... we watched it again.
s
p
o
i
l
e
r
And this time around I realised, that in the heat of the action, I'd missed George punching Seth after weakening him with his star of David. Then saying, plaintively, it hurts. This is why George totally rocks. He is a wuss and a weed, and THEN he is magnificent - like when he gets Annie out of her stupor by bullying her to get up to help their friend. I loved that.
I knew he had hit someone with a chair, but it was later when they rescued Mitchell from Herrick. And what I absolutely LOVED watching this again was the way they were all so pathetic about the escape. They ran, they squealed, they panicked - even Mitchell. Spouse and I are big fans of vampire movies (quel surprise) - and normally in this kind of situation (think Hugh Jackman in Van Helsing, Welsey Snipes in Blade, Kate Beckinsale in Underworld), the heroes/heroines are cool, strong, and sexy as they fight their way out of trouble. The Being Human equivalent is three people dithering and thinking wtf do we do next. They were actually more human at that moment then in the entire series, and I think that's a great part of the appeal. We'd all like to be Andy McNab (as George so eloquently puts it), but come the real deal we'd all be gay ninjas too.
The other strand of the story, about Annie coming to terms with what Evil Owen did to her (and watching it again, I was truly struck at just how horrible he really is), was also brilliantly realised. The way he looked through her when he told Janey he couldn't see anything, and as she told George later, killed her all over again, was a brilliant take on the imbalance in a relationship where one person has too much power. Ultimately it makes you a monster, and Owen is far more of a monster then George and Mitchell are. I really like all that - like I say Being Human has a lot of fun playing with expectations and subverting them. Having been a little unsure at first about Lenora Critchlow's interpretation of Annie, I thought she was spot on in this episode - the way she crumpled under Owen's withering stare was wonderful. I felt her pain, and her subsequent triumph when she finally realised she could stand up to him, and though I am now really really worried that Owen is going to meet Herrick in the police station, I thought the gibbering insanity to which he was reduced was a fine and vengeful punishment.
Finally, before I bore the pants off any non BH watchers out there, anyone any thoughts about what Annie actually whispered to Owen? I seem to vaguely remember from the pilot Annie and Mitchell having a conversation about death being much worse then people imagine, and she was pretty adamant that George shouldn't look through the door. Mind you, Gilbert seemed quite cheerful about going through his, so whatever's on the other side, I'm sure I'm not going to be able to work it out. Though, naturally, I have my theories, which are either a) Annie is going to go through and still not be dead somehow b) she'll defer death a while to help Mitchell (or his need for her will keep her tied to the real world - I think they're falling in love don't you?) or c)the fact that it says 1 High Street above the door is deeply significant and she'll take them into a safe haven or something. (Mind you, I don't think they should be flat sharing anywhere other then that flat - in 20 years time I predict it will have cult status and people will be falling over themselves to buy it like they have been the Withnail house...)
I promised Marie a post about music and how I use it in the creative process, and it has struck me watching Being Human that the makers of the programme do exactly what I would want to do with music if I were making tv programmes and not writing books, so I will be talking about music, and if you can stand it, Being Human once more... but now I really do need to go and some work.
That is all.
Except, that I really really really love George.
And Toby Whitehouse utterly rocks.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
In which I blog ever so slightly incoherently about Being Human...
And squee probably a lot.
There will also be spoilers.
So....
if you don't like squeeing...
or spoilering...
or indeed incoherent ramblings about a TV show which features a vampire, a werewolf and a ghost...
or even more incomprehensibly you don't actually like programmes about a vampire, a werewolf and a ghost...
Then look away now.
Right.
Hoping anyone left is as much of a fangirl/boy of Being Human as I am turning into.
Now we can begin...
A few weeks ago, I posted about episode one of this series here. I really enjoyed the pilot and the first episode, and was slightly worried, as you are when you discover a new favourite that the rest of the series might not live up to its promise.
Happily Being Human not only has lived up to promise, but exceeded expectations. It really is very dark - people die/get hurt, we feel the characters' pain, from George's horrific werewolf transformations (though, less said about the werewolf the better), to Mitchell's horror at what he is/has done to Lauren, and Annie's grief about not only the loss of her fiance, but the loss of her life. But as well as being dark, Being Human is also immensely funny - George is frequently hilarious as he squeaks about the horror of being a monster, and Annie's PMT ghostly moments are also great. I loved George's line about for once being the person with the interesting news at the end of episode 3 when he bursts into announce he's finally managed to have sex, only to discover Annie in the throes of deep depression because she's discovered what we suspected all along, that her fiance, Owen, has in fact killed her.
Before last night's episode, my favourite episode had to be episode 3, featuring as it did an eighties ghost, who helped Annie come out of her shell, and was EXACTLY like any number of boys I knew in my student days in Liverpool. From the shiny shirt, to the northern accent, to the crap dancing to Sisters of Mercy/Lords of the New Church type music, to the obsession with Morrisey and left wing politics, he was perfect. And from starting out as an annoying little tit, by the end you were totally absorbed by his story, and the sweetness of discovering that he had only hung around because in his real life he had never experienced love till he met Annie. As frequently happens in Being Human, your expectations of what is to come next are subverted, and you are frequently left thinking, I didn't see THAT coming...
Which isn't to say I didn't enjoy George's coming to terms with being a werewolf, when he gets to meet Tully, the werewolf who created him, because I did (crap werewolf costumes notwithstanding). I love George, for being heroic in a geeky slightly camp way. I love the way his voice goes all squeaky when he is trying to be brave and heroic, and how tries anyway. Ah, Russell, little did I know when I watched The History Boys, I'd fall in love with you playing a werewolf...
Mitchell of course, is the properly sexy hero - as a vampire he has to be. He oozes charm and the slight edge of menace, but his ability to hold onto something of his humanity, and his constant battle not to give into his urges - at one point when George expressses disquiet that he has killed someone they know, he tells George that he has to manage his condition every day, whereas George only gets to do that once a month. From the moment when Lauren pitches up and he doesn't kill the girl in episode one, you really tap into Mitchell's pain. He is at odds with what he is, he hates what he's done to Lauren, but yet to try and protect her, he tries to help her even though he finds the blood sharing she needs abhorrent.
The only episode that didn't quite hit the right note, was last week's, when Mitchell befriends a boy in the street, and ends up accused of paeodophilia. Although I liked that notion of the mob turning on them, and the question of who are the monsters, humanity or the flatmates? the storyline didn't quite work as effectively as other episodes. And apart from anything else, Annie's poltergeist tendencies didn't get explored anything like as much as they deserved to be. (Although, in another shocking twist at the end of episode three, having first thought Owen was the baddie, I had totally been hooked into thinking he wasn't, so discovering he HAD murdered Annie was a huge shock.) The shock ending of episode four was the little boy dying in a car crash, and Mitchell "saving" him by turning him into a vampire.
But any carping I might have had about episode four gives way to total awe and much squeeing and incoherence for Episode 5.
Mitchell turning to the dark side. Thinking he's doing the right thing, yet we know Herrick isn't to be trusted.
Annie failing to scare Owen. Annie going completely into decline until George goes all manly (George!) and demands she helps their friend.
Annie and the Chair. George and the Chair. George knocking Seth out with his Star of David.
Mitchell discovering what Herrick's really up to. Run that by me again? A blood farm in the basement of the hospital. I did a double take on that one.
Suddenly realising Mitchell is in the shit.
Annie and the Chair.
Oh good they're getting away.
Oh no. They're not.
Oh fuck. Here's Lauren, she's going to rub Mitchell's nose in it.
Wrong again, she's just stabbed Seth was a stake....
Talk about edge of your seat stuff.
And that was WITHOUT Mitchell saving Lauren by killing her, and the poignancy of her not wanting to lose what was left of the human Lauren to the vampires (and I hadn't had ANY sympathy with her up till now)...
And WITHOUT Annie finally standing up to Owen (god I'd forgotten that - Owen was such a bastard. And it was such a brilliant metaphor for crappy relationships where one person has all the power), and THEN finding her door.
And she's going to go through it. But she can't.
And she's going to go through it. But she can't.
It's ony episode five. And there has to be another series. I can't stand it if there isn't another series...
And there's a knock on the door. And they don't answer it.
And then Mitchell does.
And OH FUCK. I so didn't see that.
So episode 5 ends with Mitchell with a stake in his heart, Annie dithering about going through the door, and George screaming at her to go.
What a brilliant cliff hanger...
Told you it was incoherent.
But if you haven't been watching, why not??? And what are you waiting for? I believe all five episodes are STILL available on i-player...
Me, I'm hanging on in there for episode 6.....
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Things you think you'll never do, part 2
Some little while ago, I blogged about never imagining I'd go and see David Cassidy. Well this weekend, I also did something I never imagined in my prechild life I'd ever find myself doing.
Going away anywhere with six of us is a) usually hideously expensive and b) bloody hard work as no one in the hotel trade seems to imagine that a husband and wife going away with their children might rather have a bedroom to themselves while their children sleep safely next door and can be reached via an interconnecting door. Furthermore, when we book self catering accommodation we always have to read the small print because when it says sleeps 6, you can bet your bottom dollar, Spouse and I will be confined to an uncomfortable sofa bed while the sprogs are squeezed into two tiny box like rooms. Last summer, the apartment we stayed in laughingly claimed to sleep 7. Maybe 7 dwarves...
We also had a thoroughly miserable experience at a Campanile (never EVER book a Campanile) , where we were given two bedrooms, but not next door to one another, as requested. They actually DID have interconnecting doors, but to reach the children, we'd have had to go via a strangers' room in the middle. I ended up having a very heated conversation in French as to why they imagined that one room booked with Mrs Williams and one booked with Mr (thank you Expedia.com for making my life sooo convenient) would be likely to be two different families. As they refused to budge, I ended up in one room with the two big ones, and Spouse in the other with the little ones. (The rooms were also motel like, so you walked straight outside. Hmm. They clearly haven't worried too much about the Madeline McCann case in France then...)
Anyway. I was so bad tempered after that experience, I almost felt like saying we won't ever go anywhere again till the children are grown up and have their own holidays, and Spouse and I can happily go globetrotting on our own. However, that is patently both stupid and mad, so when Spouse suggested going away for the weekend at half term, I agreed, this would be a good idea.
Thanks to someone he worked with who busy the Super Soaraway Sun, Spouse discovered that if we collected enough tokens, we could go away for three nights for the princely sum of £90. Which is how I ended up spending my Valentine's weekend, here... Spouse and I don't usually make too much of Valentine's anyway, but this year is possibly the least romantic venue we've spent it in...
I have to say Pontin's is probably everything I ever imagined it would be: deeply tacky, very cheap, an overabundance of fast food (although the restaurant did at least aspire to producing something that looked vaguely edible. I couldn't rid myself of the urge to wonder what Gordon Ramsay would make of their kitchen, however.), and dire entertainment. So it suited the kids perfectly.
There were also plenty of activities for the kids to do, so no 1 had a go at quad biking and no 3 and I did archery. I've never done archery before, and I was getting the hang of it by the end. I even got a few bullseyes (ok, ok, the target was really close, but Maid Marian, eat you heart out!) . There was also a swimming pool, which looked much nicer from the outside then it actually was. I regularly moan about the disgusting state of the changing rooms at our local pool where I swim several times a week, but this pool had to be the dirtiest I've ever been in. I came away feeling that if I had a shower I'd be dirtier then when I went in. There was SAND in the bottom of the pool. When I queried this as an attendant leant into to test the water (full of chlorine, I think from necessity, otherwise Pontin's would have to close for having spread Legionnaire's Disease), she blithely informed me it was a problem with the filters. Yeah, right.
Our apartment left alot to be desired - as yup, we had the sofa bed (though it still offered more space then the place we went to last year) - but I can cope with discomfort for one weekend. It was also very very cold and very very damp, so we had to go to bed with all our clothes on, which I haven't done since my student days. But, hey it was cheap, it was good to get away, and we didn't have to spend all weekend there.
