The One With By George!

Right, I can't dress this up as anything other than shameless self promotion.

I've launched a new website for my business, so here it is

By George!

It's been a long time in the planning and preparation but now it's out there. 

I feel like I do when I've written anything and I show it to someone for the first time; nervous, excited, apprehensive and like I'm giving a part of myself away. 

This is how I am every time I write a blog on here. You hope people will like it, whether they agree with the views or points I'm making or not, I just want them to respect what I've said and how I've said it. Maybe that's why bloggers check their stats so much? We're searching for approval and what do numbers make? Approval! 

Either that or spam!

But with the website I feel I've given a whole massive part of me out to the world. The world wide web no less. I'm on the net. You can Google me. Blimey I suppose I'd better think about Google rankings now too. 

Because this is a serious website. It's not like on here, where occasionally I talk about something in the news, but mostly I witter on about toddler tantrums, being locked out of my house by my son or random people called Alan phoning me up, trying to make me claim PPI back I never bought in the first place.

This is work. I've got to get clients from this. I've got to keep clients from this. I've got to impress people and sound like I know what I'm doing!

You know me. I like to bugger about. This is going to be a tall order! 

I know I'm a writer and apparently the pen is mightier than the sword but, lets face it, it can't perform miracles...

So I hope you enjoy the website and thanks in advance for visiting. 

The One With Thatcher and the Top 40

On Monday lunchtime, as soon as the news broke of Mrs Thatcher's death, I text my husband and I simply put...

"Ding Dong the Witch is Dead"

He knew exactly who and what I meant.

I don't intend for this to be offensive, it was after all a private conversation between myself and my husband, but I transcribe it here, not to force our political views on you, the nature of which from the text I'm sure you can guess, but more to highlight the use of the phrase. 

A phrase which has dominated the news this week. 

I would venture to say that the only thing I think we would all agree with, whatever side of the political fence you sit on, is that Mrs Thatcher was divisive. After the week of news and social media I've seen it would seem she is as divisive in death as she was in life! 

Which brings me to "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead". 

The 51 second track from The Wizard of Oz has been downloaded all week since Mrs Thatcher's death and is set to be number 3 this afternoon in the charts. In reaction to this, pro Thatcher supports have been downloading an early 80's punk song called "I'm In Love with Margaret Thatcher" which is also due to chart. 

I have listened to the Top 40 countdown on a Sunday night since before Mrs Thatcher came to power and I will continue to listen long after she's dead. 

Apart from tonight!

Because tonight the BBC have been put in an impossible position and have decided to play a 5 second clip of Dong Dong the Witch is Dead within a news item to explain why the track has been downloaded. A compromise certainly, and in the circumstances all they could probably do to maintain freedom of speech whilst balancing issues of decency and taste, but do we really want.... 

"And now in at number three it's a new entry for ... the news".

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead contains no swearing, racial, homophobic or sexual references. It's from a feel good musical that is over 70 years old. Banning it couldn't be justified because the song itself isn't offensive. However the reason why it has been downloaded has been deemed offensive. Offence is as subjective as politics, it all depends on your point of view.

And herein lies my problem. Mass downloading of a song, any song, to cause offence is manipulation of the charts. It corrupts the very core of what the charts are intended to reflect. 

So to not put to fine a point on it I wish people would stop buggering about with the Top 40 to score political points off each other. The Top 40 is part of radio history and heritage. It's supposed to reflect what people are listening to in their homes and cars and what they are dancing to in pubs and clubs. It is not there for people to download a track they'll probably never listen to just to make a political point. 

As a kid I remember listening to the Top 40 in the bath, excited by each track as we got ever closer to the number 1 song. Back then I knew all the bands and all the words to all the songs. I still listen now while I'm cooking dinner. I barely know any of the groups and I often moan I can't hear the words but that's just my age and grumpiness. I still love the nature of the countdown, and hearing new music and what's number 1, whether I like it or not, is still as vital to me now as it was to the little girl, having her hair washed before another school week started, over 30 years ago. 

The charts have always contained protest and political songs written specifically for that purpose and using music to spread a message is nothing new but this download has nothing to do with music. This is just about publicity. 

Neither song, for the reasons they are being downloaded, have any place in the charts if that's the only reason they are there. 

A friend of mine on Twitter said to me "But it's only music it doesn't matter". But to me it does matter. It matters because it's part of my childhood, my youth and my culture being highjacked for a "cause", and I use the term loosely, that has no business being in the Top 40. And where will it end? Does including downloads now give rise to using the charts as a way of pushing social and political propaganda? After all we can find hidden meanings in any song title or lyrics if we look hard enough and have a social media campaign to strengthen and back it up.

