I should not be writing on this blog. I should be working. I have so much work to do I could keel over and die quietly in a corner, but I have a pressing issue I need to get off my mind, which hopefully will leave more room for me to concentrate on work stuff.
So I've posted previously about son 1 and his issues with friends and school and life in general. It's getting worse. He goes to a teeny tiny school and has only 7 children in his class. Two of whom are girls and therefore in the eyes of a five year old boy, don't qualify as human beings much less playmates. This leaves 4 potential people for him to play with. Of these 4, he seems to only want to be friends with one. He plays with the others but they're not his 'friends'. The challenge is that his 'friend' wants to be friends with someone in year 1 more than he wants to be friends with my son.
This is causing my son unhappiness in the extreme. You can't force children to be friends. You can encourage them to play nicely and treat people well but more than that, there's not much you can do. I've tried encouraging him to be friends with the others in his class but there just doesn't seem to be the same chemistry for him.
What's more, he is a nightmare going into school in the mornings, frequently running out of the building, clawing and scratching at me. Once in school, he is fine. He reserves this behaviour for me. But I also know that he cries almost every night because he doesn't want to go to school because of the friends issue.
He's recently started asking to go to a different school. I am now trying to make playdates with old friends who now go to different schools in a bid to make him happy. But it's not solving the day to day issue.
The straw that broke the camel's back happened this weekend, when his 'friend' was invited to the coolest boy in the school's birthday party (he's in year 6) and my son wasn't. He was devastated to say the least. How do you explain to a child why he wasn't invited? It would have been fine if I could say: Well he only invited kids in his year group. But he obviously hadn't. He'd invited my son's best friend and not him. I'm not surprised. Despite the year 6 boy being very friendly to my son, he probably sees him screaming and wailing in the playground every morning and thinks he's probably a bit too babyish to manage a big boys party.
Sigh. It was heartbreaking. I've been close to tears all weekend as a result. All parents want their child to be liked. To be popular. To have friends. But what do you do when it doesn't work out that way?
I have considered moving him to another school, but the next closest is so full (30 kids in reception class already with no limit on the numbers) and the others are oversubscribed and a fairly long drive away. I like him going to the local school we can walk to, but if it means another 6 odd years of this, I might lose my mind. And my poor child will certainly lose his.
Tomorrow I'm going to do something that I'm dreading but that I'm doing (officially) to give my son some moral support. (Unofficially, I am trying to buy him street cred by showing the other kids in his school that he's got a 'cool mum' - at least I'm really hoping that's what they'll think - ergo, he too is cool and worthy of being friends with).
The theme of the week is Around the World, so I've agreed to go and give a presentation to the school on my Around the World sailing adventure. This is going to tax my geography skills somewhat, but I've shown my little presentation to my son and he thinks the kids will love it and he seems to be bursting with pride and excitement. I'll take my sailing gear too so they can try it on and there's a short motivational video for them to watch which should have them all nagging for sailing lessons.
It's a pathetic attempt on my part to try to help him win friends and influence people, but I don't know what else to do. I'm going to attempt to speak to his teacher, but I've already had to speak to her sooooo many times about his not going into school issue that I fear she might just silently roll her eyes and curse whoever has landed her with this problem child.
Wish me luck. And feel free to share your ideas on how to tackle this issue.
Showing posts with label sailing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sailing. Show all posts
Monday, 18 May 2009
Wednesday, 6 May 2009
I've been tagged by Mosey Jones, (also known as Morag) author of the Mumpreneur Diaries. I'm very honoured to be tagged by someone who's actually written a book. I mean we all want to write a book. Right? But to actually do it. To sit down and concentrate and not notice a spot of bolognaise sauce on the sofa that needs to be vanished, well that takes staying power.
Anyway, my task at hand is that I've got to answer these 20 questions, but I also have to replace one question. And add one question. And then tag some bloggy people. This is hard because time is short these days. And answering these questions takes some thought. But I will endeavour.
1. What are your current obsessions?
Sailing. Refusing to accept that just because I'm a mum I can't do something utterly ridiculous. See http://www.moretolifethanlaundry.com/ for more details on this life altering obsession.
2. Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?
Jeans. I have several pairs:
- Oasis - dark blue in good nick. For when I need to look smart (snort)
- Hobbs - used to be my looking smart jeans, now ripped in the crotch area from overuse and have been used for gardening but still in second smart place.
