway after I'd done the crossword, whittled a boat out of the loo brush, ruminated about whether or not Kylie Minogue ever actually goes to the loo and regretted that I hadn't brought my pipe, I felt it was time to stop doing the male thing and make an exit. So I got up.

And then it happened!

No, no , no - I didn't give birth! Oh come on now, you didn't think I'm that stupid are you? Nope, I made sure I'd never give birth again after Master Benedict was born by booking the good Mr T an appointment with " The Butcher." And let me tell you that for a small sum of money and a tickle with my feather duster "The Butcher" does a very good job indeed. In fact he did it so well that for a while I thought that not only would the good Mr T never produce a little soldier again but also that he might never walk.

Kinda satisfying really.

Anyway, I stood up.... and the loo flushed.

I mean it flushed ALL BY ITSELF.

Well that was it - I was thrown into a major panic. What had I done or touched to make the loo flush? Or had I simply overstayed my welcome and been "Timed Out"? My God my imagination went into overdrive. I began to wonder if there was an invisible screen behind where the security guards sat...

" Hey, Johnny see that Brunette in No 9 she's been in there far too long. Let's flush her out."

I tell you, some times it's a major problem having a vivid imagination.

Anyway, I quickly realised that the Big Brother concept was a bit far fetched so I started to waver between an infra red beam and a heat sensor on the loo seat... Or maybe there was a pressure sensor on the loo seat? Or a timing device? Or maybe the loos were just haunted? Maybe some poor woman drowned in the loo by trying to get her granny knickers off in a hurry, tripping over them and wedging her head in the bowl? Maybe she wanders the loos at Pathos Airport seeking vengeance on women with quick release crotchless knickers?

That's not me of course. You'd never catch me in draughty knickers. I like 'em spot welded on with a padlock and key for extra protection. A girl's gotta feel safe you know, especially in high winds.

Anyway, I still haven't got a clue how it flushed. Does anybody know how these things work? If so please tell me.

Anyway, I gotta dash. To you know where. Need I say more?

See You Soon!

Ps The answer was "Spit." Really, did you think a nice girl like me would think of anything else:)

No no, no and no again!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 17:53:00 +0000

I usually wake fairly early, irrespective of what time I've gone to bed, and find myself in the kitchen by 6am feeding the cat and making a cup of black coffee. I enjoy the peace and solitude of the early morning, knowing there's a good hour or more when I can do as I please before the day descends into its usual chaos. I find it relaxing, therapeutic.

Then, cup in hand, I usually wander back upstairs to my study, check my emails, read the news headlines and see if anything grabs my attention enough to make me want to read the entire article. Sometimes there is, sometimes there isn't. But what I categorically don't want to see is the likes of this;

C'mon, give a girl a break! I just got out of bed! What the hell is it? Is C3P0 experiencing an identity crisis? Is it a man or a woman? Or a man dressed as a woman? Or a woman dressed as a man dressed as a woman? I dunno, it could be some hideous creature straight out of a James Herbert Novel......

" I turned, my pulse racing so fast I thought I would explode. Behind me was the most gross creature ever. It stood 6 feet tall (in heels), the fur on its shackles rising menacingly as I shrank back into the corner watching its heart beat like a rabid drum through its transparent thorax. It smelt of putrid rotting flesh that had been hidden in some dark tomb for a thousand years, anointed in the sickly sweet perfume of Eau de Joan Rivers. Fetid striped garments covered its spindly legs. Had it escaped from some secret government laboratory? Was it on the run? I pushed myself further into the recess, my body a damp quivering mass of fear as I felt fingers reach out and gently caress my hair. Vile, dark thoughts raced through my mind. Then suddenly through strange pouted lips it spoke..

Babe.....you so need a haircut! That style so does not suit you! You just need a little flick here......

No, no, no! This was beyond any of my worst nightmares. My hand scrabbled in the dark, I had to save myself from this fate worst than death -my hair and clothes remodelled by a celebrity fashion designer. Suddenly, I felt the cold plastic of a portable hairdryer that had fallen from the creature's over sized pockets, knowing I was close to losing my mind I had to act quickly, I flicked it on, blasting it at his face...

No, no, no..you absolute bitch! You've ruined my hair! When I see Trevor I going to tell him you're such a girl!"

Yeah, that's right folks. It was London fashion week last week. And if it isn't enough making some of world's most beautiful women look like complete idiots dressed in stuff any normal woman would laugh at now they've designated a whole day to make men look complete idiots as well. Blimey, when I saw this I nearly cried;

You know I fail to believe any guy could feel good about himself dressed like a cross between a 6 year old school boy, his grandfather and Captain Scarlet. Yep, and I can tell you no woman in her right mind would find that attractive! We want men who look like men; a classy suit, smart trousers, a nice shirt. Blimey, we don't even mind shorts but for goodness sake get some that fit and don't look like they were made for Barbie's boyfriend!