Perhaps we should settle the next general election by download and whoever's song comes the highest wins. If this weeks antics are anything to go by it would be more popular that actually voting and more young people would probably do it. The irony is it's free to vote whereas downloading these tracks has cost each person 79p a time! 

I want music in the charts, good music, loud music, terrible music, rock music, rap music, indie bands, girl groups, boy bands and punk, I want ballads, soul, R&B, grungy guitars and yes I want protests song but not random songs picked just to protest.

So tonight I won't be listening because I want the glory hunters and the opportunists to leave the Top 40 alone please, before its very nature and purpose gets ruined forever. 

The One With The Hospital, The Hot Doctor and the Swift Kick

As I mentioned in my previous blog about my Grandad's funeral, the boy has been in hospital.

In fact the boy has been in hospital twice. Once for 7 days while they tried to control the swelling in the lymph gland in his neck with antibiotics then, after a week at home, back for 5 more days while they did a short operation to drain the fluid from the gland, after it became clear that the drugs weren't going to be enough.

Hospitals aren't a natural environment for me. I'm scared stiff of people being sick, as I've mentioned before, so I am in turns baffled, grateful and admiring of people who choose to spend their working lives caring for the poorly. I couldn't do it, but thank goodness for those who do.

You hear horror stories about the NHS. I heard one only the other day about a good friend that frightened the life out of me, but the staff on the paediatric ward were amazing and the ear, nose and throat doctor who treated the case was... well... how shall I put it... easy on the eye. Well he was easy on my eyes anyway.And those of Nanny P who also confessed that he was "very nice indeed".

Don't judge us. We're only flesh and blood.

So on the day the boy was released from hospital after his operation, said Hot Doc (for that shall be his blog name- I'm shallow I know) had to exam the boys neck and throat area where the swelling had been.

"Hold him tight up against you" he advised me "With his back towards you, and put your hand on his forehead so you are holding his head back."

I duly obliged. Now as many of you know I'm a rather well endowed lady in the bosom department and I was wearing a wrap around top. I wouldn't say the boys were out of the barracks but they may have been just peeking over the top a bit!

I was sitting down and in order to check the boys throat Hot Doc had to look downwards as he stood over us. Not only did he get an eyeful but he had no option, with the boy jammed up against me jubblies,but to get a hand full as well. OK, more of a brush past the bad boys but it didn't stop me blushing like a schoolgirl on a first date.

To his credit he was extremely professional. When he left Nanny P turned to me and said

"You're embarrassed. You never get embarrassed."

She was right. I was. I must be losing it.

Then last Friday we had to return to the hospital for the boy to have a check up and make sure everything was healing nicely two weeks on from the op. Who should we get for our appointment but the Hot Doc.

He recognised us straight away. At this point I will say that was more to do with the boy and his reputation for screaming the moment a doctor or nurse came within 3 feet of him and not because of my charms.

The results of the swab were back and nothing nasty was found in the pus drained from the abscess. It was completely sterile and nothing to worry about, just a result of severe tonsillitis and nothing more sinister. What a relief. So Hot Doc just needed to have a feel of the neck, make sure the wound was healing OK and look down the boys throat to check the tonsils were now clear.

"You hold him again Mum, right up against you. Hold his arms down with one hand and his head back with the other."

I knew the drill. I was more modestly dressed that day with a high neck jumper on.. well it was a cold day... and I didn't know we were seeing Hot Doc again did I!

The boy struggled. Having one of those lollipop stick things down your throat is never popular, with anyone, but let alone the boy. Hot Doc leaned in to try and look into his mouth. Suddenly I realised that while I had the boys arms and head no one was covering the legs....

Too late!

The boy lashed out with alarming speed and accuracy. Hot Doc got a swift kick in the nadgers for his trouble.

If you thought I was embarrassed last time I was mortified now. For a brief second I considered offering to rub it better but even I thought better of it.

"Got his own back there for the scar on his neck didn't he" Hot Doc winced through a professional smile.

Either that or revenge for you feeling up his Mum's boobs....

It's a tough call.

And it's tougher in the NHS than we ever imagined.... especially when they have to treat the boy!

The One With The Poem For My Grandad

Sorry for the lack of blogs after my new year pledge to post more often.

It has, as we say in Suffolk, been a 'rum old time'!