- Random old faded light blue jeans that are too tight, too short and has a zip that goes down all the time
- Very tight jeans that make my legs look very skinny but cause a muffin top and are impossible to sit down in.
3. What was your favourite childhood meal?
Macaroni cheese. Still love it, although now I wash it down with gaviscon.
4. Last thing you bought?
A piece of red carboard. Intrigued as to why? I'm not telling.
5. What are you listening to?
Take That - The Circus. Have Hold Up a Light on repeat cycle. Love it, love it, love it.
6. Wine or chocolate?
Wine. Duh.
7. Favourite holiday spots?
Selous Game Reserve Tanzania. Yes, I do sound like a bougois (sp?) snob. We went there on honeymoon, before the days of kids clubs...sniff.
8. Reading right now?
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
9. Four words to describe yourself.
Away with the fairies OR alternatively: Very, very, very busy
10. Guilty pleasure?
Listening to music and imagining my life as a music video
11. Who or what makes you laugh until you’re weak?
The blokes on my last sailing training week. Can't decide which story was funniest - the gorilla choosing between the cabbage vs poo to have for lunch, or the elderly gentleman's testicle popping out of his boxers. You had to be there, honest.
12. Favourite spring thing to do?
Wear flip flops for the first time after months in confinement
13. Planning to travel to next?
Sailing 5,300 nautical miles to Rio de Janeiro (jealous yet?)
14. Best thing you ate or drank lately?
Illicit bag of peanut M&Ms. Didn't realise I wanted them till I ripped the bag open and scoffed the lot in under a minute.
15. When did you last get tipsy?
Last night. And I fear tonight might be a repeat performance
16. Favourite ever film?
The Sound of Music. Singing nuns and clothes made from curtains. What's not to love?
17. Care to share some wisdom?
This is the life we've been given, so open your mind and start living.
18. Song you can't get out of your head?
Compare the market.com; Compare the meerkat.com - it is driving me sodding insane and if I ever come across the marketing person for this company I will personally introduce a meerkat to their nether regions and see if they'd like to compare before and after snaps.
19. One thing you'd really like to do this year
I'm doing it! Crossing an ocean
20. What or who makes you irrationally rage and totally not proud of yourself at the same time?
People who drop the Ts in words, like saying be-er instead of better. I was almost moved to point out to some teenagers recently that the word Better had two Ts in it and neither are silent. But instead shuffled by mumbling about the youth of today and then thinking that maybe their parents never mentioned the fact that the word actually had Ts after all.
I'm not going to tag any bloggy people. I'm rubbish that way. But feel free to have a go if you fancy it.
Anyway, my task at hand is that I've got to answer these 20 questions, but I also have to replace one question. And add one question. And then tag some bloggy people. This is hard because time is short these days. And answering these questions takes some thought. But I will endeavour.
1. What are your current obsessions?
Sailing. Refusing to accept that just because I'm a mum I can't do something utterly ridiculous. See http://www.moretolifethanlaundry.com/ for more details on this life altering obsession.
2. Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?
Jeans. I have several pairs:
- Oasis - dark blue in good nick. For when I need to look smart (snort)
- Hobbs - used to be my looking smart jeans, now ripped in the crotch area from overuse and have been used for gardening but still in second smart place.
- Random old faded light blue jeans that are too tight, too short and has a zip that goes down all the time
- Very tight jeans that make my legs look very skinny but cause a muffin top and are impossible to sit down in.
3. What was your favourite childhood meal?
Macaroni cheese. Still love it, although now I wash it down with gaviscon.
4. Last thing you bought?
A piece of red carboard. Intrigued as to why? I'm not telling.
5. What are you listening to?
Take That - The Circus. Have Hold Up a Light on repeat cycle. Love it, love it, love it.
6. Wine or chocolate?
Wine. Duh.
7. Favourite holiday spots?
Selous Game Reserve Tanzania. Yes, I do sound like a bougois (sp?) snob. We went there on honeymoon, before the days of kids clubs...sniff.