And if that piccy wasn't enough to ruin my morning then I read that the latest fashion for men, as sold by Selfridges is Mantyhose. Now if if you can't work it out Mantyhose is tights - for men. For the really discerning guy you can buy these for a mere £70 in a remarkable 120 denier in beige, black and charcoal. Fantastic! Blimey I know Bridget Jones knickers are a turn off for men but let me tell you the idea of pealing off some guy's Mantyhose in the heat of passion doesn't exactly thrill me either! However, Selfridge's Director of Menswear says of Mantyhose;

“This winter the city's most stylish men will have a secret weapon hidden in their trousers."

Well there you go. Not the kind of secret weapon I'm interested in but hey I guess there might be some guys who want to keep their nuts from freezing on a cold winter's morning!

Oh yeah...and another thought about that second picture -no one mention the Hitler Youth pleasssssse.

Music Monday; We'll Meet Again

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 10:07:00 +0000

I don't think I can let today pass without mentioning a truly remarkable achievement in the music world.

Last week Dame Vera Lynn topped the British Album charts with her album We'll Meet Again, a collection of her songs spanning her lifetime in music. At 92, she is the oldest living performer ever to have held this position. What's more, Vera fought off the likes of The Beatles and The Artic Monkeys to take the No I spot and in doing so took the honours away from Bob Dylan who, at the tender age of 67, achieved the same feat earlier this year with his album Together Through Life.

The song We'll Meet Again, after which the album was titled, was still a very popular song when I was a child. It was first released in 1939 but such was its potency that on my last day at comprehensive school my entire class sang it. Of course, the real sentimental attachment to the song comes from its association with WWII during which Vera, and her song, became firm favourites with the armed forces.

Possibly, my generation is the last where We'll Meet Again will remain entrenched in our psyches. We are the last generation whose grandparents or parents fought in WWII. Our childhoods were full of personal recollections narrated by aging relatives, Sunday afternoons glued to documentaries like World at War (morosely narrated by Laurence Olivier) and evenings transfixed by television adaptions of novels like A Town like Alice and The Winds of War and films like The Guns of Navarone and Cross of Iron. The War, and all that it stood for, was still very much part of our recent history and, as a consequence, we were never allowed to forget the sacrifices that were made to ensure our feedom and liberty.

Nor indeed should we.

So the sentimental attachment to We'll Meet Again, a forces favourite, was actually still quite profound in my youth. But the sad reality of WWII was that meeting someone you loved again had the odds stacked against it. Relationships were often brief and painful, duty came before love and marriage and frequently a telegram on the doorstep would put an end to thoughts of any sweet reunion.

But of course the role of a Forces Sweetheart is to serve as a morale booster to armed forces in time of conflict. A role which many performers took, and still take, very seriously. Their job is to inspire as well as entertain and We'll Meet Again which ends on the words "And I know we'll meet again some sunny day" typifies this optimistic and encouraging outlook more than any other wartime song.

With the likes of (They'll be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover and When You Wish Upon A Star Vera Lynn has become the ultimate Forces Sweetheart. Initially, she competed with the likes of Gracie Fields and Anne Shelton but her longevity and the overriding success of of We'll Meet Again has meant that she has never relinquished the title. The current favourites Katherine Jenkins and Hayley Westenra might have all the big frocks and glamorous looks but you know what?

They just ain't Vera.

Come join Music Monday and share your songs with us. One simple rule, leave ONLY the actual post link here. You can grab this code at LJL Please note these links are STRICTLY for Music Monday participants only. All others will be deleted without prejudice.

PS: Because of spamming purposes, the linky will be closed on Thursday of each week at midnight, Malaysian Time. Thank you!

Dancing with Heavenly Stars

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 13:36:00 +0000

When I'm travelling or spending time in my kitchen most of the time I listen to the local radio so it was with sadness that during the news announcements I learnt of the death of actor Patrick Swayze.

I don't think there can be many people who haven't seen the feel good factor films Dirty Dancing and Ghost in which Patrick starred. They are both perennially popular films in which Patrick's characters Johnny Castle and Sam Wheat portray those attributes that we look most for in the opposite sex -love and devotion.

I'm sure Patrick, for whom there has been nothing but the highest praise as an artist and more importantly as a man, has left a wonderful personal legacy to his friends and family. It must also be comforting for his loved ones to be able to look back over his career and know that he brought joy to other people and made such a positive impact.

Of course, there are many wonderful books, films and TV shows in the media but the vast majority don't make us feel good in the sense in that whilst we may still admire them, they don't always touch the soul. Sometimes books or films may even make us cry or laugh but maybe still have a missing ingredient - that little extra something which says it can be beautiful to be human, to love, and often to love in the face of adversity.

When I think about the success of Dirty Dancing and Ghost I like to think that this extra element is why they are such wonderful films. If you look past the superficiality of the themes (dance movie/ love story) there is a lot more to them than at first meets the eye. Dirty Dancing might reveal in the dance moves but it also deals with the pain of becoming an adult. Baby (Jennifer Grey) is still very much a "baby" at the outset of the movie but by the end she has become a woman. To do so she has to step outside her known world and risk her family's disapproval. She has to observe the realities of adulthood; the conniving of some of the guests and teenagers, Penny's abortion, Robbie's betrayal. She has to decide where to place herself in the world. The fact that she experiences these challenges makes us appreciate more the love that grows between her and Johnny.