For anyone who followers me on Facebook and Twitter who'll know that the boy has been in hospital with complications with tonsillitis causing an enlarged lymph gland and had to have an operation to drain the fluid from the nodes. He was in for 7 days, then home for a week, then back for a further 5 days. He is much better now and that saga is a blog for another time, but it was while he was at home, in between hospital stays, he celebrated his 3rd birthday.

And on the morning of the boys 3rd birthday my grandad died.

Grandad was my Mum's dad and my last surviving grandparent. He was 86 and had been in poor health for the last few years. But it was still very sudden, unexpected and bitter sweet on the boys birthday. He died peacefully in his sleep and that is all any of us can really ever ask for isn't it? I know it's the end he would've liked.

During his national service he was a chef in the Royal Marines and was posted down in Kent where he met my Nana. In tribute, at the funeral, we walked out to 'A Life On the Ocean Wave' as it's the official anthem of that regiment. Without the Royal Marines my Mum, Uncle, myself and the boy wouldn't be here. It was a rousing, jolly chorus. It made me smile.

I got to thinking about what I'd like to be played at my funeral, which I know is morbid but you can't help it can you. Something jolly. Something funny. Something a bit showbiz. Cabaret? Make 'Em Laugh? Bring Me Sunshine? The Theme from The Good Life? I want something that will have people tittering rather than crying.

I also got to thinking about how lucky I have been to have had 3 out of my 4 grandparents alive for a good proportion of my life so far, and how my boy had a Great Grandfather for the first 3 years of his. I also thought about how I love watching the boy with Nanny P & Grandad Atu. Their relationship is so precious and loving. The joy they all get out of spending time together, playing and laughing, is beyond measure.

So for Grandad's funeral I thought back to my childhood and the Saturday afternoons and Sunday teatimes we'd all spend together. Then I wrote the poem below and read it at the funeral. I didn't even get to mention the games of snooker on my Uncles snooker table he bought from my Mum's club book, or battenburg cake and Bullseye, or how much Grandad loved my wedding day, which he generously helped to pay for, and for ages afterwards said to me "That was a good day out girl. I haven't had a day out like that for years!"

So here are the things I remember about my Grandad. His garden, his veggies, darts, cards and homemade Suffolk rusks.

Rest in Peace Grandad. I'll raise a glass of malt to you every year the boy gets older.

Remembering

I remember as a little girl, in the garden picking peas,

Both of us together crouched down upon our knees

I'd eat more than I picked and you always used to say,

" Save some for our dinner" but I knew it was ok.

You grew radishes and onions and runners on a vine.

In the greenhouse were tomatoes . Your new potatoes were divine.

How everyone called you Charlie, but Oscar was your name

And how you laughed when I got a cat, and his name was just the same.

On Saturday, in the scullery, standing on a chair,

You taught me darts and round the clock and why you must play fair.

You liked a drop of whisky, and I used to sneak a nip.

You'd say it was our secret, but now I've let it slip.

And you liked a litle flutter on the horses, just for fun.

You'd put 10p on, just for me, and sometimes I even won.

We'd get a cake from the Newstead van, but you prefered home made.

So for Sunday tea you'd make rusks with the table neatly laid.

And after tea, a game of cards, Nine Card Brag was your choice.

We'd play for pennies and laugh so loud you'd almost lose your voice.

You tried to make me eat Pheasant, but I used to wince and say,

"I don't like it Grandad, it's too strong, please take it away".

And when I had your great grandson, you were proud and all a glow,

But you teased and said "You know you should have done that ten years ago"

A Dad, a Grandad and a Great Grandad, your love was strong and true,

These are the things I remember from the time I spent with you.

The One with the Whaleshark

Happy New Year!

Is your house choc full of plastic? Or is it just me? 

The tree is down, the wrapping has been recycled and Oscar has jumped in and out of every box so now we're just left with all the toys!

Don't get me wrong I love a toy and I have no objection to great chunks of brightly coloured plastic, but I do rather seem to be swimming in them. Swimming being the operative word as the boy has developed a under sea creature obsession fuelled by the Octonauts. 

For those of you uninitiated in the Octonauts they are a band of creatures who "Explore! Rescue! and Protect!| under the sea in a giant octopus shaped craft the Octopod!

The Octopod

This is commanded by their estimable leader Captain Barnacles, who rumour has it, is based on the suave actor David Niven, and possesses incredible polar bear strength.