So we also went sightseeing to the Cheddar Gorge, Glastonbury Tor and Wooky Hole.
Spouse and I had done the first two on our own, six years ago, when thanks to kind family members we'd managed our first weekend away sans enfants. It was the first time I'd been to Glastonbury, and I found myself hooting with laughter - I've never been anywhere so New Ageish in my life. This time we found three shops run by witches. You can even go on a witchy course. I nearly came away with a book of spells, but Spouse wouldn't let me.
We didn't manage to visit the Abbey as the children had definitely lost interest by then (apparently Arthur and Guinevere are buried there, you can even see their tombstones - yeah, right), but we did climb the Tor, which is fabulous and offers wonderful views of the Somerset levels. On a misty day, approaching by foot, you can quite understand why the legends about Avalon started up, though I prefer my Arthurian mythology to be Cornish/Welsh myself. I see Tintagel as far more likely to be Arthur's hunting ground, somehow.
We had rather tired of the fare offered by Pontin's restaurant by Sunday evening, so I suggested we went for something to eat in nearby Weston Supermare. Which turned out to be a really bad idea. We drove round the whole town, getting hopelessly lost, and then just after we'd stopped at a traffic lights, Spouse spotted he'd overshot a car park. Looking back and seeing nothing behind him, he reversed, so he could turn right into the car park. There was an almighty bang, and a horrible scraping sound. Wtf??? Turned out we'd hit a Lotus Selise which had parked up behind us, and we couldn't see it in our wing mirrors as it was so low and narrow. Fortunately the chap involved was very reasonable (I once had a prang with someone and her teenage son was vilely abusive), but we had ripped a hole in his front bonnet.
We decided that someone was trying to tell us something, so we gave up on Weston Supermare and headed backto Pontins, for more undesirable food, and crap entertainment. However, the latter did mean the kids ran off to play and we were able to have a much needed beer in peace.
We left on Monday in blazing sunshine - blimey, I'd forgotten how nice that is - and spent a great day at Wookey Hole,visiting the magnificent caves there, seeing paper being made at the paper mill and having our fortunes told by the Victorian penny machines they've got in a mock up Penny Arcade (mine apparently tells me I'm just about to meet the love of my life... oh dear.). We also saw an amazing circus act completely done by children. They were much much better then the crap circus we saw at the children's school a couple of years back, which I blogged about here. Although the mum in me couldn't help wincing as the tiniest of the two girls climbed up those swirling scarfy things and hung themselves upside down, WITHOUT a safety net...
All in all we had a great time away, even if it wasn't exactly our first choice of destination. Not sure I could cope with Pontin's for a week, but for a weekend, it wasn't too bad at all...
Going away anywhere with six of us is a) usually hideously expensive and b) bloody hard work as no one in the hotel trade seems to imagine that a husband and wife going away with their children might rather have a bedroom to themselves while their children sleep safely next door and can be reached via an interconnecting door. Furthermore, when we book self catering accommodation we always have to read the small print because when it says sleeps 6, you can bet your bottom dollar, Spouse and I will be confined to an uncomfortable sofa bed while the sprogs are squeezed into two tiny box like rooms. Last summer, the apartment we stayed in laughingly claimed to sleep 7. Maybe 7 dwarves...
We also had a thoroughly miserable experience at a Campanile (never EVER book a Campanile) , where we were given two bedrooms, but not next door to one another, as requested. They actually DID have interconnecting doors, but to reach the children, we'd have had to go via a strangers' room in the middle. I ended up having a very heated conversation in French as to why they imagined that one room booked with Mrs Williams and one booked with Mr (thank you Expedia.com for making my life sooo convenient) would be likely to be two different families. As they refused to budge, I ended up in one room with the two big ones, and Spouse in the other with the little ones. (The rooms were also motel like, so you walked straight outside. Hmm. They clearly haven't worried too much about the Madeline McCann case in France then...)
Anyway. I was so bad tempered after that experience, I almost felt like saying we won't ever go anywhere again till the children are grown up and have their own holidays, and Spouse and I can happily go globetrotting on our own. However, that is patently both stupid and mad, so when Spouse suggested going away for the weekend at half term, I agreed, this would be a good idea.
Thanks to someone he worked with who busy the Super Soaraway Sun, Spouse discovered that if we collected enough tokens, we could go away for three nights for the princely sum of £90. Which is how I ended up spending my Valentine's weekend, here... Spouse and I don't usually make too much of Valentine's anyway, but this year is possibly the least romantic venue we've spent it in...
I have to say Pontin's is probably everything I ever imagined it would be: deeply tacky, very cheap, an overabundance of fast food (although the restaurant did at least aspire to producing something that looked vaguely edible. I couldn't rid myself of the urge to wonder what Gordon Ramsay would make of their kitchen, however.), and dire entertainment. So it suited the kids perfectly.
There were also plenty of activities for the kids to do, so no 1 had a go at quad biking and no 3 and I did archery. I've never done archery before, and I was getting the hang of it by the end. I even got a few bullseyes (ok, ok, the target was really close, but Maid Marian, eat you heart out!) . There was also a swimming pool, which looked much nicer from the outside then it actually was. I regularly moan about the disgusting state of the changing rooms at our local pool where I swim several times a week, but this pool had to be the dirtiest I've ever been in. I came away feeling that if I had a shower I'd be dirtier then when I went in. There was SAND in the bottom of the pool. When I queried this as an attendant leant into to test the water (full of chlorine, I think from necessity, otherwise Pontin's would have to close for having spread Legionnaire's Disease), she blithely informed me it was a problem with the filters. Yeah, right.
Our apartment left alot to be desired - as yup, we had the sofa bed (though it still offered more space then the place we went to last year) - but I can cope with discomfort for one weekend. It was also very very cold and very very damp, so we had to go to bed with all our clothes on, which I haven't done since my student days. But, hey it was cheap, it was good to get away, and we didn't have to spend all weekend there.
So we also went sightseeing to the Cheddar Gorge, Glastonbury Tor and Wooky Hole.
Spouse and I had done the first two on our own, six years ago, when thanks to kind family members we'd managed our first weekend away sans enfants. It was the first time I'd been to Glastonbury, and I found myself hooting with laughter - I've never been anywhere so New Ageish in my life. This time we found three shops run by witches. You can even go on a witchy course. I nearly came away with a book of spells, but Spouse wouldn't let me.
We didn't manage to visit the Abbey as the children had definitely lost interest by then (apparently Arthur and Guinevere are buried there, you can even see their tombstones - yeah, right), but we did climb the Tor, which is fabulous and offers wonderful views of the Somerset levels. On a misty day, approaching by foot, you can quite understand why the legends about Avalon started up, though I prefer my Arthurian mythology to be Cornish/Welsh myself. I see Tintagel as far more likely to be Arthur's hunting ground, somehow.
We had rather tired of the fare offered by Pontin's restaurant by Sunday evening, so I suggested we went for something to eat in nearby Weston Supermare. Which turned out to be a really bad idea. We drove round the whole town, getting hopelessly lost, and then just after we'd stopped at a traffic lights, Spouse spotted he'd overshot a car park. Looking back and seeing nothing behind him, he reversed, so he could turn right into the car park. There was an almighty bang, and a horrible scraping sound. Wtf??? Turned out we'd hit a Lotus Selise which had parked up behind us, and we couldn't see it in our wing mirrors as it was so low and narrow. Fortunately the chap involved was very reasonable (I once had a prang with someone and her teenage son was vilely abusive), but we had ripped a hole in his front bonnet.
We decided that someone was trying to tell us something, so we gave up on Weston Supermare and headed backto Pontins, for more undesirable food, and crap entertainment. However, the latter did mean the kids ran off to play and we were able to have a much needed beer in peace.
We left on Monday in blazing sunshine - blimey, I'd forgotten how nice that is - and spent a great day at Wookey Hole,visiting the magnificent caves there, seeing paper being made at the paper mill and having our fortunes told by the Victorian penny machines they've got in a mock up Penny Arcade (mine apparently tells me I'm just about to meet the love of my life... oh dear.). We also saw an amazing circus act completely done by children. They were much much better then the crap circus we saw at the children's school a couple of years back, which I blogged about here. Although the mum in me couldn't help wincing as the tiniest of the two girls climbed up those swirling scarfy things and hung themselves upside down, WITHOUT a safety net...
All in all we had a great time away, even if it wasn't exactly our first choice of destination. Not sure I could cope with Pontin's for a week, but for a weekend, it wasn't too bad at all...
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
A birthday and a deathday
Today is no 4's birthday. I can still remember very vividly the feeling of being utterly overwhelmed that hit me between the eyes the day I took her home from the hospital. I'd come in, and at my mother's insistence gone straight to bed with the new arrival. I didn't get much peace. Two minutes later the other three, then aged 5, 3 and 20 months piled in, and jumped around the bed next to their new sister. Blimey, I thought. I've got FOUR children. How the bloody hell am I going to manage that? I look back at those pictures, and still wonder how I did it.
Particularly as no 4's arrival coincided with possibly the most stressful period of our lives. Spouse had just been involved in a corporate buyout of the dental practise he then owned, which had necessitated lots of late night meetings in London, worryingly close to no 4's arrival, but did liberate enough cash for us to have a new extension done. Work started when she was five weeks old, and as the builders were planning to knock the end of our house down I repaired to my mother's for a fortnight, only to discover she had to be called away suddenly. I couldn't face the thought of being in her house with four small children on my own, so Mad Twin kindly put me up till my own home was in a semi habitable state.
The first year of no 4's life is therefore a blur of stress, hard work and a fair amount of trauma in the shape of the other major difficulty we had at the time. Namely my father in law's failing health.
Up until the age of 75, Fil was incredibly fit. For a man (as Spouse always says) who abused his body spectacularly badly when young , he was pretty active in his early 70s. Then, when no 1 was eight months old, he had a massive stroke and we were told he was going to die. Fil was made of much sterner stuff then that, though. So, after two weeks semi conscious and three more months in hospital, he did recover sufficiently to get home, and spent the following year determinedly learning to walk again - at one point in competition with no 1 who was also just taking her first steps. Being as stubborn old cuss, he did it, and he and Mil were able to set up home in a flat which fortuitously came available down the road from us.
For a long time they used to stagger up and down the road together, leaning on each other and their walking sticks. To our amusement, they ended up knowing more people on the road then we did, as they had time to stop and chat, and as I was still working then, Spouse and I didn't.
Fil also still managed to organise his regimental reunions every year, although it was to an ever dwindling group of people. I typed the letters for him (being old school, even when he was fit, Fil couldn't have used a computer or typewriter if you'd paid him.), and I still have the copies on my computer, detailing the campaigns he took part in at the end of the war. As was common with his generation, he always played down what he actually did, but I think he was alot more courageous then he let on.
He was certainly honourable. At one point at the end of the war his regiment were (like many others) ordered to repatriate Yugoslavians. According to Fil, everyone knew they were going to their deaths. He and his comrades refused the order, which could have led to their court martial. The only reason it didn't was because the Nuremberg Trials had been taking place, and the defence of some Nazis that they were simply obeying orders had been deemed inadmissable. If an order was morally wrong, it was said, then a soldier could disobey it. Fil and his friends cited this in their defence, and avoided both the court martial, and the forced repatriation. Elsewhere, other Yugoslav refugees weren't so lucky as you can see from this. According to Fil, everything in this article is true, and the episode is a shameful blot on the Allied Forces at the end of WW2, simply done to appease Stalin.
Knowing this about Fil, made it immensely difficult to watch his slow painful decline into ill health. Particularly, when he ended up with well meaning carers who patronised him horribly. After his stroke, if you didn't know him, you'd have thought he was just a rambly old man, but we who were close to him, could see the subtle changes the stroke had wrought: the increased tetchiness, his frustration at not being able to do more, his forgetfulness about the recent past. It infuriated me when people patronised him (like the social worker who I frankly wanted to kill after she sat here practically patting his hand, saying There, there, as if to a small child), because I wanted people to see him as I did: a man of courage, of principle, of humanity, who'd been rendered helpless by the ravages of an illness that overnight had made him impotent.