Of course, love in the face of adversity makes us feel good too, it makes us feel warm, joyful, courageous. Sometimes it even makes us want to sing and dance like in that spectacular finale to Dirty Dancing...

Do you remember the tune?!

And what about Ghost? It's another film where there is as much pain as there is love. Patrick Swayze's character, Sam Wheat, is murdered early on in the film and as a consequence he comes back as a ghost to protect his lover, Molly (Demi Moore), from the grasping colleague who was the cause of his death. It's a terrific film which goes from sadness and tears, laughter and slapstick to a finale where the early grief of Sam's death is replaced with acceptance, and even happiness, as he leaves Molly to continue his journey into the afterlife. There is a sense that love conquers all, that death is only death in the earthly sense of the word, that life and love continue. Sam's final words as he retreats into the light are;

"It's amazing Molly. .........The love inside, you take it with you.......... See ya."

So if you've not seen Ghost or Dirty Dancing you really must find the time. They are films that make you have faith in the human spirit.

On a final note, I've never seen a ghost. But if it's true that they are unhappy souls wandering the earth looking for resolutions then, from what I've read about Patrick Swayze, there is no reason to suspect that he will be doing anything but dancing amongst the heavenly stars.

Always on my mind...

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 18:47:00 +0000

No not Nissan Micras. Although they have been featuring in some hideous nightmares I've been having lately about being trapped in one whilst a deranged man beats on the driver's window. I'm not sure about the significance of this is but you know it sure is spooky. Particularly when the man leans through the window and says " Hereeeeeee's Mr T ! "

Nope, Nissan Micras are not what has been on my mind - it's toilets. Yes, toilets. Yep, ever since Mrs D sent me that email I've been thinking about toilets. Maybe you fellas out there don't realise how much time us girls spend thinking about the bathroom, cleaning the bathroom, in the bathroom and indeed looking for the bathroom. Hell, I even dream about the bathroom! Hmm.. Okay... I admit I'm a bit screwy so maybe that's an exception to the norm. ( No comments please.)

Unfortunately, after you've had kids things aren't what they used to be despite all those pelvic floor exercises. Damn all that pushing and shoving during childbirth! After I endured a 2o hour labour with Master Benedict (which is pretty unfortunate for a third child) I was screaming;

" Just get him out! Out, out, out! Don't you know what this is doing to my bladder? Oh God, pleassssssee let him come out...........Pass me the forceps I'll do it myself...."

I'm not saying it was tight squeeze, but afterwards I walked like John Wayne for a month.

Yep, anyway you can "Squeeze, release, squeeze, release" as much as you like but after childbirth when you've gotta go, you've still gotta go. Am I right Ladies? No wonder celebrity mums just adopt or elect to have caesarean sections - they've probably been beaten up by some poor mum desperate to get to the front of the of the queue for The Ladies and have subsequently decided old age wearing incontinence knickers isn't the way to go....

Anyway, back to toilets. Well, after that news from Mrs D about not being able to flush loo roll down the toilet in Cyprus I went into full status Red Alert mode about the sewerage system in Cyprus. Oh my God, I thought, what if it the loos are so primitive in Cyprus that they are just a hole in the ground - like they have in France??

Okay, I haven't actually been to France. But according to my informers in the French provinces it can be a little "basic." (So no plans to go to France next year- obviously.) Anyway, "basic" is not good for me; I'm a high maintenance bathroom girl. I see a quality bathroom suite and not only do I feel relaxed and chilled I feel kinda .....

Umm.....yes....well back to toilets and Cyprus.

Well as you can imagine not having flown since 1973 I was a little bit nervous. However, it wasn't until our flight was called and we started to walk down the long corridor to our departure gate that I began to feel really apprehensive. My heart started to beat a little bit faster and I felt excited and frightened at the same time. I guess I've not done too many daring things in my rather ordinary life and, for most of you, I know flying is probably very mundane but for me it was whole new experience. The sensations were a bit similar to the feeling I used to get before taking exams -scary but irresistible.

I think, very possibly, I was the only one giggling (almost hysterically!) as we took off and gained altitude. Master Sam didn't seem too bothered, Master Jacob looked a little tearful (being a sensitive little soul) and Master Ben ( a super cool dude) just had that expression that said;

"Yeah, right. So what? When we gonna get engine failure so I can learn to sky dive?"

Well eventually, after we settled down at cruising altitude and I'd recovered my composure, I began to think about the really important issues. Like;

Where are the toilets?

Is the one at the front nearer than the one at the rear?

Will there be loo roll?

Will it flush?

Should I go before we land or try and hold it and risk wetting my knickers at customs?

Did I remember to put spare knickers in my hand luggage?

How many pairs?

Disposables??

Okay, the list could go on and on but after finally deciding I would break cover and make a dash to the loo another more important question popped into my mind...