8. Reading right now?
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
9. Four words to describe yourself.
Away with the fairies OR alternatively: Very, very, very busy
10. Guilty pleasure?
Listening to music and imagining my life as a music video
11. Who or what makes you laugh until you’re weak?
The blokes on my last sailing training week. Can't decide which story was funniest - the gorilla choosing between the cabbage vs poo to have for lunch, or the elderly gentleman's testicle popping out of his boxers. You had to be there, honest.
12. Favourite spring thing to do?
Wear flip flops for the first time after months in confinement
13. Planning to travel to next?
Sailing 5,300 nautical miles to Rio de Janeiro (jealous yet?)
14. Best thing you ate or drank lately?
Illicit bag of peanut M&Ms. Didn't realise I wanted them till I ripped the bag open and scoffed the lot in under a minute.
15. When did you last get tipsy?
Last night. And I fear tonight might be a repeat performance
16. Favourite ever film?
The Sound of Music. Singing nuns and clothes made from curtains. What's not to love?
17. Care to share some wisdom?
This is the life we've been given, so open your mind and start living.
18. Song you can't get out of your head?
Compare the market.com; Compare the meerkat.com - it is driving me sodding insane and if I ever come across the marketing person for this company I will personally introduce a meerkat to their nether regions and see if they'd like to compare before and after snaps.
19. One thing you'd really like to do this year
I'm doing it! Crossing an ocean
20. What or who makes you irrationally rage and totally not proud of yourself at the same time?
People who drop the Ts in words, like saying be-er instead of better. I was almost moved to point out to some teenagers recently that the word Better had two Ts in it and neither are silent. But instead shuffled by mumbling about the youth of today and then thinking that maybe their parents never mentioned the fact that the word actually had Ts after all.
I'm not going to tag any bloggy people. I'm rubbish that way. But feel free to have a go if you fancy it.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Call the fashion police
There is one part of my life that isn't extraordinarily busy - thank god - and that's my social life. I don't really have one. Staying in is the new going out. Has been for a while actually. Except that last night I threw caution to the wind and actually left the village. Shock.
It was a friend's birthday and it happened to coincide with a special ladies shopping evening at the House of Fraser in Reading. It was an invitation only thing where you go along in the evening, have champagne and nibbles, listen to the Dior make up team tell you how you could look 20 years younger if you spend about £1 million on their products, followed by a talk on how to wear this year's fashions if you're a normal person with an oversized gut/butt/chest etc. You then get to browse the store after its normal closing hours.
Ordinarily I would have been very excited about this. I am clueless in the fashion department and need all the help I can get (although recently I have made some headway on the skin regime front given that my 36 years are making themselves quite prominently visible on my face. The saying shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted springs to mind...) However, right about now fashion isn't high on my list of priorities.
For a start, I have no money. Every last penny I have (which isn't many) is dedicated to the sailing fund. My clothing requirements have also changed. Last weekend, while in the Isle of Wight, instead of buying a maxi dress and strappy sandals in preparation for summer, I bought £60 worth of thermal underwear. As you do.
Normally I'd love nothing more than a couple of hours to browse clothes without small childen pulling things off hangers and opening dressing room doors to reveal my flab to passersby. But last night shopping had lost its gloss. There is absolutely no point looking when you can't buy. All it does is depress you. It makes you realise how utterly 'off trend' your existing wardrobe is and what's worse, how little you actually care.
When I got to the shoe department (most women's idea of heaven, my personal hell) I actually laughed out loud at some of the ludricous heels they expect people to walk in. Sure you'll look great while you're standing still holding onto something, but not so fab the minute you try to walk unaided.
So after a cursory look around, my friend and I left, without a single purchase. At least now I know that I can expect to see lots of lime green and orange this year and that for my colouring I should attempt to wear it. That you should never wear mid-calve length anything, that Oasis makes good jeans and Coast does good shrugs. Patterns are in. Fine. As are harem pants. Not fine.
Best of all though, one of the biggest trends for 2009 is the nautical look. So I reckon I'm going to be bang up to date with real nautical authenticity. Hooray! I am fashionable after all.
It was a friend's birthday and it happened to coincide with a special ladies shopping evening at the House of Fraser in Reading. It was an invitation only thing where you go along in the evening, have champagne and nibbles, listen to the Dior make up team tell you how you could look 20 years younger if you spend about £1 million on their products, followed by a talk on how to wear this year's fashions if you're a normal person with an oversized gut/butt/chest etc. You then get to browse the store after its normal closing hours.