The dashing Captain Barnacles

What the hell a polar bear is doing 20,000 leagues under the sea with a rabbit, dog, cat, octopus, penguin, sea otter and a half vegetable half tuna looking thing that trills and makes fish biscuits all day long, is anyone's guess. 

But hey the boy seems to love it. And more to the point so do I!

Captain Barnacles is a bit of a dish and I'm learning loads about the sea.

Enter.. The Whaleshark.

It's a Whaleshark Mummy!

The whaleshark has caused an obsession in the boy the like of which we haven't seen since his fire engine "Nanu" stage! It's just another episode of the Octonauts like any other but something about Dashi the Australian photographer dog thinking a Whaleshark's mouth is a cave and then getting swallowed by the beast has fired his little imagination (seriously I know it sounds made up but check it out on You-Tube).

Since he watched it all we've heard about is the whaleshark! 

"It's a whaleshark!" goes up the cry as anything vaguely resembling a whale or a shark is thrust at you with alarming speed including his purple dolphin bath toy and for a long time the fake fish from his basket of play food. There's only so many times you can say "Yes darling it is" before you lose the will to live. 


Then his godmother Clementine thankfully bought him the item pictured above for Christmas. Now he really does have a whaleshark. A proper one. A whaleshark isn't actually a whale, it's the biggest fish in the sea, as big as a school bus and it doesn't use it's teeth for biting, oh no, it's a filter feeder, that's why Dashi, Captain Barnacles and his right had cat Kwazi (the former pirate) all survived being in his stomach.

Kwazi in the mini Gup A - shiver me whiskers!

Can you tell I've read the book and seen this episode a hundred million times?

I'm sure it's just another phase but I quite like this one. Apart from nearly having my eye poked out from a half chewed fin several times a day, as the boy rushes at my with unbounded enthusiasm pretending to be the aforementioned whaleshark, it's very educational and fun.

I can't however decide if I like how he's embraced learning about the sea and the Octonauts ethos to help any sea creature who is sick or in trouble, or to be worried that he's basically obsessed with one creature essentially swallowing another three up!

I'll try and focus on the former but hey, he's a boy, I fear it's the later!

But in the meantime - all together now - Sound the Octo - Alert!

The Octo- Alert flanked by turtle and crab - yet more plastic. 

The One With the Good Food Show

With less than a week to go before Christmas day I don't know about you but my mind turns to food.

To be fair it doesn't take much for my mind to turn to food, so when I had a day out with Lemon Cake Lady at The Good Food Show I was in heaven.

The Good Food Show at Olympia is an annual event and as it's in November it falls quite close to Lemon Cake Lady's birthday so we treated ourselves to a day out. We'd not been for a couple of years as we'd both been busy having babies so this year was a real bonus before Lemon Cake Boy 2 arrives in the new year.






It's a sheer riot of foodie delights. You can't move for cheese, meat, pickles, biscuits, beautiful cakes including wedding cakes, ideas where to go for afternoon tea in London and the most amazing meringues I've ever seen. 

Of course this year was the first year we'd been since we've both embraced social media and fancy, all singing, all dancing phones so it was picture taking, tweeting and Facebooking a go-go!













The other thing that attracted us to this particular day of the Good Food Show was the live demonstration of The Great British Bake Off.  Now we both love a bit of cake but, being ladies of a certain age, we both love a bit of Paul Hollywood more and we were more than a little excited at seeing him and the lovely Mary Berry in the flesh.

I am ashamed to say I was sitting on my hands for fear of rushing the stage and plunging them straight into him enriched dough and when Mary started to make something I turned to LCL and whispered

"I'm not taking this recipe in at all. She could be making a shit sandwich for I care I'm just watching him".


Sometimes I even shock myself but cake and piercing blue eyes are a heady mix! 

After watching the live demo on the stage we rushed clutching our How To Bake books by Mr Hollywood over to where they were being signed by the man himself. 

However, loads of other people, and by people I mean middle aged women, had the same idea and the queue snaked back and forth for quite some way. The security guards kept telling us that " From this point on you will not get your book signed. You're wasting your time" but we had a great view of Paul and Mary, as you can see from the photo, so we stayed and chanced our collective arms.



We were just about to play the LCL pregnancy card but as the consummative professionals they are, Paul and Mary smiled, chatted and signed the books with such efficiency that the security guards, dressed like the bouncers from Hale and Pace, had to eat their words and open the barrier for the rest of us to come through. 

You could literally smell the hormones in the room as a bunch of rampant women rushed towards the Hollywood brandishing books about buns, baps and crumpets! 