Fil, being Fil didn't go gently into that good night. He struggled on even after he fell and broke his hip just before no 3 was born (I could write a book about juggling care of small children and the elderly, I tell you). He kept going when he suffered another minor stroke, which meant he could no longer write ( a source of huge frustration, that: it was only writing bad tempered letters to Tony Blair which kept him going.)
The last year of his life, and the first of no 4's was a succession of small failures, and shuttings down, of the realisation that less and less of the world was available to him, and the walls were closing in. Mil was his main carer, despite her own infirmities (she has suffered for many years from a condition known as a benign essential tremor, which basically means she shakes a lot and loses her balance constantly. How she looked after him is beyond me.) Fil led her a right old dance it has to be said, becoming ever more querulous and demanding, and selfish. But it was a selfishness born of desperation, I think. If he didn't demand she attend to his every need, I think he was afraid that he'd just keel over. It wasn't really like him to be that selfish though, and finally six weeks before he died, I think he woke up to the fact that he was slowly killing her with his demands.
We had begged him to consider going into a home so Mil could have some respite care. (Hence our meeting with the patronising social worker). He'd refused, saying he didn't want to to be in a home with a bunch of "old" people (I can't say I can blame him. Why would you want to play bingo with geriatrics just because you happen to be over 80?). I offered him a bed at our house (though I'd balked at the thought of it - how would I manage a school run, an elderly man, who needed constant care and two small children, if only for a week?), but he told me we were too "young". Like I said, he could be an awkward old cuss, and though I could usually manage to jolly him along to do things, I couldn't jolly him into that one. Until that January, when Mil was so exhausted, and Fil finally jolted out of his selfish cocoon and agreed to temporarily go into a home.
The home did their best, but it was a grim experience for him and for us. Spouse and I left Fil there one cold January Sunday, while Mil went to stay with relations. We both felt dreadful as we left, seeing this bewildered figure in an old raincoat, plaintively asking if he could go home. And worse was to come. I arrived the next morning to see how he was, with no 4 in my arms, and no 3 gathered around my ankles. Fil was stuck in his room, refusing to come out. "This is a terrible place," he said. "Take me home." I had to tell him over and over, as you do a small child, that he couldn't go home, and that it was only for a week. He was furious with me and Spouse for putting him there, and I wept as I left, because I didn't want him there either, but really, there was no other choice.
In the end, he stayed for two weeks, and by the time he left, he was more sanguine about the experience. Bil, Spouse and I visited every day. I took no 4 with me on my visits, who bounced around cheerfully on her bottom (she never crawled) and pulled faces at him. I like to think that cheered him up and that they connected on a very simple level - by then he found the older ones simply too exhausting to be around. He'd spent a great deal of the previous two years asking me why he was still here - "To see your last grandchild," I kept saying, and looking at him laughing as no 4 blew raspberries at him, I'm glad that even though things were so very grim for him at the end, she brought some little pleasure into his life.
When he moved back home, the boys had sorted his bedroom out so he was comfy and able to sit in bed watching the endless videos of 'Allo 'Allo and Dad's Army which he loved. He was more gentle and appreciative of Mil, and I hope his last two weeks were a more peaceful and happy time he'd had in a long while.
My last proper conversation with him, was a week before he died. I'd popped in one evening, and found him and Mil watching a programme about Diana and Charles. Fil was propped up drinking his daily nightcap of a whisky and a glass of red wine, pontificating about how Charles should never have married her. I sat on the edge of the bed and we laughed our heads off. For a brief moment the old Fil, the one I wanted the world to see had come back. I walked away that night praying that he would finally be at peace, and a week later on no 4's first birthday, he was.
I spent all that day trying not to let the children know their grandad had died, because I didn't want them to associate no 4's birthday with sadness. But my efforts were for nothing, as no 1 informs me she overheard us talking, so she already knew when I told her the next day. Now they all know that no 4's birthday is also Grandpa's deathday, but it doesn't seem to bother them. And as I always say to no 4, he chose a happy day to go, and she gave him a lot of happiness before he left us, so we shouldn't be too sad.
Fil was a keen gardener and insisted on buying us bulbs for the garden. The day after his funeral, the first daffodil of the year came out. And on the first anniversary of his death, the first daffodil of that year bloomed. Spouse thinks I'm fanciful, for thinking it, but I like to imagine that's his way of keeping in contact (this year with all the cold weather, mind the daffs are a long way off blooming.) I know that I was immensely lucky to have such a great relationship with him, and for my children to have had him, even if only for a little while.
In Sheffield Cathedral, in the regimental chapel of the York and Lancaster Regiment to which Fil belonged,there are benches dedicated to the memory of soldiers from the regiment. Last week we were sent a copy of a picture of one with Fil's name on it. As a soldier to the end, I think it's a fitting memorial.
Meanwhile, the birthday girl is having lots of fun, her siblings have temporarily forgotten that this is Grandpa's deathday, and that I think, is fitting too.
Particularly as no 4's arrival coincided with possibly the most stressful period of our lives. Spouse had just been involved in a corporate buyout of the dental practise he then owned, which had necessitated lots of late night meetings in London, worryingly close to no 4's arrival, but did liberate enough cash for us to have a new extension done. Work started when she was five weeks old, and as the builders were planning to knock the end of our house down I repaired to my mother's for a fortnight, only to discover she had to be called away suddenly. I couldn't face the thought of being in her house with four small children on my own, so Mad Twin kindly put me up till my own home was in a semi habitable state.
The first year of no 4's life is therefore a blur of stress, hard work and a fair amount of trauma in the shape of the other major difficulty we had at the time. Namely my father in law's failing health.
Up until the age of 75, Fil was incredibly fit. For a man (as Spouse always says) who abused his body spectacularly badly when young , he was pretty active in his early 70s. Then, when no 1 was eight months old, he had a massive stroke and we were told he was going to die. Fil was made of much sterner stuff then that, though. So, after two weeks semi conscious and three more months in hospital, he did recover sufficiently to get home, and spent the following year determinedly learning to walk again - at one point in competition with no 1 who was also just taking her first steps. Being as stubborn old cuss, he did it, and he and Mil were able to set up home in a flat which fortuitously came available down the road from us.
For a long time they used to stagger up and down the road together, leaning on each other and their walking sticks. To our amusement, they ended up knowing more people on the road then we did, as they had time to stop and chat, and as I was still working then, Spouse and I didn't.
Fil also still managed to organise his regimental reunions every year, although it was to an ever dwindling group of people. I typed the letters for him (being old school, even when he was fit, Fil couldn't have used a computer or typewriter if you'd paid him.), and I still have the copies on my computer, detailing the campaigns he took part in at the end of the war. As was common with his generation, he always played down what he actually did, but I think he was alot more courageous then he let on.
He was certainly honourable. At one point at the end of the war his regiment were (like many others) ordered to repatriate Yugoslavians. According to Fil, everyone knew they were going to their deaths. He and his comrades refused the order, which could have led to their court martial. The only reason it didn't was because the Nuremberg Trials had been taking place, and the defence of some Nazis that they were simply obeying orders had been deemed inadmissable. If an order was morally wrong, it was said, then a soldier could disobey it. Fil and his friends cited this in their defence, and avoided both the court martial, and the forced repatriation. Elsewhere, other Yugoslav refugees weren't so lucky as you can see from this. According to Fil, everything in this article is true, and the episode is a shameful blot on the Allied Forces at the end of WW2, simply done to appease Stalin.
Knowing this about Fil, made it immensely difficult to watch his slow painful decline into ill health. Particularly, when he ended up with well meaning carers who patronised him horribly. After his stroke, if you didn't know him, you'd have thought he was just a rambly old man, but we who were close to him, could see the subtle changes the stroke had wrought: the increased tetchiness, his frustration at not being able to do more, his forgetfulness about the recent past. It infuriated me when people patronised him (like the social worker who I frankly wanted to kill after she sat here practically patting his hand, saying There, there, as if to a small child), because I wanted people to see him as I did: a man of courage, of principle, of humanity, who'd been rendered helpless by the ravages of an illness that overnight had made him impotent.
Fil, being Fil didn't go gently into that good night. He struggled on even after he fell and broke his hip just before no 3 was born (I could write a book about juggling care of small children and the elderly, I tell you). He kept going when he suffered another minor stroke, which meant he could no longer write ( a source of huge frustration, that: it was only writing bad tempered letters to Tony Blair which kept him going.)
The last year of his life, and the first of no 4's was a succession of small failures, and shuttings down, of the realisation that less and less of the world was available to him, and the walls were closing in. Mil was his main carer, despite her own infirmities (she has suffered for many years from a condition known as a benign essential tremor, which basically means she shakes a lot and loses her balance constantly. How she looked after him is beyond me.) Fil led her a right old dance it has to be said, becoming ever more querulous and demanding, and selfish. But it was a selfishness born of desperation, I think. If he didn't demand she attend to his every need, I think he was afraid that he'd just keel over. It wasn't really like him to be that selfish though, and finally six weeks before he died, I think he woke up to the fact that he was slowly killing her with his demands.
We had begged him to consider going into a home so Mil could have some respite care. (Hence our meeting with the patronising social worker). He'd refused, saying he didn't want to to be in a home with a bunch of "old" people (I can't say I can blame him. Why would you want to play bingo with geriatrics just because you happen to be over 80?). I offered him a bed at our house (though I'd balked at the thought of it - how would I manage a school run, an elderly man, who needed constant care and two small children, if only for a week?), but he told me we were too "young". Like I said, he could be an awkward old cuss, and though I could usually manage to jolly him along to do things, I couldn't jolly him into that one. Until that January, when Mil was so exhausted, and Fil finally jolted out of his selfish cocoon and agreed to temporarily go into a home.
The home did their best, but it was a grim experience for him and for us. Spouse and I left Fil there one cold January Sunday, while Mil went to stay with relations. We both felt dreadful as we left, seeing this bewildered figure in an old raincoat, plaintively asking if he could go home. And worse was to come. I arrived the next morning to see how he was, with no 4 in my arms, and no 3 gathered around my ankles. Fil was stuck in his room, refusing to come out. "This is a terrible place," he said. "Take me home." I had to tell him over and over, as you do a small child, that he couldn't go home, and that it was only for a week. He was furious with me and Spouse for putting him there, and I wept as I left, because I didn't want him there either, but really, there was no other choice.
In the end, he stayed for two weeks, and by the time he left, he was more sanguine about the experience. Bil, Spouse and I visited every day. I took no 4 with me on my visits, who bounced around cheerfully on her bottom (she never crawled) and pulled faces at him. I like to think that cheered him up and that they connected on a very simple level - by then he found the older ones simply too exhausting to be around. He'd spent a great deal of the previous two years asking me why he was still here - "To see your last grandchild," I kept saying, and looking at him laughing as no 4 blew raspberries at him, I'm glad that even though things were so very grim for him at the end, she brought some little pleasure into his life.
When he moved back home, the boys had sorted his bedroom out so he was comfy and able to sit in bed watching the endless videos of 'Allo 'Allo and Dad's Army which he loved. He was more gentle and appreciative of Mil, and I hope his last two weeks were a more peaceful and happy time he'd had in a long while.
My last proper conversation with him, was a week before he died. I'd popped in one evening, and found him and Mil watching a programme about Diana and Charles. Fil was propped up drinking his daily nightcap of a whisky and a glass of red wine, pontificating about how Charles should never have married her. I sat on the edge of the bed and we laughed our heads off. For a brief moment the old Fil, the one I wanted the world to see had come back. I walked away that night praying that he would finally be at peace, and a week later on no 4's first birthday, he was.
I spent all that day trying not to let the children know their grandad had died, because I didn't want them to associate no 4's birthday with sadness. But my efforts were for nothing, as no 1 informs me she overheard us talking, so she already knew when I told her the next day. Now they all know that no 4's birthday is also Grandpa's deathday, but it doesn't seem to bother them. And as I always say to no 4, he chose a happy day to go, and she gave him a lot of happiness before he left us, so we shouldn't be too sad.