Ordinarily I would have been very excited about this. I am clueless in the fashion department and need all the help I can get (although recently I have made some headway on the skin regime front given that my 36 years are making themselves quite prominently visible on my face. The saying shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted springs to mind...) However, right about now fashion isn't high on my list of priorities.
For a start, I have no money. Every last penny I have (which isn't many) is dedicated to the sailing fund. My clothing requirements have also changed. Last weekend, while in the Isle of Wight, instead of buying a maxi dress and strappy sandals in preparation for summer, I bought £60 worth of thermal underwear. As you do.
Normally I'd love nothing more than a couple of hours to browse clothes without small childen pulling things off hangers and opening dressing room doors to reveal my flab to passersby. But last night shopping had lost its gloss. There is absolutely no point looking when you can't buy. All it does is depress you. It makes you realise how utterly 'off trend' your existing wardrobe is and what's worse, how little you actually care.
When I got to the shoe department (most women's idea of heaven, my personal hell) I actually laughed out loud at some of the ludricous heels they expect people to walk in. Sure you'll look great while you're standing still holding onto something, but not so fab the minute you try to walk unaided.
So after a cursory look around, my friend and I left, without a single purchase. At least now I know that I can expect to see lots of lime green and orange this year and that for my colouring I should attempt to wear it. That you should never wear mid-calve length anything, that Oasis makes good jeans and Coast does good shrugs. Patterns are in. Fine. As are harem pants. Not fine.
Best of all though, one of the biggest trends for 2009 is the nautical look. So I reckon I'm going to be bang up to date with real nautical authenticity. Hooray! I am fashionable after all.
Friday, 6 February 2009
The verdict
I'm back. Exhausted. The roads were hideous. But the children went off without a fuss, my friend was a life saver and despite horrid roads, I managed to get to the sailing interview without incident. I passed the first test. Tick! I earned my 'Getting there despite all odds' badge.
We then got in-depth insight into what living on a boat for five weeks was like including the charm of having to poo with an audience and the fact that you'll burn up to 5000 calories a day. We braced the icy rain to go onboard one of the boats. Luxury probably isn't a term you'd use to describe the living quarters. But it was great just to be on a boat and it made me want to do it even more, rather than put me off.
Then I had the interview. It was a very informal affair. I think I might have rambled a bit - or maybe it was just enthusiastic chatting. But when I asked what the next steps were, my interviewer explained that next week interviewees would either be sent a 'fat envelope' that had a contract inviting them onto the race or a 'thin envelope' saying thanks but no thanks. Then he said: "You'll DEFINITELY be getting a Fat Envelope." I also got an email from him since returning home that said: "We'd love to have you on the race."
So while I'm not going to do any hula dances or make any whoop whoop noises until the fat envelope arrives, it sounds pretty much like I've got a place. (If my blog had audio, this is where you'd hear a loud gulp.)
Assuming the fat envelope does arrive, I need to ensure that it is for the leg that I want and I still need to pass the training. Apparently they have a 15% drop out rate after the first week of training - both on the part of the people doing the training and the organisers who feel you don't cut it.
I didn't get a clear steer as to what I can do about getting sponsors/setting up blogs but it is now something I need to put my mind to. And there's the small issue of logistics like childcare and managing my workload. Phase 1 of my barking mad plan was getting my application in. Phase 2 was today. Phase 3, assuming the fat envelope arrives, will be getting the first week of training done. I've suggested Feb half term given I have childcare that week. Of course it would be high seas in snow blizzards, but what the heck. I seem to have stumbled onto a roller-coaster ride and there's no getting off now!
Am off to collapse.
We then got in-depth insight into what living on a boat for five weeks was like including the charm of having to poo with an audience and the fact that you'll burn up to 5000 calories a day. We braced the icy rain to go onboard one of the boats. Luxury probably isn't a term you'd use to describe the living quarters. But it was great just to be on a boat and it made me want to do it even more, rather than put me off.
Then I had the interview. It was a very informal affair. I think I might have rambled a bit - or maybe it was just enthusiastic chatting. But when I asked what the next steps were, my interviewer explained that next week interviewees would either be sent a 'fat envelope' that had a contract inviting them onto the race or a 'thin envelope' saying thanks but no thanks. Then he said: "You'll DEFINITELY be getting a Fat Envelope." I also got an email from him since returning home that said: "We'd love to have you on the race."