How the hell does anyone "do it" in a plane loo???

Yes, you know what I mean; The Mile High Club.

Cos what I want to know is how the hell do you "do it" in one of those tiny loos they have on airplanes? And who would want to anyway? Because I just can't see the attraction of rumpy pumpy in a pokey little closet.

Well, not unless your name's Boris Becker.

Now correct me if I'm wrong - but is there anything attractive about the idea of cavorting in a cesspit with your nose pressed up a no smoking sign and your leg stuck down the u bend? I don't think so! Knowing my luck, if I tried it I'd probably end up with my knickers on my head and my arse stuck in the sink....

" Emergency, emergency. This is flight 101 from Gatwick to Pathos requesting an emergency landing at Frankfurt airport. We have a woman stuck in the sink and require immediate assistance."

"Confirm your altitude Flight 101."

" 29, 000 feet and losing altitude fast- the taps are on."

Yep, those loos are seriously small! Surely, surely, only midgets can make out in them? I guess, just for once, Tom Cruise has an advantage over Pierce Brosnan cos I reckon even I met Pierce with his flies undone on board a 747 I'd have second thoughts about dropping my knickers for him.

I would drop them for Tom though -but only if he needed a parachute.

I'm a generous gal in times of crisis.

Anyway, logic says you'd have to be truly overwhelmed with desire (or lacking in a sense of smell) to indulge in such activity.

You know - I'm thinking the airlines are missing a trick -since they appear to sell virtually everything on board a plane including raffle tickets, sandwiches, earphones, duty free and even train tickets why don't they just sell tickets for The House of Horrors and give everyone a guided tour of the loos? I mean everyone likes a good fright don't they? In fact they could recreate an airplane loo and stick in The London Dungeons. Now there's a money making idea.....

Oh well, this blog has gone on to long. And I haven't even mentioned the loos at Pathos airport!
Another day perhaps...

In the meantime, here's the comedian Lee Evans who also has something to say about on board loos. Enjoy!

The View From My Driveway.....

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 12:11:00 +0000

Yes, I'm back from my holiday! Now before I get started on my encounters with the Cypriot sewerage system, precarious roads, ear infections, turbulence and other matters relating to my travels I need to get something out of the way.

This......

Yes, you've guessed it. Another bloody Nissan Micra (Sport edition). Parked opposite my driveway.

And yes, it did provide good sport. But probably not the kind the owner was envisioning.

Now let's be truthful if you owned a Nissan Micra, or indeed any car, would you park it opposite my driveway?

Personally, I blame Pierce Brosnan. If he didn't keep sending me those piccys of him in his tux and those steamy emails I would never lose my concentration. The problem is as I'm reversing I get this picture in my head of Pierce's butt and then WHAM, BAM there is sudden collision.

Unfortunately, it's not the one I'm imagining.......

Ah well it's been a hell of an 18 months. About everything that could have gone wrong has gone wrong and I've gone from an unblemished driving record to an insurer's nightmare.

But you know I try to keep going. I really do. So after I beat the living daylights out of my neighbours bin, ran up and down the road with fury, ranted, cursed, sobbed and drove up my driveway with such fury I left tyre burns I decided there was only one thing I could do.....

Get reversing sensors.

I'm just hoping that this last episode will be last in a long cycle of gloomy incidents that have plagued me for the last 2 years.

Cos you know, even clowns cry.

Postscript

Yeah, okay that was some real self pitying stuff. I better get my act together - otherwise I'll never get that contract with L'oreal. Right, where's the vino.......

Let's get writing!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 05:51:00 +0000

I know many of you wouldn't call yourselves official "writers" but I also know that amongst my regular readers there are some hugely talented "unofficial" writers. So I just wanted to let you know about a few writing competitions that may inspire you to put pen to paper!

The first is my own little competition over at the The View From Here. I hope you read my review of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame Smith ( see my link bar) in which I discussed the latest phenomenon of Monster Mash. Now it's your opportunity to write some mash too! So why not pop over to The View and see the details. The Closing date is the 23rd September and I'm looking for a really silly piece of writing (about 500 words) to take the prizes. Nothing would please me more than one of my blogging friends to win so please, please have a look!

Secondly, if you find the idea of writing comedy too hard Gary Davison has a flash fiction competition (250 words) coming up shortly on his site. There's a host of far more glamorous prizes to be won so keep a look out for it! (Again, links for Gary's blog are on my side bar.) 250 words isn't a lot to write but nevertheless it's tough trying to write a interesting but concise story; it really gets the brain cells ticking over ! I've only tried it once (see my dismal attempt at [D]isconnected [C]onsortium ) but practice makes perfect so I'll probably be giving it my best shot too!

Thirdly, there's a short story (7 -10,000 words) at Legend Press on the theme of a "Journey". This competition is part of the Legend Press Short Story Reinvented Series and the best of the entries will be published as a collection in the next issue of the series. How good is that? Too good an opportunity to miss. So get writing now!

See you all soon!