Fil was a keen gardener and insisted on buying us bulbs for the garden. The day after his funeral, the first daffodil of the year came out. And on the first anniversary of his death, the first daffodil of that year bloomed. Spouse thinks I'm fanciful, for thinking it, but I like to imagine that's his way of keeping in contact (this year with all the cold weather, mind the daffs are a long way off blooming.) I know that I was immensely lucky to have such a great relationship with him, and for my children to have had him, even if only for a little while.
In Sheffield Cathedral, in the regimental chapel of the York and Lancaster Regiment to which Fil belonged,there are benches dedicated to the memory of soldiers from the regiment. Last week we were sent a copy of a picture of one with Fil's name on it. As a soldier to the end, I think it's a fitting memorial.
Meanwhile, the birthday girl is having lots of fun, her siblings have temporarily forgotten that this is Grandpa's deathday, and that I think, is fitting too.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
As it's Valentine's on Saturday...
... and I'm going to be away, and as Mr Armitage DID win the sexiest man on legs poll, I thought y'all might appreciate this video of his most romantic moments. To make my cup of happiness complete, the main reason I'd chosen him as inspiration for my hero in Last Christmas was because he was soo romantic playing Dawn French's love interest in The Vicar of Dibley (and I loved the complete and utter unlikeliness of him falling for her in the first place.) I hadn't actually realised till I watched this clip, that he quotes one of my favourite bits of Far From the Madding Crowd, when Gabriel Oak (romantic hero to end all romantic heroes) tells Bathsheba Everdene, "Whenever you look up, there I'll be, and whenever I look up there will be you."
Serendipity of what? My hero is called Gabriel (North - ha. I didn't realise when I named him he'd share Richard's Spooks surname), and he's a shepherd, and I did partly model him on Gabriel Oak...
Serendipity of what? My hero is called Gabriel (North - ha. I didn't realise when I named him he'd share Richard's Spooks surname), and he's a shepherd, and I did partly model him on Gabriel Oak...
Top Ten TV Characters to get stuck in a lift With
Thanks to Medium Rob I have been intending to do this meme all week. Instead I have been sidetracked by the hilarious conversation about it on his blog, and the fact that I am still catching up workwise from too much snow and vomity children. (So far this term of a possible 29 days I could have had children in school I've only managed 15), so to say I am behind on my work is something of an understatement, and it's half term next week...
Anyway. Here are my top ten choices. It's a bit Spookcentric, but I reckon MI5 would be a lot of help in a lift...
1. Ros from Spooks. Because she is dead cool and hard as nails and wouldn't panic. And if there happened to be a madman in the lift/someone had a massive panic attack , she would sort it no problem.
2. Lucas North. Well, he is the sexiest man on the planet after all. Also he'd be pretty cool headed too, and no doubt would be able to find a secret panel to help us all escape.
3. Which brings me to Malcolm. Who would no doubt be wired up to the lift and in communication with Ros and Lucas, and be able to spring us by using some kind of fiendishly clever electronic device. He wouldn't actually have to be in the lift to do this, so this is probably cheating. In which case I'm going to ditch him and the rest of the Spooks cast (all of whom would have their uses) and say :
3. (again) should by rights be Dr Who, but as he'd get his sonic screwdriver out and get us out in no time at all, that would be too easy. But Dr Who needs representing in this lift, so I'll opt for Mickey as he found such a useful trapdoor in The Age of Steel.
4. And Donna because she'd make me laugh. Particularly if she was still in Time Lord Doctor/Donna mode. (She'd also probably be better at getting us out then the Doctor in that state)
5. Then I'd also have to include Gene Hunt, because he looked so hot when he was trapped with Alex in Ashes to Ashes (though admittedly not in a lift) and I'd like to see him undo his tie in just that way again...
6. Richard Hammond because he wouldn't take up much room.
7. Dawn French who would take up a lot of room, but again would make me laugh. Plus she and Richard Armitage might get to have some interesting conversations of the, but I thought you loved me/I never knew you were leading a double life kind.
8. I know everyone else has chosen Stephen Fry for intellectual purposes, and I would too if no one else had, but for the sake of being different, I'll call in Robert Peston who can explain everything we need to know about the credit crunch, while Ros, Luke and Malcolm plot a way to blow a hole in the floor and get us out, Mickey searches for a trap door, and Doctor/Donna blinds us all with science.
9. As we might all be in need of having our spirits roused (and there aren't enough women in this lift), we'd better have Victoria Wood to sing us a silly song.
10. Lois from Family Guy who could mother us all, so I don't have to.
Everyone else's memes are here, here , here and here.
Anyway. Here are my top ten choices. It's a bit Spookcentric, but I reckon MI5 would be a lot of help in a lift...
1. Ros from Spooks. Because she is dead cool and hard as nails and wouldn't panic. And if there happened to be a madman in the lift/someone had a massive panic attack , she would sort it no problem.
2. Lucas North. Well, he is the sexiest man on the planet after all. Also he'd be pretty cool headed too, and no doubt would be able to find a secret panel to help us all escape.
3. Which brings me to Malcolm. Who would no doubt be wired up to the lift and in communication with Ros and Lucas, and be able to spring us by using some kind of fiendishly clever electronic device. He wouldn't actually have to be in the lift to do this, so this is probably cheating. In which case I'm going to ditch him and the rest of the Spooks cast (all of whom would have their uses) and say :
3. (again) should by rights be Dr Who, but as he'd get his sonic screwdriver out and get us out in no time at all, that would be too easy. But Dr Who needs representing in this lift, so I'll opt for Mickey as he found such a useful trapdoor in The Age of Steel.
4. And Donna because she'd make me laugh. Particularly if she was still in Time Lord Doctor/Donna mode. (She'd also probably be better at getting us out then the Doctor in that state)
5. Then I'd also have to include Gene Hunt, because he looked so hot when he was trapped with Alex in Ashes to Ashes (though admittedly not in a lift) and I'd like to see him undo his tie in just that way again...
6. Richard Hammond because he wouldn't take up much room.
7. Dawn French who would take up a lot of room, but again would make me laugh. Plus she and Richard Armitage might get to have some interesting conversations of the, but I thought you loved me/I never knew you were leading a double life kind.
8. I know everyone else has chosen Stephen Fry for intellectual purposes, and I would too if no one else had, but for the sake of being different, I'll call in Robert Peston who can explain everything we need to know about the credit crunch, while Ros, Luke and Malcolm plot a way to blow a hole in the floor and get us out, Mickey searches for a trap door, and Doctor/Donna blinds us all with science.
9. As we might all be in need of having our spirits roused (and there aren't enough women in this lift), we'd better have Victoria Wood to sing us a silly song.
10. Lois from Family Guy who could mother us all, so I don't have to.
Everyone else's memes are here, here , here and here.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Angel of the South
Up north they have this...
Admittedly I've never seen it, my travels never having taken me to that neck of the woods. But by all accounts, despite the controversy of whether it should be built or not, I think now it would be fair to say the Angel of the North is an iconic symbol of the North of England.
I'm not sure the same will be said in the future for the new sculpture planned in Kent and entitled Angel of the South. Which is weird. Considering the sculpture is actually going to be that of a horse.
I may be missing something here, but is seems a rather odd idea to build a huge horse in Kent. Particularly when it bears a remarkable similarity to the Barbie Horse belonging to no 4...
Friday, February 06, 2009
Sexiest man on the planet?
Well my RNA chums seem to think so. They've just voted Richard Armitage the sexiest man of 2009. As he is the model for Gabriel in Last Christmas, I'm not uninclined to disagree... Only I realised when I was obsessing about him as Lucas North in Spooks, I have inadvertently given Gabriel deep brown eyes, when of course, Richard's are a piercing blue...Coincidentally, of late Medium Rob has been running a feature on his blog called Dick Heads, which is, er, pictures of Richard Armitage's head for us all to write witty comments (or in some cases haiku on). You can find our latest efforts here. (And yes, I think we're all aware that this is very very silly).
The complete list of who our Dick was up against is listed below. I'd have had a certain Mr Tennant higher placed myself, but at least Johnny Depp is still no 2. Sadly I won't be at the RNA Awards Lunch on Monday - I hadn't planned to go anyway, but with the disastrous week I've had workwise I don't think I could possibly justify it anyway. But still, at least I have this nice picture of Mr Armitage to while away my snowbound hours. I wonder whether I still have time to change Gabriel's eyes to blue...
Romantic Novelists vote Richard Armitage
Sexiest Thing On Two Legs
British actor Richard Armitage has leapt from last year’s 4th place to this year topping the ratings in the Romantic Novelists’ Association 2009 Valentine’s poll, to take the title of Sexiest Thing on Two Legs, beating top Hollywood stars to the number one spot.
Johnny Depp, who topped last year’s poll, was pushed firmly into second place, with Hugh Jackman and George Clooney mere also-rans. “Richard Armitage took 20% of the vote, more than double the count of any other male on the list,” said the RNA pollster. “He was a clear winner from the off.”
The RNA is not alone in admiration of the actor, as numerous online Richard Armitage fan sites will testify. The ardency began with North and South, grew by leaps and bounds with his appearance as the leather-clad baddie in Robin Hood, and shows no sign of diminishing as Spooks takes to the airwaves.
‘It’s a coup for Britain ,’ said one starstruck writer, ‘not just for sexy Richard.’
According to romantic novelists, the sexiest male celebrities of 2009 are:
1 Richard Armitage
2 Johnny Depp
3 Hugh Jackman
4 George Clooney
5 Daniel Craig
6 Sean Bean
7 Alan Rickman
8 David Tennant
9 Pierce Brosnan
10 Gerard Butler
The winner of the Romantic Novel of the Year Award 2009 will be announced on Tuesday 10th February.
Sexiest Thing On Two Legs
British actor Richard Armitage has leapt from last year’s 4th place to this year topping the ratings in the Romantic Novelists’ Association 2009 Valentine’s poll, to take the title of Sexiest Thing on Two Legs, beating top Hollywood stars to the number one spot.
Johnny Depp, who topped last year’s poll, was pushed firmly into second place, with Hugh Jackman and George Clooney mere also-rans. “Richard Armitage took 20% of the vote, more than double the count of any other male on the list,” said the RNA pollster. “He was a clear winner from the off.”
The RNA is not alone in admiration of the actor, as numerous online Richard Armitage fan sites will testify. The ardency began with North and South, grew by leaps and bounds with his appearance as the leather-clad baddie in Robin Hood, and shows no sign of diminishing as Spooks takes to the airwaves.
‘It’s a coup for Britain ,’ said one starstruck writer, ‘not just for sexy Richard.’
According to romantic novelists, the sexiest male celebrities of 2009 are:
1 Richard Armitage
2 Johnny Depp
3 Hugh Jackman
4 George Clooney
5 Daniel Craig
6 Sean Bean
7 Alan Rickman
8 David Tennant
9 Pierce Brosnan
10 Gerard Butler
The winner of the Romantic Novel of the Year Award 2009 will be announced on Tuesday 10th February.
It Snow Trouble...
I failed to mention yesterday, that I am still unable to get any work done as no 4 has come down with another tummy bug. Very kindly, a friend offered to fetch the others from school for me. At 4pm yesterday they hadn't got back, no 4 had fallen asleep, and the phone rang. It was no 1. I'm cold, she said. Sub text. Give me a lift - NOW. Upon hearing that I wasn't able to drop everything and come out THAT instant, she bad temperedly put the phone down and carried on her way. Five minutes later my friend arrived with the other two, so I rang no 1 back and said I'm on my way, where are you? Establishing her location before her phone died, I got in the car and tenatively made my way to find her via the main roads (no salting round here for minor roads has rendered them lethal).
Arriving at my destination, I could see no sign of my erstwhile child, so I rang her again.
Where are you? I said. She named a road ten minutes nearer to home then I was.
I thought you weren't coming, she said.
Why??
Because you put the phone down on me.
Yeah, right. Mums always put the phone down on their perishingly cold daughters...