So while I'm not going to do any hula dances or make any whoop whoop noises until the fat envelope arrives, it sounds pretty much like I've got a place. (If my blog had audio, this is where you'd hear a loud gulp.)
Assuming the fat envelope does arrive, I need to ensure that it is for the leg that I want and I still need to pass the training. Apparently they have a 15% drop out rate after the first week of training - both on the part of the people doing the training and the organisers who feel you don't cut it.
I didn't get a clear steer as to what I can do about getting sponsors/setting up blogs but it is now something I need to put my mind to. And there's the small issue of logistics like childcare and managing my workload. Phase 1 of my barking mad plan was getting my application in. Phase 2 was today. Phase 3, assuming the fat envelope arrives, will be getting the first week of training done. I've suggested Feb half term given I have childcare that week. Of course it would be high seas in snow blizzards, but what the heck. I seem to have stumbled onto a roller-coaster ride and there's no getting off now!
Am off to collapse.
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Why I'm not working
I am sooooooooooooooooo supposed to be working right now. Press list updating and accounts. Woohoo. Could my evening get any more exciting? No sirree. But instead of working, I have been watching this over and over:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/7763822.stm
Because I am very proud to say that it's all about our little local school which was featured on the BBC tonight. (Sadly, despite my PR profession, I had nothing to do with it thanks to me keeping my head well below the school governors', PTA's and anyone else with a slightly authoritarian role in the school's radar.) It's a piece on how the school dinners are so excellent that the local OAPs join the kids for lunch once a fortnight. I'm very glad that the meals are this good because it means I don't have to make packed lunches.
My son even features in it, briefly, eating with nice table manners (well done son, yes, it's all thanks to my excellent parenting - funny how it doesn't happen at home.) He's not the little boy who decides that the school dinners are actually not that nice because they keep serving 'sprockley' (which I think is Broccoli) - has me in tears each time I watch it.
I've also spent much of my evening looking at properties on the Isle of Wight. This is because friends of ours are probably going to be moving there. I'm not a kind friend who's viewing properties on their behalf. No, I am a shallow, never happy with my lot type of person, who also wants to live beside the seaside. So I just thought I'd take a look and see what type of properties we could afford, possibly with a little bit of water frontage, a mooring and the possibility of buying a yacht. (Obviously this is all incredibly hypothetical and completely unrealistic but I indulged in a bit of real estate porn.)
Sigh. I have a husband tied to the city of Londinium. And Heathrow. So really the Isle of Wight would be completely impractical. But it does have the sea and boats. Have I ever mentioned that I like boats?
You see I used to sail. I was forced into small dinghies called Optimists (so named in honour of the parents of the small children sailing the boats backwards). I spent many a weekend in howling gales, crying with a boom clashing and clanging above my head, my father yelling from the bank trying to make himself heard and me wishing I was a townie. I then progressed onto bigger boats and got reasonably proficient. I even won the odd medal or two. A friend and I did particularly well sailing together in our early teens as our joint weight didn't add up to that of one normal size adult so we literally flew across the water - cheating really.
But despite having spent most of my weekends as a teenager sitting alongside windless dams somewhere in South Africa, I've not been able to sail much since becoming a grown up. For a start, I had more important things to do like get drunk, study, find many boyfriends, then a husband, travel, career, kids - you know, stuff. None of which involved towing a boat around with me. But now, I feel it would be quite nice to have one. My boys are starting to approach the age that I can shove them in an Optimist while I shout from the bank with a loud hailer, them hating me, me thinking they're rubbish, that kind of thing. All good family fun.
And we could do all of this very, very easily if we had a property on the Isle of Wight with water frontage. Perhaps someone will spot my son in the school clip and think he's got super-model/good table manner etiquette guide potential and we can make a fortune out of him and all our problems will be solved.
Or not.
I'd better get back to work.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/7763822.stm
Because I am very proud to say that it's all about our little local school which was featured on the BBC tonight. (Sadly, despite my PR profession, I had nothing to do with it thanks to me keeping my head well below the school governors', PTA's and anyone else with a slightly authoritarian role in the school's radar.) It's a piece on how the school dinners are so excellent that the local OAPs join the kids for lunch once a fortnight. I'm very glad that the meals are this good because it means I don't have to make packed lunches.