When the time came for us to get to the front of the queue, Lemon Cake Lady blushed like a school girl, couldn't look the "flirty flan maker" as she likes to call him directly in the eye and ended up chatting to Mary. I, usually never without a word or two, was suddenly lost for them as he signed my book apart from saying, 

"I really like The Great British Bake Off. It's really good."

Inspired! If Oscar Wilde were alive today he'd be quaking in his boots. 

Books inscribed we rushed off like two giggling teenagers, red of cheek and flushed all over. As LCL remarked she'd never queued up for an autograph for a boy band when she was a kid. What on earth was wrong with us? I even tweeted the picture of the actual inscription I was so overcome! 

Get a grip woman!

After all that excitement I needed a drink. As LCL is in her current condition I was drinking for two, so I hit the speciality gin stands where I chatted to a very pleasant lady from Brockmans gin who knew her stuff and explained the different intricacies of the blend of herbs and berries. This was the first time I've had gin and ginger ale but this gin really leans itself to that particular mixer more than tonic. They also had the most gothic stand of the whole exhibition and after behaving like a teenager earlier I was transported to my black eyeliner and tassel skirt sixth form days. 


Finally we visited Mr Huda's spice paste stand. I adore Indian food but getting take away can be expensive, not great for my weight nor my IBS! If I make it at home I can cut out the ghee, cream and control the spice.

I'd first met Mr Huda a month before at the Lincolnshire sausage festival where I bought a jar of Balti curry paste from him. Amazingly he recognised me and remembered some of pictures of my curries I'd tweeted.

I was so touched when he saw me and said hello and he's so passionate about his spice blends that you can't help but get enthused about Indian food when you chat to him.

His pastes are amazing, by far the best ones I've ever bought, and I got a Tikka Masala one at the show which I can't wait to try. 

After the show we headed a short walk to the Pizza Express on the corner for dinner. Yes amazingly after all those bites and samples we were hungry for a proper meal and we were also in need of a sit down. 

We'd both brought little individual cakes as presents for hubbies and boys, plus ourselves for the journey home.

They were packaged in cute little boxes and as we got all our parcels out on the train home, we checked them over. 

Here's what we found on the base of the box

After the amount I'd eaten that day and all the weight I must have put on my ever expanding backside and hips I couldn't have said it better myself....... 

The One with All The Phone Calls From Alan

Since having the boy and working for myself, I'm at home in the daytime a whole lot more than I ever used to be, and I seem to be constantly called by someone calling himself "Alan".

I don't personally believe "Alan" is actually called "Alan". I don't know what his name is but he sure as hell doesn't sound like an "Alan" to me!

In fact whenever he calls, and it's often several times a day, he never seems to have the same voice twice yet he's always called "Alan". So the other day when he called I thought I'd just ask him, you know friendly like, are you really, really, hand on heart actually called Alan.

Alan "Hello, my name is Alan"

Me "No it's not"

Alan " Just a quick call to ask who your gas and electricity suppliers are?"

Me "You don't sound like an Alan to me"

Alan "British Gas? EON? Southern" Which one is it please?"

Me "You're not really called Alan are you?"

Alan "Could you just tell me who supplies your gas and electricity?"

Me " Gladly"

Alan "Good"

Me "If you tell me what your real name is?"

Alan "My name is Alan"

Me " No it's not"

Alan "Please can you tell me who supplies your gas and electricity?"

Me " Look Alan. May I call you Alan? You're not really called Alan are you? Not really. And until the people you work for stop insulting my intelligence and yours by making you pretend to be in England and pretend that you watch Eastenders and pretend that your name is Alan then I'm going to pretend that no one supplies my gas and electricity. I'm going to pretend that I'm self sufficient and have a generator in my basement that coverts my animal dung into electricity for me, just like Tom and Barbara Good from "The Good Life". Do you watch "The Good Life" Alan or is it just wall to wall Eastenders in your house? 

Alan "We can give you a better deal on your gas and electricity if you just tell me who your supplier is?"

Me "What if it's you Alan?"

Alan " I don't know. I'm so confused."

Me " I'm not surprised you're confused going round pretending to be Alan all day when you're not. That must be very confusing for you. Goodbye" 

Click brrrr. I hung up. 

That's the way to get rid of the uninvited "Alan's" in your life. 

Next I can't wait for Alan's mate Alan to phone and ask if I've been mis-sold PPI. 

That'll be interesting.....