I can't pick you up from there, I said as the road in question was a particular deathtrap, but I'll come and find you en route.
I was now halfway down a road, pointing in the wrong direction and unable to turn round because of lethalness of aforementioned side roads. So I trundled my way into town and found my way back round the not very helpful one way system which clogs up our town on a regular basis. Getting stuck at a red light allowed me a handy moment to ring my eldest once more.
Where are you? she wanted to know. I explained I was stuck in traffic, but I'd be with her shortly. She explained that she was now on another road entirely, but at least it was somewhere I could pick her up from.
I eventually escaped from the town centre and avoided an accident with a helpful postvan which parked in such a position to ensure that I had to drive over the heap of snow in the middle of the road. As I went into a slow slide to the right, I reflected that it would have served him right if I HAD sideswiped his car.
Eventually I pulled up next to no 1.
What took you so long?" she demanded crossly. I could have been home by now.
She was cold and hungry, so I let her lack of appreciation go, besides what should have been a five minute trip took about fifteen.
I think next time she begs for a lift, she might just have to beg...
Arriving at my destination, I could see no sign of my erstwhile child, so I rang her again.
Where are you? I said. She named a road ten minutes nearer to home then I was.
I thought you weren't coming, she said.
Why??
Because you put the phone down on me.
Yeah, right. Mums always put the phone down on their perishingly cold daughters...
I can't pick you up from there, I said as the road in question was a particular deathtrap, but I'll come and find you en route.
I was now halfway down a road, pointing in the wrong direction and unable to turn round because of lethalness of aforementioned side roads. So I trundled my way into town and found my way back round the not very helpful one way system which clogs up our town on a regular basis. Getting stuck at a red light allowed me a handy moment to ring my eldest once more.
Where are you? she wanted to know. I explained I was stuck in traffic, but I'd be with her shortly. She explained that she was now on another road entirely, but at least it was somewhere I could pick her up from.
I eventually escaped from the town centre and avoided an accident with a helpful postvan which parked in such a position to ensure that I had to drive over the heap of snow in the middle of the road. As I went into a slow slide to the right, I reflected that it would have served him right if I HAD sideswiped his car.
Eventually I pulled up next to no 1.
What took you so long?" she demanded crossly. I could have been home by now.
She was cold and hungry, so I let her lack of appreciation go, besides what should have been a five minute trip took about fifteen.
I think next time she begs for a lift, she might just have to beg...
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Snow Fun... Actually it was...
I know I moaned yesterday about the kids not being back at school, but there was an upside to the snow. For a start, I've never seen so muchof the stuff in my entire life. It was coming up over my knees. Proper cool decent snow. That was neat, for us and the kids.It also felt a bit like an unofficial holiday, which was a bonus considering our actual holiday was pretty crap. And it was really great having hardly any traffic on our road, which is normally horrendously busy. Everyone was walking into town. Most commuters round here couldn't even begin to get up to London because the station was shut, so the park was full of dads having snowball fights with their kids. It did feel like being in some kind of jolly Dickensian Christmas scene, even if it wasn't Christmas...
So here are some pics from our unofficial holiday, which has temporarily lifted us all from our mid winter gloom.
Here's a solitary car edging its way up the road. The snow was so deep most people spent the day walking in the road. You don't get to do that very often without being mown down on our street, I can tell you...
Nos3&4 and I on our way mil's -which took rather longer then the normal two minute walk. Monday is bin day but as you can see, even if the bin men had come no doubt it would have been more then their job was worth to get rid of all that snow on top of the wheelie bin.
Spouse did manage to get into work - although this is as far as he got with the car...
Having got there and had thirty cancellations from snowbound patients, he took the executive decision to call it a day and came home to do this instead...
He tells me it's because he might be too old next time we get this much snow. Hmm...
It took him and no 2 all day. Did I mention my husband is obssessive? It's the Teutonic gene I think. I am far more likely to say wtf and give up, but like Magnus Magnusson, once he's started he just has to finish. At least he got to sit in it for two minutes before it melted the next day... (And the children have learnt from him any rate that you have to stick at things to get them done)
I in the meantime went over to the park with the others. It looked like this...
The obvious thing to do was to have a snowball fight. Which we did. At one point a strange man (as I imagined) started throwing snowballs at me from out of nowhere. What the hell is he doing? was my first thought, before realising it was the husband of a school mum chum. He was so wrapped up I didn't recognise him...
Most surreal sight of the day was watching a chap practising his serve in the tennis courts beyond the play area. Sadly I haven't got photographic evidence as I couldn't quite figure a way of surreptitiously taking his photo without him noticing..
Tuesday was a really bright and sunny day. Spouse has a longer drive on a Tuesday, and besides we still couldn't get the car out as the snow had iced up over night. So he took another day off, and we enjoyed the alpine scene in our garden which did look pretty...
..Before tackling the driveway head on. Hmm. Having just been told NOT under any circumstances to attempt lifting mil by my physio, I wonder how he'd have felt to learn I spent Monday rolling big boulders (well I did help Spouse a little) and Tuesday digging up snow. By mid afternoon we'd freed the car, so we decided to head up to the downs for a spot of sledging. Naively, I thought the roads might be better by then. Wrong....
This week has been a week of firsts. First time snow's ever come over my boots. First time snow's ever drifted to my front door. First time our car's ever been snowed in. And... first time we got stuck in the snow on a hill. This is mainly because plonkers don't park properly on the downs and create a bottle neck for the traffic. All the cars going up the hill inevitably stop, and once you've done that you're in deep deep shit. We managed to eventually crawl up the hill after three lots of kind passersby going down hill got out of their cars to help me push ours up the hill.
We then drove to a rough car park where you can view London on a clear day (and apparently at night its a hotspot for doggers... not that I'd know of course). Spouse did wonder about the wisdom of this, and he was right. When we got back to the car, we had indeed become stuck again. So it was up to me to push us out (hmm, another black mark from the physio I fear). This I managed to do eventually, with the help of another kind passerby (my, the snow does bring out the best in people), but not before a comedy moment involving me falling flat on my face. Spouse said one minute he could see me in the rear view mirror. The next, he ... couldn't.
Still without driving up there (it's just that bit too far for the littlies to walk without lots and lots of moaning), we couldn't have seen this fantastic sunset...
And the kids couldn't have done this...
Or enjoyed another snowball fight...
And falling flat on my face was certainly worth witnessing this...
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Snow Joke
So... we're officially three days into The Great British Winter of 2009 (which no doubt will go down in the history books at this rate), and... the children are still off school. Yesterday eagle eyed news viewers might have noticed that Surrey was one of the few local authorities which closed ALL its schools. We did have a lot of snow. I know this. And conditions were very treacherous yesterday (we got stuck in Sainsbury's car park - of which more later...), so I can just about cope with them not having gone back yesterday, as even Spouse didn't make it in which is incredibly rare (He has also just rung to say it's taken him two hours to get a mile away from where he works, so conditions still aren't good). But... THREE days off school??? With more snow predicted today/tomorrow that probably wipes out this week then.(Incidentally, only 96 schools in the country remain closed. It would be my luck to have children in three of them...)
My spies close to the school tell me that there has been no attempt to even clear a path in the snow (they do have a live in caretaker who presumably has spent the last two days sledging on the Downs like the rest of the world), so OF COURSE they can cite Elf and Safety as a reason why the kids can't go in. The fact that the majority of children can walk into school is neither here nor there, apparently. Most of the staff allegedly can't get in. Given that, in the junior school, we have already lost seven days to the flood this term (I have just worked out that the kids have been in for twelve days and off for ten) on top of the three days they lost last summer thanks to the building work, you'll forgive me for being slightly cynical about the commitment of the school to actually opening at all in the event of any untoward circumstances. What riles me most is if I took the kids out of school for this amount of time they'd probably have me investigated by social services. As it is, the ONLY time I've ever taken them out for a day I wasn't allowed to. (Guess who might be doing it more in the future).
I do understand that this week has seen an Extreme Weather Event etc, etc. But... I fear my children are being sent a very bad message about not perservering when things are difficult. Given that the world they are growing up in is rapidly changing, and they may face a more hostile economic climate even then we did growing up in the eighties recession, I think this is a very bad thing. We recently attended a meeting at no 1's school where the head talked about preparing our children for a world which is changing so fast it's almost impossible to keep up. She played this rather sobering video highlighting the competition they're likely to face. I don't suppose in China or India kids don't go to school when there's an Extreme Weather Event - they probably walk miles to get there anyway. Our children should be encouraged to too.
On the other hand. The children did learn how to make an igloo...
My spies close to the school tell me that there has been no attempt to even clear a path in the snow (they do have a live in caretaker who presumably has spent the last two days sledging on the Downs like the rest of the world), so OF COURSE they can cite Elf and Safety as a reason why the kids can't go in. The fact that the majority of children can walk into school is neither here nor there, apparently. Most of the staff allegedly can't get in. Given that, in the junior school, we have already lost seven days to the flood this term (I have just worked out that the kids have been in for twelve days and off for ten) on top of the three days they lost last summer thanks to the building work, you'll forgive me for being slightly cynical about the commitment of the school to actually opening at all in the event of any untoward circumstances. What riles me most is if I took the kids out of school for this amount of time they'd probably have me investigated by social services. As it is, the ONLY time I've ever taken them out for a day I wasn't allowed to. (Guess who might be doing it more in the future).
I do understand that this week has seen an Extreme Weather Event etc, etc. But... I fear my children are being sent a very bad message about not perservering when things are difficult. Given that the world they are growing up in is rapidly changing, and they may face a more hostile economic climate even then we did growing up in the eighties recession, I think this is a very bad thing. We recently attended a meeting at no 1's school where the head talked about preparing our children for a world which is changing so fast it's almost impossible to keep up. She played this rather sobering video highlighting the competition they're likely to face. I don't suppose in China or India kids don't go to school when there's an Extreme Weather Event - they probably walk miles to get there anyway. Our children should be encouraged to too.
On the other hand. The children did learn how to make an igloo...
Monday, February 02, 2009
White Out
So we've had about 12 inches of snow overnight, the car is stuck in the driveway (first time ever) we can't see the conservatory roof, the snow drifted up to the front step (also a first), the animals are snowed in (at least they're insulated), and naturally... the kids are all off school. Becasue there haven't been enough reasons to keep them at home so far this year, have there?
Actually to be honest, I'm not surprised about school closures, as there are no trains running and even the M25 has several inches of snow, so all the roads round here are completely stuffed. I don't think I can recall my whole life having snow like this, so I'm quite glad the kids are going to experience it. They're all off out in the garden now, and we're planning to make an igloo later. For once we might even have enough snow to make a decent snow man. (I appreciate, Persephone by your standards this is nothing, but we Brits never get it like this in the south east)
No 3 is distraught though as she was supposed to be going on a school trip, now cancelled, and has just informed me she banged the conservatory door shut, and a whole load of snow landed on her head. I sense this could be a very long, wet and cold day...
Oh and Spouse has just rung. He walked into work. And he's the only one there. No staff, no patients, so maybe he'll get to join us for some snow fun later...
Actually to be honest, I'm not surprised about school closures, as there are no trains running and even the M25 has several inches of snow, so all the roads round here are completely stuffed. I don't think I can recall my whole life having snow like this, so I'm quite glad the kids are going to experience it. They're all off out in the garden now, and we're planning to make an igloo later. For once we might even have enough snow to make a decent snow man. (I appreciate, Persephone by your standards this is nothing, but we Brits never get it like this in the south east)
No 3 is distraught though as she was supposed to be going on a school trip, now cancelled, and has just informed me she banged the conservatory door shut, and a whole load of snow landed on her head. I sense this could be a very long, wet and cold day...
Oh and Spouse has just rung. He walked into work. And he's the only one there. No staff, no patients, so maybe he'll get to join us for some snow fun later...
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Inspiration... or lack of.
