Currently moving my wordpress.com blog over to self hosting so things may be missing, broken, generally rubbish (yes, I know it’s always rubbish!)
Should be done soon, bear with me! Or if you prefer, bare with me – I know what you lot are like!
The question then arises, what to tell you without being too dull and without getting too personal! So here you go.
1. I live in Birmingham, but was born and raised in the Pennine Hills. You think this is snow…..?! ;D
2. I fell in love with & married a man in a wheelchair and hate it when people tell me how brave I must be for doing so. *rolls eyes* (I am quite a hero though, aren’t I!? ha! Kidding!) We were married in New York, in a friend’s living room, by a scary judge. Hubster thought he was going to send him to the electric chair but ultimately the sentence was much worse for him than that!
3. I am a Registered General nurse.
4. My brother was in The Full Monty. No, he didn’t take his clothes off (thankfully!), he was in the brass band marching outside the factory in the opening scenes.
5. I’m writing a novel. It’s rubbish!
6. I have an unhealthy addiction to licorice toffees and I adore raw carrots but loathe them cooked. Bleurgh.
7. I’ve played brass instruments since the age of 10 but don’t really play much any more: Just a tootle on my purple (Yes, purple! Woot!) flugel horn when I feel like it! My party trick is playing requests on a Smarties tube so I was gutted when they made them into flimsy, hexagonal poopage.
After trying to find bloggers who haven’t already done their 7 things, I pass the challenge to:
If you have already done it, and I missed it… oops! Sorry! 😉
Having had a hectic day and little time to think about blogging, I decided to let the children write a short entry for me.
Just a few thoughts from them, without any direction.
Poor people are grateful and kind and they should really get good food. They should get clean water instead of having to carry dirty water back from the dirty old river. They should also get education instead of children having to wake up really early to work. The most important thing is that they have a great time with their family.
Albie, Age 9
Kizzie, Age 7
I wish that children in need
Could see a dog on a lead.
I wish that they could bake,
Maybe a cake.
Why can’t they be like us,
Without any fuss.
After having a little refresher chat on the problems of world poverty, Albie was almost tempted to sell his Xbox! Almost.
They do sometimes take things for granted but I’m just glad they’re aware and mindful of the issues.
Albie has already said that when he’s a world class footballer (!), he will give ALL of his wage to help the poor people in Africa!
Well, I was thinking about some old childhood memory stuffs, and realised that, even though they weren’t comparatively that bad, my most painfully remembered embarrassing moments occurred when I was a child. Around that age when you’re starting to be more aware of what the world is all about, making silly mistakes suddenly becomes much more painful as you realise how stupid you just were! Recalling these moments as an adult brings back all those half understood childish feelings and, in my case at least, more readily makes your cheeks burn again than any recent faux pas!
My two most deeply engrained moments make me go hot and flushed when I think about them still. Obviously if I did either of these now, I’d just laugh, but the memory of them brings the memory of the feelings flooding right back!
OK *takes deep breath and puts head in hands, blushing* they are thus:
- At a VW Rally (Yes, my family were Beetle freaks!) aged about 8 or 9 years, tired after a busy hot summer’s day, I threw my arms around what I thought was my dad’s hairy leg in shorts and socks and ‘jesus sandals’ and hugged, a full bodily squeeze…. only to discover it wasn’t my dad, it was his hairy friend!!!!!! aarrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh! Oh sheesh, I’m beetroot red right now!!
- Around about the same age, my mum sent me down to the village store to buy her a ‘feminine hygiene product’. She gave me a £5 note and told me exactly what shelf it was on and what the packet looked like. I don’t think I even really knew what it was I was buying, but I knew it was in a white plastic packet! She bribed me by saying I could buy ‘pop’ or an ice lolly with the change. So off I went, into the store, went where she’d directed me, got the goods and an ice pop for myself, and skipped back up the hill home. It was a lovely sunny day, and in the 70’s neighbours were, well, neighbourly! So when I got home, mum was sitting on our front garden with half the women of the street, gossiping and enjoying the sun. When she realised what I’d done, she started howling with laughter, and told EVERYONE how she’d sent me for sanitary towels and I’d brought back a cotton wool pleat!! They all fell about in bits and I died inside!! Thanks Mum!! 😉
I was always a withdrawn and reticent child, at least in situations in which I was uncomfortable. For a shy and self doubting girl, these situations were many. It always held me back and, in many ways, still does.
My earliest memory of the feelings that shut me off from the rest of the world and render me functionless, is my first day at nursery school. I would have been four years old, not exactly shy, more uncertain, perhaps. In familiar company, my mother tells me, I was not shy at all, quite a handful in fact!
I knew I was going to nursery, I knew mum would be leaving me and I was nothing but excited about this thrilling advancement in my life. All my friends would be there. I’d been in the nursery building before and it was a fun place. I even knew the teacher well as she was a family friend. Yet as soon as my mother left me at the door, I was filled with fear and dread.
I was in a dim, windowless cloakroom, surrounded by colourful paintings, numbers, letters and excited children.
But, I couldn’t find my peg.
The coat hooks were mounted on bright, colourful bugs: ladybirds, caterpillars, butterflies, snails. The boys on one side of the room, the girls on the other. Everyone was bustling around me, giggling, hanging their coats then running through into the nursery to play.
I just stood there in the middle of the room, struck mute and motionless by my irrational fear which had sprung from nowhere following my earlier happy, excited demeanour. I stared at the coat hooks. The bugs no longer looked like friendly, cheery, childish art. They had become terrifying monsters and the hooks mounted on them appeared to claw towards me, menacingly.
Breathless. The sounds of play next door muted by the deafening roar of my heart pounding in my head. Dark. Dingy. The smell of the bathrooms…..
I suddenly realised I was completely alone. My friends had all skipped away to enjoy themselves. Why didn’t any one help me? Louise, Jackie, Steven, Jane? They were gone. Moved on, leaving me alone. Frozen. Terrified. Grey duffel coat trailing from my hand.
“Sara, haven’t you hung your coat up yet, love?” Mrs Mellor came out to check the cloakroom, waking me from my nightmare. The room became brighter, less oppressive and I could breath again. She whisked me gently over to my peg and jabbed my coat onto it. “There we go, my dear. Come on in and play!”
I realised, as Mrs Mellor took my hand and led me into my academic future, that ladybird by my peg with my name on it? Really was quite special.
Hmmm shrink, anyone? 😉
Well, having just spruced up this blog and skimmed through old posts, I noticed that since announcing we won (YAY!) the battle for a kitten, I haven’t actually blogged piccies of said prize!
As it happens, I actually managed to twist Marty’s arm to get TWO lovely little hairy beasties… on the proviso that he was allowed to name them. Eek! So along came two gorgeous little brothers, totally black and half Persian (not that you’d know they had any class!)
The names chosen (by Marty!) are Jeff (Astle, West Brom hero) and Diego (Maradonna… Argentinian… ehhh… hero?! (Cheat!))
They’re quite withdrawn little kitties, having been left to their own devices with their mum and litter mates in the garden and garage of the home they came from. They’re very friendly just not over-cuddly, but they’re getting better. They’re a little bit naughty, having already used the case of my flugel horn and my new computer chair as scratching posts (grrrrrrrrr). At 6 months old, awaiting neutering, these teenagers are soooooo wanting to go out, and are punishing us by leaving little puddles at the moment…. the one on Marty’s computer didn’t go down too well!! They are, however, gorgeous, so they can get way with it….
I’ll post some up to date piccies soon.