Shocking, Disturbing News!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 21:44:00 +0000

Oh my goodness, I have just had some deeply disturbing news! My good friend Mrs D, in whose villa we are staying in Cyprus, has sent me a highly informative document with all the relevant info we will need for our stay - from taxi firms, supermarkets and tourist locations to telephone numbers, doctors surgeries and, of course, of vital importance - the location of the iron. It is an extremely thorough document and obviously designed for a complete thicko such as my good self who hasn't the vaguest idea about what she should be doing. In fact I'm still wondering what size of suitcase to buy for myself... and we leave in a week's time. Oh dear!

Anyway, I was taking all of this in my stride until I read the following...

"Next to the toilets there are bins. It is not recommended that you flush the toilet paper down the toilet, this is common in Cyprus so please use the bins provided. There are several large bins at the start of the estate for all to use and they are usually emptied twice weekly. There are more bin liners of many sizes in the cupboard under the sink."

Ohhhhh my God! What am I to do? Has Mrs D forgotten that I have 3 sons who could compete with Zeus for the title of Toilet King?! And as for the good Mr T......Heaven help me! I shall be emptying the bins daily, perhaps hourly and forced to wear the nose peg, gas mask and decontamination suit that I normally save for emergency loose bowel situations.

Ohh woe, woe is me!

I sincerely hope these bins have been constructed on a par with a nuclear reactor otherwise there maybe a sudden population decline in Cyprus during our stay.

Right, I know it's late at night but I gotta go... I just need to checkout the cost of bulk ordering fragrant nappy sacks online. Hmm. Maybe I can just get them shipped straight to Cyprus?

Gez, a woman's work is never done.......

Music Monday; It's Magic!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 13:24:00 +0000

This last week has, I hope, marked a change in fortunes for my family as not only was my car parking fine rescinded but, more importantly, my elder brother got married! It was a warm, intimate wedding with only the closest of friends and family present which befitted a "second time around"wedding for both partners.

Some of you will remember that my elder brother's former wife died tragically last year. Subsequently, my brother assumed total responsibility for their daughter. While some relationships might have been stretched by the sudden arrival of an unexpected child 24 hours a day, it has been heartwarming to see how my brother's new partner welcomed his daughter in such sad and difficult circumstances. Their marriage now marks a new step for them as a family unit. Hopefully, it will be just the start of many future happy and healthy years together.

Now during the wedding reception there was some rather unusual music in the background. ( Well not the normal wedding sort anyway!) I suspect most people didn't notice due to the consumption of some rather large amounts of alcohol and the general lively conversation. However, I did! The first couple of tracks I recognised but thought no further of it and then a track came on and I realised my brother had been delving into his record collection. For confirmation, I turned around and mouthed "Did you put these together?" He nodded in affirmation and a smile passed between us of our shared musical tastes.

It's likely my brother and I share similar musical preferences because we are a little closer in age. There is only a 2 years age difference between us whereas there are 4 years between my sister and I and 4 years between myself and my younger brother. Over the years we've both listened to music as diverse as The Teardrop Explodes, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark and Ultravox. However, without a doubt, my brother's knowledge of music is far more extensive than mine and many of the bands I came across during my teens, who were not obvious pop sensations, I first heard thumping through the bedroom ceiling from my brother's room. Maybe I wasn't so keen on The Clash, The B52s and The Skids but I kinda liked Nils Lofgren, XTC and, of course, the group I'm playing today- Pilot.

This is a great song and you know what - that title seems rather appropriate for a wedding.

It's Magic......

Newsflash! (and other stuff.)

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 14:32:00 +0000

Well would you believe it, I actually had a response from the Car Parking company!

Now you may wonder why I sound so surprised. I'm not sure how it is with all you folks abroad in your respective countries but I'm pretty flabbergasted because I've become accustomed to not receiving responses from companies and indeed many other institutions in the UK. And as for customer service departments - there's more chance of my having a conversation with a purple 6 legged alien with 4 eyes than actually getting to talk to someone who knows their subject.

Anyway, the good news is that I've been absolved from my car parking ticket - without even producing my ticket! I've got to admit it was not the result I was expecting; I'm not used to things going my way. Maybe fortune has, at last, begun to shine on me! I suspect the administrators decided to take pity on me because of the cruel circumstances of my fine and my being such a poor downtrodden, overworked, lonely housewife.... with only one leg....

Hmm.....wait a minute. Maybe they thought I was one those nutters who write to newspapers and radio stations and rant about moral injustices? Perhaps they thought I might bomb their offices, go on a starvation diet or even handcuff myself to one of their parking meters in order to bring attention to their hideous plot to milk the middle classes of all their hard earned cash?

Hmm..... could be....

Not that I would ever, ever do such a thing. Well...not whilst I've got a blog anyway.

Besides those pink fluffy handcuffs would look far too silly. And the starvation diet.... well it's a nice idea but um (cough, cough)...not very likely. Although, a bomb I could manage. Easy. I can work wonders with a milk bottle and some Stilton cheese you know.