I am in a state of limbo with writing at the moment. I am still waiting for rewrites on the Christmas book, which is hovering round the edges of my consciousness, and preventing me from going full speed ahead and getting properly started on my next book. Uggh. I wish I could do this another way. It would be lovely to sit down for three hours every morning after Spouse has gone to work and the kids are at school and just WRITE in a focussed and meaningful kind of way. But. I. Just. Can't....
Instead I witter about, putting off the housework. Now doing THAT would be at least productive. Visiting blogs I like, joining in chats on my online groups, surfing the net ostensibly for research, getting on with editing stuff I also need to do, and ... looking up songs I want for the soundtrack for the next book.
Starting a new book is incredibly daunting. In fact, it seems to be getting more daunting every time I do it. Is this the time the muse will fail to strike? Will someone find me out for the fraud I am? Will everyone hate it? Will I hate it?
Oh stop buggering about and just DO it...
I know once I take the plunge it will probably be fine, and this frittering/wittering time is I am convinced part of the process for me, because although I still haven't completely worked out my plot, or my structure, or even all of the characters' names, my subconscious is working over time at the moment, and every day throws up another good idea, which goes conscientiously down on the huge list I seem to be writing for all things relating to this masterpiece, and which I am hoping I still remember when I come to write it.
This book, as I've mentioned before is going to focus on female friendship. So the story is about four girlfriends - I've called them the Fab Four in honour of a quartet I was part of with my twin in our teens, and I've tried to give them significant names according to important female friendships I've had at various points in my life.
So I have: Sarah, who represents my Fab Four era, Beth for my university days (named after Beth Jordache from Brookie, which was a formative influence at the time) Doris for the time I got married, as a friend jokingly named me that, and I'm a bit stuck on number four who is representative of my friends now. I'm toying with Fran or Frankie as a nod to Dirty Dancing which is the favourite film of a good friend of mine, but I don't really like that name, so I may just ask my mate her second name instead, or possibly use a character from Desperate Housewives. Having not named number four is one of the reasons I'm a bit stuck, as until her name's right I can't get properly going on her story. I am comforting myself with the fact that Emily wasn't going to be the main thrust of Strictly Love, but came good in the end. So I'm sure my unnamed heroine will be fine... in the end.
In the meantime I am getting lots of ideas about music....
White Wedding by Billy Idol is a must, as is Here Come the Girls, by the Sugababes. But I'm also lining up: Ever Fallen in Love by the Buzzcocks, Shadow of Love by the Damned, Don't You Forget About Me Simple Minds, Always on my Mind Pet Shop Boys (all of which were part of the soundtrack to my own love life, and I need to tap into that emotion). I'm also considering Man with the Child in his Eyes by Kate Bush, Before I Fall to Pieces by Razorlight and Let me Entertain you by Robbie (good old Robbie, what would I do without him?)
Part of the process of this for me also is that I need to be working towards a major pivotal emotional scene which occurs at the end of the book, and always before I start writing I have that scene in my head. In Pastures New I soundtracked it to Sing by Travis, in Strictly Love it was Feel by Robbie Williams, and in Last Christmas it's Pretty Amazing Grace by Neil Diamond.
This time around, I had worked out what the scene was, and also worked out how I was going to utilise some spare untapped emotion I needed to get rid of without upsetting people I know in my real life, but I hadn't got a song. If I wasn't stupid, I'd have picked up Mad Twin's reference to it month's ago, but somehow I didn't, and I only got it from Medium Rob's blog last week, and then heard it again used to fabulous effect in Being Human. It's Johnny Cash's version of Hurt. Apparently recorded just before he and his wife died. Listen and weep...
Instead I witter about, putting off the housework. Now doing THAT would be at least productive. Visiting blogs I like, joining in chats on my online groups, surfing the net ostensibly for research, getting on with editing stuff I also need to do, and ... looking up songs I want for the soundtrack for the next book.
Starting a new book is incredibly daunting. In fact, it seems to be getting more daunting every time I do it. Is this the time the muse will fail to strike? Will someone find me out for the fraud I am? Will everyone hate it? Will I hate it?
Oh stop buggering about and just DO it...
I know once I take the plunge it will probably be fine, and this frittering/wittering time is I am convinced part of the process for me, because although I still haven't completely worked out my plot, or my structure, or even all of the characters' names, my subconscious is working over time at the moment, and every day throws up another good idea, which goes conscientiously down on the huge list I seem to be writing for all things relating to this masterpiece, and which I am hoping I still remember when I come to write it.
This book, as I've mentioned before is going to focus on female friendship. So the story is about four girlfriends - I've called them the Fab Four in honour of a quartet I was part of with my twin in our teens, and I've tried to give them significant names according to important female friendships I've had at various points in my life.
So I have: Sarah, who represents my Fab Four era, Beth for my university days (named after Beth Jordache from Brookie, which was a formative influence at the time) Doris for the time I got married, as a friend jokingly named me that, and I'm a bit stuck on number four who is representative of my friends now. I'm toying with Fran or Frankie as a nod to Dirty Dancing which is the favourite film of a good friend of mine, but I don't really like that name, so I may just ask my mate her second name instead, or possibly use a character from Desperate Housewives. Having not named number four is one of the reasons I'm a bit stuck, as until her name's right I can't get properly going on her story. I am comforting myself with the fact that Emily wasn't going to be the main thrust of Strictly Love, but came good in the end. So I'm sure my unnamed heroine will be fine... in the end.
In the meantime I am getting lots of ideas about music....
White Wedding by Billy Idol is a must, as is Here Come the Girls, by the Sugababes. But I'm also lining up: Ever Fallen in Love by the Buzzcocks, Shadow of Love by the Damned, Don't You Forget About Me Simple Minds, Always on my Mind Pet Shop Boys (all of which were part of the soundtrack to my own love life, and I need to tap into that emotion). I'm also considering Man with the Child in his Eyes by Kate Bush, Before I Fall to Pieces by Razorlight and Let me Entertain you by Robbie (good old Robbie, what would I do without him?)
Part of the process of this for me also is that I need to be working towards a major pivotal emotional scene which occurs at the end of the book, and always before I start writing I have that scene in my head. In Pastures New I soundtracked it to Sing by Travis, in Strictly Love it was Feel by Robbie Williams, and in Last Christmas it's Pretty Amazing Grace by Neil Diamond.
This time around, I had worked out what the scene was, and also worked out how I was going to utilise some spare untapped emotion I needed to get rid of without upsetting people I know in my real life, but I hadn't got a song. If I wasn't stupid, I'd have picked up Mad Twin's reference to it month's ago, but somehow I didn't, and I only got it from Medium Rob's blog last week, and then heard it again used to fabulous effect in Being Human. It's Johnny Cash's version of Hurt. Apparently recorded just before he and his wife died. Listen and weep...
Monday, January 26, 2009
Being Human
Last year I stumbled by accident on a pilot episode for a series called Being Human. Only being a dickhead, I didn't realise it was a pilot and wasted a week scouring the airwaves to try and find an elusive and non existent part 2. Given that Spouse and I are both big horror/fantasy fans, we couldn't have stumbled across a programme we were going to like more. The plot (if you haven't seen it) features a werewolf, a vampire and a ghost flatsharing in Bristol. It was properly dark, properly funny, and featured three engaging characters. I haven't been so entranced by a new series of anything, ooh, forever...
I was therefore delighted to discover it was going to be made into a series, but slightly disconcerted to find out that two of the orginal trio (Guy Flanagan who played the vampire, Mitchell and Andrea Riseborough who played the ghost Annie) had been replaced. Also gone was the malevolent head of the vampires, Adrian Lester, which was a shame I thought as he was shaping up well as a character.
However, having watched episode one last night, I was really pleased that if anything I enjoyed it more. Russell Tovey as George really carries off the horror of turning into something you don't want ot be. Mitchell as played by Aidan Turner, feels a lot more dangerous and you get the sense he is grappling hard not to succumb to his bloodlust. The moment when George the werewolf discovers that the colleague whose memorial service he's just attended is in fact a vampire created by Mitchell was spinechilling, particularly when he also realises that Mitchell may have designs on the girl they both fancy. I liked the tension of George not being sure he can trust Mitchell, and yet Mitchell is the one who protects and helps George overcome the difficulties inherent in his condition.
There were also some really touching moments in this. Annie's shock at seeing what happens to George when he transforms; George's irritation towards Annie's obsessive tea making transforming to tenderness when she realises the loss of her fiance once again; George's realisation at the end that by allowing the girlfriend to die Mitchell has actually saved her.
The ending was heartrending as you really felt Mitchell's pain. Thanks to Medium Rob I was introduced to a great song last week, Hurt by Johnny Cash, and it was used here to fabulous effect. (In fact I like it so much I think I may have to steal it for the soundtrack for the new book).
By the end of this episode I felt all three characters had really grown and understood one another more. It was great.
I also liked Jason Fleming's Herrick - the head vampire, who somehow seems more menacing played as a policeman. Not quite so sure yet about Lenora Crichlow's Annie, but Andrea Riseborough is a tough act to follow, so maybe she'll get better.
But still, it looks like I've got something to keep me occupied for the next few Sundays. After the disappointment of Demons which is much sillier (and not in a good, silly Primeval/Dr Who kind of way) then I thought after episode one, that is a relief. My only problem now is persuading the two big ones that they really aren't quite old enough to watch this...
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Audacity of Hope
While I am intensely interested in politics, it may not have escaped the notice of readers of this blog that I am also incredibly cynical about them.My first memory of politicians were fuzzy black and white pictures of Harold Wilson, Ted Heath and Jim Callaghan in the grim years of the 1970s (oh how well Life on Mars recaptured that era), but my first political awakening came one sunny day in 1979 when I woke up to discover that Margaret Thatcher was our new Prime Minister. I was fourteen years old, my parents were so fed up with Callaghan they were thrilled, and it was to be nearly twenty years before I experienced a Labour government as an adult. Such is the general foaming at the mouth hatred engendered by the liberal middle classes in this country, when they think about Thatcher, it is easy to forget that actually that last Labour government was shit. I remember my childhood as being a time of strikes and bread shortages, and the Winter of Discontent was certainly not the best advert for Labour. So I do recall that mood of optimism sweeping the country (or well parts of it anyway) at the thought that now there would be change.
By the time of the next election, my political mindset was more set, and less focussed on what I'd overheard my parents say. I just missed voting that year and was quite glad I did, as I hadn't a clue who I'd have voted for. Although I did know one thing, I wouldn't have been voting for Thatcher by then. The next two elections I could vote in, it felt like I was wasting my vote. The Tories were going to be back by a foregone conclusion (even when Neil Kinnock made that dangerous speech in 1992), my natural inclination to vote Liberal was a waste in Labour Liverpool where I first voted in '87 and even more of one in sunny Tory Surrey where I've voted ever since. By the time John Major came into office I despaired of ever seeing a Labour government. Now of course, I despair of ever getting rid of one.
But in all that time, I have never ever felt (even when Tony Blair came in and the winds of change did seem for a moment to blow across the land) that there was someone in government to inspire, to lead, to somehow make us better then we are. And being the old cynic I am, I always thought it would stay that way. Politics is a rough and dirty business, you probably can't retain much integrity and survive, at some point your morals will have to be compromised. It is I think, the nature of the beast.
Or that's how I've always looked at it.
Until today.
Now I'm not going to go over all gushy and write some tosh about how Barack Obama is the new messiah or anything, but hearing him speak tonight, I thought finally we have a leader of the free world who can speak with compassion and feeling, who has a sense of his nation's past, and the humility to realise the problems of its future. He makes no bones about the difficulties that lie ahead or the problems of the task that faces him. Crucially (I think, having witnessed far too many new bosses sweeping in making huge changes without figuring out what actually works) he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to change things too fast, which I hope means that he's going to give himself time to work out how the hell he's going to do this job.
Now it may be that in a year's time some skeleton will come out of the closet, or Barack will have fucked up in a major way. Or god forbid, someone will have taken a pot shot at him. But...
JFK died two years before I was born. No one who's ruled his country or mine since has made me feel in the slightest bit inspired.