My son even features in it, briefly, eating with nice table manners (well done son, yes, it's all thanks to my excellent parenting - funny how it doesn't happen at home.) He's not the little boy who decides that the school dinners are actually not that nice because they keep serving 'sprockley' (which I think is Broccoli) - has me in tears each time I watch it.
I've also spent much of my evening looking at properties on the Isle of Wight. This is because friends of ours are probably going to be moving there. I'm not a kind friend who's viewing properties on their behalf. No, I am a shallow, never happy with my lot type of person, who also wants to live beside the seaside. So I just thought I'd take a look and see what type of properties we could afford, possibly with a little bit of water frontage, a mooring and the possibility of buying a yacht. (Obviously this is all incredibly hypothetical and completely unrealistic but I indulged in a bit of real estate porn.)
Sigh. I have a husband tied to the city of Londinium. And Heathrow. So really the Isle of Wight would be completely impractical. But it does have the sea and boats. Have I ever mentioned that I like boats?
You see I used to sail. I was forced into small dinghies called Optimists (so named in honour of the parents of the small children sailing the boats backwards). I spent many a weekend in howling gales, crying with a boom clashing and clanging above my head, my father yelling from the bank trying to make himself heard and me wishing I was a townie. I then progressed onto bigger boats and got reasonably proficient. I even won the odd medal or two. A friend and I did particularly well sailing together in our early teens as our joint weight didn't add up to that of one normal size adult so we literally flew across the water - cheating really.
But despite having spent most of my weekends as a teenager sitting alongside windless dams somewhere in South Africa, I've not been able to sail much since becoming a grown up. For a start, I had more important things to do like get drunk, study, find many boyfriends, then a husband, travel, career, kids - you know, stuff. None of which involved towing a boat around with me. But now, I feel it would be quite nice to have one. My boys are starting to approach the age that I can shove them in an Optimist while I shout from the bank with a loud hailer, them hating me, me thinking they're rubbish, that kind of thing. All good family fun.
And we could do all of this very, very easily if we had a property on the Isle of Wight with water frontage. Perhaps someone will spot my son in the school clip and think he's got super-model/good table manner etiquette guide potential and we can make a fortune out of him and all our problems will be solved.
Or not.
I'd better get back to work.
Monday, 21 July 2008
Things that annoy me
Today I am in a black mood. Dark, brooding and thoroughly unfriendly. Strange that I should have this mood on what is a gloriously - if incredibly rare - sunny morning. What's more, husband is back home. I had a full day to myself without children on Saturday sailing the high seas and spent yesterday pool cleaning and gardening so that we now look like we live in a show home (except for the congealed cornflakes under the kids table). I've even managed to get the pool to be blue, clear, clean and warm all at once. Small miracles do happen every now and then.
However, I am still in a miserable mood. Let's hope a full day of sunshine can cheer me up. But while I'm in a grump, I might as well make full use of it and have a little rant about things that annoy me:
Annoyance 1: The fact them when trying to type this blog, I can't leave a space between numbered items if I use their silly numbers so have to type it as I have here.
Annoyance 2: The Gillette Venus razor advert that blathers on about women revealing their inner goddess. Do the ad executives who come up with this shite really think that women feel like a goddess when they shave their legs? Don't they think that perhaps women shave their legs because they've started to look so hirsute that people have begun to call them Yeti and their husbands keep complaining that they've got stubble rash on their own legs thanks to yours scraping theirs in bed. And do they really think that women get to lie in the bath, languishing about with candles while they transform themselves into a goddess? Of course they don't. They hop about frantically on one leg in the shower while two children crawl around the supporting leg trying to catch the bubbles and learn a few choice words when mummy realises that the blade is so blunt she's removed her shin bone instead of the hair. So no, I do not want to unleash my inner goddess while shaving thank you very much. I just want to be able to not bleed to death.
However, I am still in a miserable mood. Let's hope a full day of sunshine can cheer me up. But while I'm in a grump, I might as well make full use of it and have a little rant about things that annoy me:
Annoyance 1: The fact them when trying to type this blog, I can't leave a space between numbered items if I use their silly numbers so have to type it as I have here.