Oh well it's 3.30 am and I'm having another bout of insomnia so I might as well continue. Well you'd hardly know it was summer here due to the appalling weather we've had lately. Nevertheless I've been out and about with the boys. In between parking fines and car crashes we've spent the last 3 weeks at various tennis tournaments and young Ben is on top form having, in the last 2 weeks, picked up 4 tournament wins to add to a whole host he has already won this year. Last year it was Master Jacob's turn to pick up the medals but here they are pictured together just after picking up wins in both their age groups at a tournament earlier in the year.

Gez. What a pair of rascals! Although I don't know what's happened to Master Benedict's ears in that photo. Looks like I need to get the sellotape out. However, I've got to admit that's a better photo than some of the ones I took on our trip to Wimbledon earlier in the year:

Okay, I'm not saying I've got a problem taking action shots but well after about 500 shots I thought maybe I' better do some stills instead. Anyway, wanna take a guess whose legs they are?

Well here's the owner:

Elena Dementieva.

And yep those legs are spectacular up close. Beat Venus Williams' anyday. Just a little more definition. This was her cruising to an easy semi final win over somebody (can't remember now - sorry!)... whose legs weren't quite so impressive.

Not that I'm jealous of those legs. But nobody, and I mean nobody, mention them again. Okay?

(And get that comment out of your head Gary Davison. Cos I said NO!)

Here's one of my favourite piccys from Wimbledon:

This is the Austrian Oliver Marach taking up what I call the "Get out the ****** way or the ball's gonna hit you on the head" position. I'm sure there's a more technical description but you know I don't actually know it. Maybe just "crouching"? Gez, I shall have to do some investigation (but not at 4 in the morning) in due course. Now this isn't a position you see much in junior tennis - unless you play doubles with Master Ben who has one mean serve. Boy, can he blast 'em down. Believe me, his doubles partner stays well out the way - just in case Master Ben delivers the odd stray ball. Regretfully, I must report Master Ben has quite a developed sense of humor for an 8 year old. In fact, he frequently "dabbles" with the opposition. He lets them win a few points, see a spark of possible victory light in their eyes.... and well then he pulls out what Master Jacob refers to as "The Emergency Serve" and then annihilates them. I mean they can't even get a racket to it!

Ho, ho, ho.

I shouldn't laugh should I?! But oh well... some of those tennis mums are so darn pushy sometimes I can't but help have a silent giggle........

Naturally, young Master Ben inherits his serve from moi which is one of the strengths of my own game. Unfortunately, rather more of my balls tend to go astray. No reason really - I just like hitting Mrs P (Housewife Extraordinaire in Training) on the back of the head. I keep telling her to take up the "crouching" position but she's far too dignified.

I just hope she doesn't sue me for brain damage in due course.

Oh... I've just written a book review for Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame- Smith over at The View From Here. If you want to know about the latest literary craze of Monster Mash pop over and take a look and discover what I think about zombies let loose in Regency England. Hmm...time to hit the sack I think.

See you soon!

Music Monday; Say What You Want!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 10:21:00 +0000

One of the best things about blogging is having the freedom to express yourself, to Say What You Want. Sometimes it really helps the healing process to get things off your chest.

So it's time for me to say what I want. Loudly.

Why, O Why did I have to get to get a ****** puncture! Why, why, why????

(Screams akin to a woman just about to have all the blood sucked out of her by Tony Blair reverberate across the Home Counties....... )

Why, why, why???? Someone please tell me the answer!

And no - the story doesn't end there. Unfortunately.

Why, why, why did I have to hit the kerb?? And no, not just a normal itsy bitsy kerb but one of those stupidly high ones outside multi carparks which are strategically placed for maximum denting?

(Yep, you know what that means.)

Isn't it bad enough that people leave their cars (and gates) parked where they shouldn't? And what about those selfish people who can't pull out at junctions without having a man waving a red flag in front of them? It shouldn't be allowed! And now, not only do have to put up with these appalling inconsiderate persons, I have to be attacked by a vicious 2 inch nail and a badly constructed concrete kerb with a personality problem.

I tell you it just isn't fair. I swear to God I am doomed to walk this earth in the afterlife as a ghost strapped in a hideously malformed Ford Cmax.

Right, I feel (marginally) better now. Although that could also be on account of the large bottle of whiskey on my desk.

Anyway, here's someone else who says what she wants, and a lot better than I do.

Fab. Want to hear some more Texas?

Thanks Sharleen . Things can only get better. Well maybe.

So long as I start walking everywhere.

A Letter of Complaint

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 15:51:00 +0000

Vinci Park Services UK Ltd,
Milton Keynes Partnership Parking Office
PO BOX 597
Northampton
NN4 7XN

Dear Sirs,

Ref CPN EG10570492

Please note the following;

• Cost of 4 cinema tickets; £18.00
• Cost of soft drinks and popcorn £ 12.00
• Cost of car parking £ 4.50

• Cost of gust of wind flipping over car parking ticket (supplied with no adhesive) £ 30.00

Total cost of outing (excluding petrol and stress) £64.50

Morals of this outing;

• Never expect an employee of Vinci Park UK Ltd Services to follow his heart or his morals.