And today, Barack did inspire me. He did make me think, even if only for a moment, that things could and will be different.
So for once I'm going with the flow and put my cynicism aside. It may be in four years time I'll be saying I was wrong, but for this one tiny moment in history I'm going to allow myself the audacity of hoping that change really is on its way...
Monday, January 19, 2009
Barack O'Bama
Given that tomorrow is going to be a day that for once really deserve the title "historic", I couldn't resist reposting the Barack Obama is Irish song, as it made me laugh so much. (Sorry Lisa, you've probably only just got the tune out of your head.)
I really hope that Barack doesn't turn out to be all blarney and hot air. At least he is sensibly not rushing into change things too quickly, and recognising he has one hell of a job on his hands. Maybe, just maybe America and the world have got the president we need for the times we live in. Wouldn't it be just wonderful for once to have a world leader we could all say in ten years time was truly great? I'm not sure that that's ever happened in my lifetime, and I'm such a cynic I'm not sure it's going to happen now.
But... for once. I'd like to be idealistic, and am crossing my fingers and hoping that he truly can effect change. (And sort out the credit crunch to boot...)
I really hope that Barack doesn't turn out to be all blarney and hot air. At least he is sensibly not rushing into change things too quickly, and recognising he has one hell of a job on his hands. Maybe, just maybe America and the world have got the president we need for the times we live in. Wouldn't it be just wonderful for once to have a world leader we could all say in ten years time was truly great? I'm not sure that that's ever happened in my lifetime, and I'm such a cynic I'm not sure it's going to happen now.
But... for once. I'd like to be idealistic, and am crossing my fingers and hoping that he truly can effect change. (And sort out the credit crunch to boot...)
Friday, January 16, 2009
Find the nude dude...
Today started with a phone call from social services to say they were coming to assess mil's needs (this is a Good Thing I hasten to add). Unfortunately said assessment was taking place at 8.45 when I'm on the school run, and I had the phone call two minutes after I'd arranged a GP appointment for no 4 at 9.50.
So I had to drive like a maniac to school, drop the older two off, run into the office to let them know no 4 was going to be late, and get back to mil's in time to meet the carer. I just about had enough time to go through all the necessary paperwork, but en route to the doctor's remembered I was supposed to be answering an urgent request about a book title on a project I'm working on.
No time before the docs (I still ended up late), and by the time I'd dropped no 4 back at school I was running late for my very expensive pilates class which is paid for up front, and I hadn't had breakfast... Stuffed a banana down, did my email and got to pilates ten minutes late (which wasn't bad going actually). Felt like death warmed up afterwards, and not cheered to discover that my pilates teacher recommends more physio for my back and mentioned the dread words swollen disc and operation (ouch, ouch, ouch!!)
So by lunchtime you could say that I wasn't feeling a happy bunny. Then I went onto one of my online groups and someone had posted this. Well. It made me smile. But little things etc...
http://www.realholidays.com.au/nudedude/index.html
So I had to drive like a maniac to school, drop the older two off, run into the office to let them know no 4 was going to be late, and get back to mil's in time to meet the carer. I just about had enough time to go through all the necessary paperwork, but en route to the doctor's remembered I was supposed to be answering an urgent request about a book title on a project I'm working on.
No time before the docs (I still ended up late), and by the time I'd dropped no 4 back at school I was running late for my very expensive pilates class which is paid for up front, and I hadn't had breakfast... Stuffed a banana down, did my email and got to pilates ten minutes late (which wasn't bad going actually). Felt like death warmed up afterwards, and not cheered to discover that my pilates teacher recommends more physio for my back and mentioned the dread words swollen disc and operation (ouch, ouch, ouch!!)
So by lunchtime you could say that I wasn't feeling a happy bunny. Then I went onto one of my online groups and someone had posted this. Well. It made me smile. But little things etc...
http://www.realholidays.com.au/nudedude/index.html
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
My mama said...
Two of the most important people in my life, my mother and Spouse still fail to understand why I blog, and what I love about it. Well dear people, it's this. Picking up on my slightly frantic post from yesterday, lovely Persephone all the way from Canada posted two links on my blog to cheer me up. You don't get that sitting at home on your own NOT hooked up to the internet. Before I had an online life, when my children were small, and the walls of my home were closing in on me, I was going slightly demented. I may still be slightly demented, but at least I have found lots of friendly people to share my dementia with. The blogosphere gives me so much more then mere procrastination (though it offers that too, and I accept gratefully. If I didn't procrastinate I'd never get ANYTHING done.)
On the subject of my mother, about whom I write rarely to protect her privacy (though as she a) doesn't own a computer b) would never go online and read this even if she did, I maybe being over zealous about that), I will tell you that she is an ex nurse (her set at the London was the first to be trained in Bevan's new NHS. I keep telling her she needs to write a nurses version of that book about the East end midwife), and is a fantastic source of old fashioned remedies.
So among many other things my mama has said to me over the years, I have learnt you can use magnesium sulphate to draw out pus from horrible boils (Spouse wouldn't believe that one), a gin and tonic really does work wonders for period pain, and once when no 1 had a horrible gash we felt sure needed stitches, she pulled the skin together really tight, bound it up with steri strips and plaster and lo and behold the gash healed up in days.
Of late she has been giving me helpful advice about the ongoing back problem. One of her suggestions was to take Syndol as a muscle relaxant. I was a bit wary about it because it can also make you sleepy (and contains codeine, which is a cureall my mother used for years before it was banned from the shelves because of it's addictive properties). However. I was in so much agony on Monday night, and swimming which normally helps didn't, I took one before bed. It didn't do a lot and yesterday morning I had another one. Still no effect. The packet has dire warnings about only using Syndol for three days at a time. So I had one last night, thinking I'd give up on it after today, and lo and behold. I woke up this morning relatively pain free. So thanks mama. I'm glad I listened to what you said.
And thanks to Persephone and Jaywalker for sharing this. May those of you who are enjoying a rubbish start to 2009 (and I profoundly hope you aren't) sit back, relax and enjoy...
And if that hasn't done the trick. Have a butchers at this. I laughed out loud watching it this morning. Thank you soooo much, Persephone. I can only dream about my traffic bastards having been that good looking. Or romantic...
On the subject of my mother, about whom I write rarely to protect her privacy (though as she a) doesn't own a computer b) would never go online and read this even if she did, I maybe being over zealous about that), I will tell you that she is an ex nurse (her set at the London was the first to be trained in Bevan's new NHS. I keep telling her she needs to write a nurses version of that book about the East end midwife), and is a fantastic source of old fashioned remedies.
So among many other things my mama has said to me over the years, I have learnt you can use magnesium sulphate to draw out pus from horrible boils (Spouse wouldn't believe that one), a gin and tonic really does work wonders for period pain, and once when no 1 had a horrible gash we felt sure needed stitches, she pulled the skin together really tight, bound it up with steri strips and plaster and lo and behold the gash healed up in days.
Of late she has been giving me helpful advice about the ongoing back problem. One of her suggestions was to take Syndol as a muscle relaxant. I was a bit wary about it because it can also make you sleepy (and contains codeine, which is a cureall my mother used for years before it was banned from the shelves because of it's addictive properties). However. I was in so much agony on Monday night, and swimming which normally helps didn't, I took one before bed. It didn't do a lot and yesterday morning I had another one. Still no effect. The packet has dire warnings about only using Syndol for three days at a time. So I had one last night, thinking I'd give up on it after today, and lo and behold. I woke up this morning relatively pain free. So thanks mama. I'm glad I listened to what you said.
And thanks to Persephone and Jaywalker for sharing this. May those of you who are enjoying a rubbish start to 2009 (and I profoundly hope you aren't) sit back, relax and enjoy...
And if that hasn't done the trick. Have a butchers at this. I laughed out loud watching it this morning. Thank you soooo much, Persephone. I can only dream about my traffic bastards having been that good looking. Or romantic...
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
It's official
I want 2009 to STOP. Right. Now...
So far this year:
I've spent time trying to sort out social services to help with mil, and since we discovered she's not eating well am providing an impromptu meals on wheels service
Been unable to get any work done because I STILL have two children off school (back tomorrow, everything crossed)
My back trouble has resurfaced (not helped by long overdue hoovering of the house yesterday)
Spouse and I were back and forth to mil's three times yesterday to help sort out a leak from the upstairs flat (actually that could have been worse, when she first phoned me I assumed it was a veritable flood, rather then the massive amounts of damp it turned out to be, but it still involved a lot of toing and froing), plus running to the doctor for antibiotics for her.
And if that wasn't enough, Saturday proved the icing on the cake.
When I was taking the children to their various activities on Saturday morning, I foolishly parked in a bay marked private, which is part of an office car park which acts as an overspill at the weekends. Everyone does it, and like a twit I assumed that the council notice advising you you can park in the office car park out of office hours applied to those spaces too. But apparently not.
I was sitting at the leisure centre having a cup of coffee with a friend while no 4 was having a gym class. Spouse was coming to meet me, and en route in noticed I'd been clamped. I went out to find a number to ring, and discovered a happy little notice on the car telling me that I was going to be charged £75 for parking illegally and a further £125 for the bloody clamp to be removed.
There was no one around. The office was shut. It started to snow. I couldn't get through on the number I tried to ring (mind you I was using Spouse's ancient mobile which is increasingly dodgy), so I went back to the leisure centre, where they said I could use their phone, but for some reason everytime I rang the number it kept coming back to reception. By now convinced I was part of some Real Hustle scam (you've seen the one, the wheel clampers park round the corner, come back take your money and clone your card. Cynic.Qui moi?)
Spouse meanwhile returned home to pick up the other car, while I headed out into the cold . And boy was it cold. Persephone if you're reading, I realise by your standards it was probably like a spring day in the park, but I hadn't wrapped up that warmly, not thinking I'd be standing outside for an hour when it was -3. Earlier in the morning I'd also taken the kids to their swimming lessons and walked through the damp floor to the changing rooms in my socks. They were so wet I took them off, not anticipating that I would be spending over an hour in the freezing cold.
Eventually some little oiks turned up in a van with a pleasing dent in the side (unhappy punter anyone?) and aggressively told me that it was my fault for parking in the wrong place. I didn't know I couldn't, was my not unreasonable response, but reason doesn't mean anything to these people, and I have to admit in these situations my tolerance levels are precisely zero. Before long we were trading insults, and I was demanding proof of identity. He flashed a badge which meant precisely nothing, and then I spoke to his oiky manager who was somewhat less then helpful and cut me off. At that point I decided to ring the police to check the company out. By now I'd been joined by a friend who helpfully lent me her phone, and a stranger who usefully had the numbers of Surrey Police and the local council on hers. She also told me she had a WRITTEN letter from the council saying it was possible to park in the offending bays. Not that that cut any ice with my oiky friends of course...
The council offices were of course shut. The police response was to suggest I ring the Office of Fair Trading, from where I got no answer. At that point my kind friends had to disappear home, Spouse arrived back with my phone, and I spotted two other poor sods in the same situation. So we teamed up to confront the oiks, who grew quickly more aggressive once they realised there were several of us, and threatened us with a tow truck and the possibility of the fine growing larger. One of the clampees who rather usefully had an offduty copper mate with her, paid the fine, but then we spotted the council notice telling us we could park at the weekends. We tried to point it out to clamping vanmen, but they weren't interested. Our copper friend suggested we ring the police to clarify the matter, at which point they promptly fucked off, confirming all my suspicions. The other couple were so irate they were talking about getting bolt cutters by this time, and our copper friend told us that it would be criminal damage, but probably nothing would come of it. We were all pondering the possibility of becoming criminals when the police arrived.
After much discussion (and a lot of verbal on behalf of the other couple) it transpired that the police can do precisely diddly squat in these matters. The council also have no jurisdiction. So therefore a bleeding private firm can screw the pants off you and you have no recourse to any kind of justice. After a standoff lasting a further half hour (during which Spouse rounded up all the offspring and took them home), we all had to capitulate and pay the sodding fine - you can't appeal it unless you pay, you see...