Annoyance 2: The Gillette Venus razor advert that blathers on about women revealing their inner goddess. Do the ad executives who come up with this shite really think that women feel like a goddess when they shave their legs? Don't they think that perhaps women shave their legs because they've started to look so hirsute that people have begun to call them Yeti and their husbands keep complaining that they've got stubble rash on their own legs thanks to yours scraping theirs in bed. And do they really think that women get to lie in the bath, languishing about with candles while they transform themselves into a goddess? Of course they don't. They hop about frantically on one leg in the shower while two children crawl around the supporting leg trying to catch the bubbles and learn a few choice words when mummy realises that the blade is so blunt she's removed her shin bone instead of the hair. So no, I do not want to unleash my inner goddess while shaving thank you very much. I just want to be able to not bleed to death.
Annoyance 3: Those pages in magazines - particularly the Sunday Telegraph magazine (Stella) but it is not alone in doing this - that take some mildly famous person and ask them for their address book of their favourite places. So of course they prattle on about some fabulous little shoe shop in Venice and the perfect place to get sushi in Tokyo as though they are there every second Wednesday just because it's so fab that they'll endure a transcontinental flight just to eat some raw fish. Stop showing off. For a start, your carbon footprint is pants. Secondly, I too could rustle up a handful of must-see places in different parts of the world. Just google it. Twats.
Annoyance 4: Stuff. We seem to accumulate a lot of stuff. And it drives me nuts. There is a particular corner in the kitchen that is particularly prone to gathering stuff. And it's homeless stuff. Stuff that has no real place but probably shouldn't be chucked out as it might be vaguely useful one day, and so it goes into the Drawer of All Things (which in itself is a nightmare but at least it is out of sight). Why do we have so much stuff? Why am I not better at selling stuff on eBay, giving it to homeless shelters or just putting it in the bin? I think my life would be happier if it was completely decluttered. But you just never know when you might need an inflatable exercise ball or a bag with 25 tins of paint samples in it. Do you?
Annoyance 5: That I have to drive all the way into Newbury now to post a parcel and withdraw some money (on the wildly optimistic assumption that there is some money to withdraw) because I refuse to pay a £1.99 fee to a hole in the wall money box at the service station. Of course the petrol to get to Newbury will cost more than £1.99 and the time I spend not working is worth far, far more but it's the principle of it. Blood sucking thieving swines.
Annoyance 6: That women who've had children end up with stomachs that look like tinned sweetcorn mixed with orange peel wrapped in an uncooked thin covering of pastry, with the consistency of a jelly that isn't fully set. It's not fair. We had to cart the little beasts around for 9 months and then push them out doing untold damage to our pelvic floors and fanoirs only to be thanked with a Mr Blobby jelly roll that prevents the wearing of midriff tops and bikinis ever again. Where is the justice in that?
I'd better wrap it up there as I do have to do some work (another annoyance). Here's hoping my mood improves. Otherwise it's going to be a long week (particularly for my husband.)
Kiss kiss.
Friday, 18 July 2008
We are sailing
I have a lot to do today. And I've already managed to fold about a 100 years worth of laundry, tidied up my clothes cupboard so that I could fit my newly, not very well ironed clothes in it. I also tidied up the boys clothes cupboard, put on a load of laundry, unpacked the dishwasher, repacked it, washed a few dishes and now I'm ready to start work.
However, my computer is operating so slowly it's almost going in reverse. I think it might be because I have over 7000 items in my deleted items folder and I haven't defragged the machine for a while (mainly because I'm never too sure how one defrags a pc or what the hell it is supposed to do). So I am typing this while intermittently deleting more deleted items.
I've just checked out the weather forecast for tomorrow and it's going to be 19C with sunny spells and a 21 knot westerly wind. The reason this is important is because I am going sailing. In the Solent. On a 45 foot yacht. With no children. Quite frankly, even if the forecast had been galeforce winds and torrential rain coupled with sleet, I'd be ok with it because I am going to be on a boat in the sea with no children anywhere near me. Lovely husband bought me the sailing trip well over a year ago but I've not had the chance to use it. He was meant to be joining me on it, but as he'll be winging his way back from Seattle, I roped in a friend who is just as pleased to escape her children for a full day.