• Always expect the worst from your fellow human and you will not be disappointed.

• When parking using the facilities of Milton Keynes Partnership always supply your own Sellotape, glue or adhesive.

• Always pray to God for calm weather.

• Remember to carry your blood pressure tablets and/or paracetamol with you at all times.

Finally; remember that everyone is always guilty unless proven otherwise – except in a court of law.

Yours with deepest affection,

Jane Turley

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On a cold blustery day during an English summer I, Jane Turley, formerly a polite, patient, law abiding middle class woman finally blew my top. In doing so, the transformation was complete.

I became Victor Meldrew.

Social History; Life in the Countryside during WWII

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 06:57:00 +0000

About 4 years ago, young Jacob was sent home with a worksheet from which he was to select a homework project to do over the holidays. Now generally I'm inclined to think these projects are a complete nightmare and should be retitled "Parent's Homework" - or even better "Parent's Headache" because it's usually mum or dad who ends up building some hideous monstrosity out of paper mache and tinfoil.

However, on this particular occasion, one of the challenges was to interview an elderly person about their childhood during World War II. Now a project that required no glue or paint was quite revolutionary and rather appealing to a weary mum like myself so as my mother was coming to stay for a few days I decided to ask her to tell a few stories about her youth into an old cassette recorder. (I should point out that I don't think mum was that keen on being described as "elderly" but nevertheless after a glass of wine she didn't put up too much resistance.)

Well as it happens Master Jacob couldn't speak loud enough so I took over (see I told you it was my homework!) and eventually after lots of umming and ahhing and a lot of giggles my mum and I succeeded in producing a recording of truly amateurish proportions. Yep, I mean really, really bad. I think it would be safe to say I haven't got a future as a radio presenter. Oh well! However, as it turned out, the tape was the only one sent into school (the other mums sticking to the tried and tested formulas) and proved a big hit with the school children who loved some of my mum's descriptions, particularly about food.

Well after much fiddling about (and I mean so much so that I've had to resort to alcohol to calm my nerves) I've eventually managed to transfer the tape, edit some of the long pauses and produce something I hope will be of interest to social historians. I've also uploaded it to an archive site where I hope it will stay as a little permanent record of life during The War. I'm afraid, at best, it's still a pretty amateurish recording - but hey, I gave it my best shot!

So here it is. A little piece of history. I hope you can play it, although if you can't it's possible you maybe able to do so by uploading Quick Time media player.

Finally, as I'm sure some of you will remember, my mother died unexpectedly last year so I guess this little keepsake has become something really rather special - and I have to admit that, just for once, I'm glad I did my homework.

NB; The recording is approximately 13 minutes long.

Drunken Ramblings

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 19:29:00 +0000

Well I should be doing some proper writing for The View from Here this evening while the gentlemen of the house are watching Barcelona v Tottenham (which of course means absolute joy for a man and absolute boredom for a woman.)

Why oh why does the football season have to last soooo000000 long? It is bad enough having to endure 22 grown men kicking a ball around a field all year but us ladies also have to put up with Gary Linekar masquerading as a TV presenter and making insightful comments like "That was a good pass" or " He saved that well." Excellent. Truly excellent.

Hmm... I seem to remember Gary saying years ago that he didn't do a lot of headers because of the potential damage to the brain. Now I know why.... when you've only got a few brain cells it's a good idea to preserve them. Oh well at least he's pleasant to look at.

Hmm... well anyway I think Gary said that. On the other hand maybe he didn't.

Perhaps I should point out that I've consumed some rather nice alcohol and some chocolate this evening. This means I am not responsible for spelling mistakes, grammatical errors or indeed anything that maybe considered vaguely slanderous.

Hmm... maybe I should say that the lovely Gary is actually extremely knowledgeable about balls, even though he no longer plays with them. Indeed, he also talks balls very well. Like most men. (Except, of course, the discerning male readers of this site who are obviously extremely clever, witty, good looking and super cool dudes)

Right, where was I on this drunken ramble?

Um.... well what do you think of my new page design? Do you like my legs? Do you know, it took me absolutely ages to find those shoes and photograph my legs at that angle.

The things I suffer for my art. Ho hum. In fact, I once also suffered a boyfriend who modelled himself on Bryan Ferry... but God is that a loooong story. All I can say is that I hope he's graduated to Head "n" Shoulders now. Of course, I wasn't really suffering for art then - I was just suffering. That's what happens when your fella grows a moustache, buys a dirty raincoat and mimes Slave to Love in the mirror.

Of course then I married the Good Mr T. Little did I know that he would turn out to model himself on Mrs Beeton.

Still, you can't win 'em all. Although once would be good. Just one big win on the lottery. That's all I'm asking! I'm not greedy; just one teensy weensy win of about 10 million bucks would do. I mean that's not asking much is it? And I promise to give loads away to charity. In fact I'd probably set up my own charity for deprived housewives. Maybe I could sell condiments like Paul Newman? Mrs T's Mayo has a nice ring to it. Although, come to think of it, Mrs T's Tantalizing Truffles has an even better ring to it. Maybe I could become a charitable chocolatier and go around dispensing chocolate to the poor and needy?