By now my feet were like blocks of ice, and I couldn't feel anything from my shins down. When I walked I felt like a little old woman. I hobbled my way back to the car followed by Oik no 1 who had been so aggressive at the start. He undid the offending chain and mumbled, Sorry for the inconvenience in a not very convincing manner. I am not at all a violent person, but Ihave never ever felt more like committing an act of physical violence on another human being. I am amazed I manage to resist thumping him, although the thought of doing it in front of a copper was quite a good incentive not to...
So there you have it. We're only thirteen days in and already 2009 is a pile of crap. I think I may spend the rest of the year in hibernation.
Roll on 2010....
So far this year:
I've spent time trying to sort out social services to help with mil, and since we discovered she's not eating well am providing an impromptu meals on wheels service
Been unable to get any work done because I STILL have two children off school (back tomorrow, everything crossed)
My back trouble has resurfaced (not helped by long overdue hoovering of the house yesterday)
Spouse and I were back and forth to mil's three times yesterday to help sort out a leak from the upstairs flat (actually that could have been worse, when she first phoned me I assumed it was a veritable flood, rather then the massive amounts of damp it turned out to be, but it still involved a lot of toing and froing), plus running to the doctor for antibiotics for her.
And if that wasn't enough, Saturday proved the icing on the cake.
When I was taking the children to their various activities on Saturday morning, I foolishly parked in a bay marked private, which is part of an office car park which acts as an overspill at the weekends. Everyone does it, and like a twit I assumed that the council notice advising you you can park in the office car park out of office hours applied to those spaces too. But apparently not.
I was sitting at the leisure centre having a cup of coffee with a friend while no 4 was having a gym class. Spouse was coming to meet me, and en route in noticed I'd been clamped. I went out to find a number to ring, and discovered a happy little notice on the car telling me that I was going to be charged £75 for parking illegally and a further £125 for the bloody clamp to be removed.
There was no one around. The office was shut. It started to snow. I couldn't get through on the number I tried to ring (mind you I was using Spouse's ancient mobile which is increasingly dodgy), so I went back to the leisure centre, where they said I could use their phone, but for some reason everytime I rang the number it kept coming back to reception. By now convinced I was part of some Real Hustle scam (you've seen the one, the wheel clampers park round the corner, come back take your money and clone your card. Cynic.Qui moi?)
Spouse meanwhile returned home to pick up the other car, while I headed out into the cold . And boy was it cold. Persephone if you're reading, I realise by your standards it was probably like a spring day in the park, but I hadn't wrapped up that warmly, not thinking I'd be standing outside for an hour when it was -3. Earlier in the morning I'd also taken the kids to their swimming lessons and walked through the damp floor to the changing rooms in my socks. They were so wet I took them off, not anticipating that I would be spending over an hour in the freezing cold.
Eventually some little oiks turned up in a van with a pleasing dent in the side (unhappy punter anyone?) and aggressively told me that it was my fault for parking in the wrong place. I didn't know I couldn't, was my not unreasonable response, but reason doesn't mean anything to these people, and I have to admit in these situations my tolerance levels are precisely zero. Before long we were trading insults, and I was demanding proof of identity. He flashed a badge which meant precisely nothing, and then I spoke to his oiky manager who was somewhat less then helpful and cut me off. At that point I decided to ring the police to check the company out. By now I'd been joined by a friend who helpfully lent me her phone, and a stranger who usefully had the numbers of Surrey Police and the local council on hers. She also told me she had a WRITTEN letter from the council saying it was possible to park in the offending bays. Not that that cut any ice with my oiky friends of course...
The council offices were of course shut. The police response was to suggest I ring the Office of Fair Trading, from where I got no answer. At that point my kind friends had to disappear home, Spouse arrived back with my phone, and I spotted two other poor sods in the same situation. So we teamed up to confront the oiks, who grew quickly more aggressive once they realised there were several of us, and threatened us with a tow truck and the possibility of the fine growing larger. One of the clampees who rather usefully had an offduty copper mate with her, paid the fine, but then we spotted the council notice telling us we could park at the weekends. We tried to point it out to clamping vanmen, but they weren't interested. Our copper friend suggested we ring the police to clarify the matter, at which point they promptly fucked off, confirming all my suspicions. The other couple were so irate they were talking about getting bolt cutters by this time, and our copper friend told us that it would be criminal damage, but probably nothing would come of it. We were all pondering the possibility of becoming criminals when the police arrived.
After much discussion (and a lot of verbal on behalf of the other couple) it transpired that the police can do precisely diddly squat in these matters. The council also have no jurisdiction. So therefore a bleeding private firm can screw the pants off you and you have no recourse to any kind of justice. After a standoff lasting a further half hour (during which Spouse rounded up all the offspring and took them home), we all had to capitulate and pay the sodding fine - you can't appeal it unless you pay, you see...
By now my feet were like blocks of ice, and I couldn't feel anything from my shins down. When I walked I felt like a little old woman. I hobbled my way back to the car followed by Oik no 1 who had been so aggressive at the start. He undid the offending chain and mumbled, Sorry for the inconvenience in a not very convincing manner. I am not at all a violent person, but Ihave never ever felt more like committing an act of physical violence on another human being. I am amazed I manage to resist thumping him, although the thought of doing it in front of a copper was quite a good incentive not to...
So there you have it. We're only thirteen days in and already 2009 is a pile of crap. I think I may spend the rest of the year in hibernation.
Roll on 2010....
Friday, January 09, 2009
Turns out...
I have maligned the local County Council, as the school DID have a frost resistant system in place which has to kick in when it gets cold. However, I still think it seems daft not having the heating on AT ALL in the coldest winter we've had in over a decade. From the pics I've seen the culprit appears to be a pipe that may not have been tightened properly, so I forsee a nasty legal battle ahead.
Good news is the school are reporting today that they nearly have upstairs sorted, a temporary office is on its way, and with luck and a following wind we might get the kids back on Monday. I have a feeling though that they'll phase them in gradually with Year 6 (No2) going in first because the school will be so worried about the blasted SATs (about which I give not an iota as I think their educational value is about zero), so that means I'll probably have no 3 off on her own for a few days...
Still at least I got them to clean out the animals yesterday....
Good news is the school are reporting today that they nearly have upstairs sorted, a temporary office is on its way, and with luck and a following wind we might get the kids back on Monday. I have a feeling though that they'll phase them in gradually with Year 6 (No2) going in first because the school will be so worried about the blasted SATs (about which I give not an iota as I think their educational value is about zero), so that means I'll probably have no 3 off on her own for a few days...
Still at least I got them to clean out the animals yesterday....
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Water, water everywhere...
In the attic and down the stairs...
So it turns out that the damage at the Junior School is catastrophic. The wiring is soaking wet so no one is allowed in the building for Elf and Safety reasons, the new girls' toilets are completely trashed as the ceiling has come down, the school office is ruined, as apparently are all the school records, two staffrooms are a mess, plus two classrooms, the school hall (ceiling and floor allegedly in dodgy state) and the saddest thing the school library is completely destroyed. The books can of course be replaced under the insurance, but the school have a policy of the children being able to donate a book to the library on their birthdays, and all those memories are now gone. Not that I've ever been efficient enough to do that mind you, but I know plenty of people who have, and it does seem rather sad.
The story at the moment is that school will reopen on Monday, but barring miracles I can't see it myself. Which does rather beg the question as to how my children are going to catch up on the week they've already missed and however many subsequent days they are going to miss. I appreciate it isn't the schools' fault, but the situation regarding the kids' education is a huge concern if the situation is ongoing. And I would question the wisdom of the local education authority's alleged policy of keeping the heating OFF over the winter holiday. I know we've had mild winters of late, but that strikes me as beyond stupid. If they were thinking of saving money, that's come back to bite them in the butt - on the first day of term there were apparently lots of other schools also off with "boiler" problems, one hopes not quite as drastic as ours...
So in the meantime I have two very bored children, I am going demented as I have work stacking up and can't attend to it, the which dementia being exacerbated by lack of ability to get any exercise in thanks to said children's prolonged stay at home, and it's been so cold they STILL haven't cleaned the animals out.
I can feel January is going to be a long long month....
So it turns out that the damage at the Junior School is catastrophic. The wiring is soaking wet so no one is allowed in the building for Elf and Safety reasons, the new girls' toilets are completely trashed as the ceiling has come down, the school office is ruined, as apparently are all the school records, two staffrooms are a mess, plus two classrooms, the school hall (ceiling and floor allegedly in dodgy state) and the saddest thing the school library is completely destroyed. The books can of course be replaced under the insurance, but the school have a policy of the children being able to donate a book to the library on their birthdays, and all those memories are now gone. Not that I've ever been efficient enough to do that mind you, but I know plenty of people who have, and it does seem rather sad.
The story at the moment is that school will reopen on Monday, but barring miracles I can't see it myself. Which does rather beg the question as to how my children are going to catch up on the week they've already missed and however many subsequent days they are going to miss. I appreciate it isn't the schools' fault, but the situation regarding the kids' education is a huge concern if the situation is ongoing. And I would question the wisdom of the local education authority's alleged policy of keeping the heating OFF over the winter holiday. I know we've had mild winters of late, but that strikes me as beyond stupid. If they were thinking of saving money, that's come back to bite them in the butt - on the first day of term there were apparently lots of other schools also off with "boiler" problems, one hopes not quite as drastic as ours...
So in the meantime I have two very bored children, I am going demented as I have work stacking up and can't attend to it, the which dementia being exacerbated by lack of ability to get any exercise in thanks to said children's prolonged stay at home, and it's been so cold they STILL haven't cleaned the animals out.
I can feel January is going to be a long long month....
Monday, January 05, 2009
New Dr Who
So we have a new Doctor Who. And he seems to have been a surprise (I missed the last minute rumours at the weekend.) After months of speculation, I have to fess up to being quite pleased they managed to keep it quiet for so long, particularly after it looked 99.999% certain it was going to be Paterson Joseph.
As to who Matt Smith is, and whether he's too young etc, well let's wait and see. I glimpsed him briefly in Party Animals and Ruby in the Smoke and liked him in both. He has a rather alien looking face which works. And given that I knew very little of David Tennant when he started I'm open to the possibility that he might just blow my mind (or not). I quite like the fact that he is an unknown, because in a recent Dr Who Confidential I saw, DT made the rather valid point that Dr Who is a blank canvas for each new actor. An unknown one can therefore bring something new and different, in a way that some of the more famous names being thrown into the ring might have had difficulty with. I've also just caught up with his interview on Dr Who Confidential and I rather like what I see. (The only thing is he is sooo young I'm going to start feeling pervy if I lech after him, so it might be time to turn my Dr Who lovin' into a more maternal kind).
As far as the children are concerned they're delighted it isn't David Morrissey who they thought was far too pompous. While I enjoyed DM's stint in the Christmas edition, and was rather hoping that we'd been double bluffed and it WAS him, I think I prefer this solution. And I'm really pleased to have been surprised. So fingers crossed that the new era of Nu Who is as much fun as the previous one...
Snow on snow...
So just to make our Christmas Cup of Happiness complete the snow waits till the first day of term to fall. No1 wasn't going in anyway (to the envy of her sisters), but I got inundated with text messages this morning to let me know that nos 2&3 would also be spending the day at home as a pipe has burst flooding the school. So poor no 4 went sorrowfully off to school, bribed with chocolate in her lunch box, and the not unreasonable feeling that life is a little harsh (she, you may recall had to go to school for three extra days in the summer when her sisters' school was closed for building work). To make matters even worse the juniors aren't apparently going back till at least Thursday. Bang goes my work patterns this week then.
On the upside, I was planning to tackle the after Christmas clearup today, and as another bribe to get no 4 in, I made the others promise to help. And to clean out the animals as well.
There's no point having children if you aren't going to exploit them ruthlessly is there???
On the upside, I was planning to tackle the after Christmas clearup today, and as another bribe to get no 4 in, I made the others promise to help. And to clean out the animals as well.
There's no point having children if you aren't going to exploit them ruthlessly is there???
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