I grew up sailing. It's one of those things I'm sort of proud of. I can't play a musical instrument or speak a foreign language (well not one that counts - Afrikaans and Zulu are hardly going be universally useful are they.) I am athletically challenged in every way. I used to think I could sing, but having heard myself sing in a kareoke bar many years ago, it's apparent that I don't have that talent either. But sailing, I can do.
My husband doesn't like sailing with me. He thinks I become 'shouty'. I do. Particularly if we're racing and someone is going faster than us and my crew tries to impersonate a snail by moving really slowly and doesnt get his sail in fast enough. Or when there's about 30 boats crowded on a start line, sails flapping, waiting for the seconds to countdown before the start gun goes. And your crew - whose job it is to look out for things and warn the very busy skipper - fails to point out a large boat barrelling down on us so that we end up having an almighty collision resulting in a big hole in the side of the boat. Then yes, in those kinds of 'theoretical' situations I can get a bit tetchy.
But tomorrow won't be like that. Because tomorrow we will have a skipper and a crew and we can decide to help them winch in sails if we fancy it, or we can simply swan about and watch them work. We get to have a grown up, girly lunch on the Isle of Wight, and then we get meander back across the Solent again. Fabulous.
I'm very glad that husband will be coming back tomorrow. I'm growing rather weary of this single parent lark. For a start, the kitchen surfaces haven't been buffed since Erika the cleaner was here on Monday and yesterday I had to do the bins all by myself. Bins are a boy job. As is mowing lawns and ours are in serious need of doing. I'm sure he will be thrilled with his to do list upon his return. Then again, he's had a week of eating US sized steaks so he gets no sympathy from me.
I need to go and turn off the washing machine now because it's beeping at me and it's incredibly annoying. So fare thee well. I will return to report back on my adventures at sea.
However, my computer is operating so slowly it's almost going in reverse. I think it might be because I have over 7000 items in my deleted items folder and I haven't defragged the machine for a while (mainly because I'm never too sure how one defrags a pc or what the hell it is supposed to do). So I am typing this while intermittently deleting more deleted items.
I've just checked out the weather forecast for tomorrow and it's going to be 19C with sunny spells and a 21 knot westerly wind. The reason this is important is because I am going sailing. In the Solent. On a 45 foot yacht. With no children. Quite frankly, even if the forecast had been galeforce winds and torrential rain coupled with sleet, I'd be ok with it because I am going to be on a boat in the sea with no children anywhere near me. Lovely husband bought me the sailing trip well over a year ago but I've not had the chance to use it. He was meant to be joining me on it, but as he'll be winging his way back from Seattle, I roped in a friend who is just as pleased to escape her children for a full day.
I grew up sailing. It's one of those things I'm sort of proud of. I can't play a musical instrument or speak a foreign language (well not one that counts - Afrikaans and Zulu are hardly going be universally useful are they.) I am athletically challenged in every way. I used to think I could sing, but having heard myself sing in a kareoke bar many years ago, it's apparent that I don't have that talent either. But sailing, I can do.
My husband doesn't like sailing with me. He thinks I become 'shouty'. I do. Particularly if we're racing and someone is going faster than us and my crew tries to impersonate a snail by moving really slowly and doesnt get his sail in fast enough. Or when there's about 30 boats crowded on a start line, sails flapping, waiting for the seconds to countdown before the start gun goes. And your crew - whose job it is to look out for things and warn the very busy skipper - fails to point out a large boat barrelling down on us so that we end up having an almighty collision resulting in a big hole in the side of the boat. Then yes, in those kinds of 'theoretical' situations I can get a bit tetchy.
But tomorrow won't be like that. Because tomorrow we will have a skipper and a crew and we can decide to help them winch in sails if we fancy it, or we can simply swan about and watch them work. We get to have a grown up, girly lunch on the Isle of Wight, and then we get meander back across the Solent again. Fabulous.
I'm very glad that husband will be coming back tomorrow. I'm growing rather weary of this single parent lark. For a start, the kitchen surfaces haven't been buffed since Erika the cleaner was here on Monday and yesterday I had to do the bins all by myself. Bins are a boy job. As is mowing lawns and ours are in serious need of doing. I'm sure he will be thrilled with his to do list upon his return. Then again, he's had a week of eating US sized steaks so he gets no sympathy from me.
I need to go and turn off the washing machine now because it's beeping at me and it's incredibly annoying. So fare thee well. I will return to report back on my adventures at sea.
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