Gez, that wine's taking effect. Still, when I say I've got a headache at least it'll be genuine; I'm just absolutely no good at lying. In fact when Mr T noticed the green paint on the back of my car do you think I lied? Do you think I told him someone reversed into me or that my car had been attacked by a horde of marauding 3 year olds wielding green wax crayons? No, no, no! I did what any sensible woman does.

I feigned deafness.

And when the question was repeated I put on that look that says " I have no idea what you are talking about" and diverted the subject onto a male topic. Football.

Excellent subversive tactics; as you can see I neither confirmed or denied that my car was in an altercation with an abysmally parked green gate. Anyway, some people are so selfish leaving their gates hanging around just where they like. There ought to be a law against it.

Right, time to crash out.

And no one split on me about the boyfriend thing. Ta. I don't want to get in trouble.

Ps No one mention the gate thing either.

Music Monday; Seasons in the Sun

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Turley) — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 10:41:00 +0000

So far on Music Mondays, I've always played songs that have brought back happy memories or ones which generally make me feel upbeat. But if you remember from my first Music Monday post I thought my participation in MM would also be an interesting opportunity for me to look back over my life whilst remembering some of the music which has accompanied me along the way. That's why today I thought I'd play a song that I dislike - well perhaps "dislike" is too strong a word - but one which has always made me feel uncomfortable, if not sad. The song is question is Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks.

Seasons in the Sun was a world wide hit in 1974. In the UK it was no 1 in the pop charts for 4 weeks in April of that same year. It's a melancholic song in which a dying man says goodbye to his family and friends; an usual theme for a successful "pop" record. The original music and lyrics were actually written by Jacques Brel (1929 - 1978) a Belgian singer-songwriter, actor and director whose own recordings have sold over 25 million but whose songs have also been covered by artists as diverse as Marc Almond, Westlife, Nirvana and Shirley Bassey. However, in many of these recordings the translators/artists have put their own spin upon the songs. This is very much the case with Seasons in the Sun where Terry Jacks substituted a verse about infidelity for, perhaps, one with even more poignancy.

The original verse by Jacques Brel;

Good-bye, my wife, I loved you well
Good-bye, my wife, I loved you well, you know,
But I'm taking the train for the Good Lord,
I'm taking the train before yours
But you take whatever train you can;
Goodbye, my wife, I'm going to die,
It's hard to die in springtime, you know,
But I'm leaving for the flowers with my eyes closed, my wife,
Because I closed them so often,
I know you will take care of my soul.

The Terry Jacks version;

Goodbye, Michelle, my little one,
You gave me love and helped me find the sun,
And every time that I was down
You would always come around
And get my feet back on the ground;
Goodbye, Michelle, it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky,
Now that the spring is in the air,
Whiff of flowers ev'rywhere,
I wish that we could both be there!

As you can see, the lyrics have some strong emotional elements. I was a still a young child when the song was released so perhaps it's surprising that I remember it so well. However, the combination of the soulful lyrics and simplistic music seemed very vivid at the time. They struck a chord with me; one which I found particularly hard to deal with.

The reason for this was my first real exposure to death. My grandmother, who I'd adored, had died in the September of the previous year. It had come as a huge, profound shock to me. Earlier, in the spring of 1973, we'd gone on a wonderful vacation together. It had been incredibly exciting and even though I knew my grandmother had been ill in following months, I thought there would be many more wonderful family holidays. I had no idea she was going to die. Like the innocent child I was, I thought she was going to get better.

So when my father gathered us around the kitchen table, cream buns at the ready, and told us she had died I was absolutely floored. It took me weeks, months, maybe even years, to get over her death. Sometimes I would weep into my pillow at night without anyone knowing. My sadness at her loss was compounded by the fact that I never had the opportunity to say goodbye to her and tell her I loved her. So, as you can imagine, when Seasons in the Sun came out in the spring of 1974 it was almost unbearable for me to listen to and even now, 35 years on, the song still has the power to stir those early, painful, childhood memories.

It is difficult enough dealing with death as an adult but my own childhood experiences have led me to believe that it is essential to prepare children for what awaits them by helping them to understand death and the process of dying. Not only how it might affect them individually, but as part of a family and as part of the wider world. How we are all part of that huge Circle of Life.

With my own children I have talked openly about death, not the unpleasant intimate details which would be too much for little minds, but about illness, ageing and, inevitably, the concept of life after death. I believe it helped to put the loss of 3 of their grandparents last year into perspective and has enabled them to remember them with joy and not with sadness. I hope too that when my time comes, they'll be able to do the same for me.

Well here's Seasons in the Sun. And if you've recently been bereaved you have my sincerest condolences but instead of listening to Terry Jacks I suggest you listen to Kool and the Gang and remember to Celebrate The Good Times.