GLAD to say it, but I've just survived the worst week ever.
This time last week, I was up to my ears in bubblewrap and boxes trying with all my might to safeguard my precious belongings as they prepared to set sail on their 10,000 mile journey south.
Over the course of the week, I had developed two heaps of possessions - the one in the former games room was to go with us to Australia, the second, under the stairs and encroaching into the hallway, was there for the taking. Any callers went home with a trinket or two of the tat we've accumulated over the past 20-odd years - whether they wanted them or not.
So, last week, I had the mammoth task of keeping life in general ticking over, working full time with some extra curricular projects thrown in for the festive season and sorting out which parts of my life were to go down under and which I could palm off on friends and family.
Mum went home with a couple of car loads - from lamps and lilos to plants and pictures - she's keeping hold of them for me until I return from my adventure, then I can have it all back. And I thought I'd seen the back of it! The thought of being reunited with all my junk is enough to make me want to stay in Melbourne for good but I have to stick with the thoughts that jumble around in my brain that my international jet-setting move is not going to be forever.
Yes, we are looking at flights that come heavily labelled as "SINGLE" and the one-way flight thought has come as a bit of shocker but, at the end of the day, there's nothing stopping me buying another one-way ticket at the other end in order to get my butt back over here.
I wish I had an Aussie dollar or even a fine English pound for each time someone has consoled my pre-departure tears with "You can always come back if it doesn't work out ....."
That way, I could feel rest assured in the fact that I've jacked in my job that I've had for the past 16-odd years and feel comfortable with the fact that I will have no money to splurge on the things I want to come the bleak, cold and dank days of January.
I will have no house, no car, no job and no bank account ... but on the upside, I WILL have great family, great friends and an even greater drive and determination to get out there and see a bit of what the big, wide world has to offer me.
Pass me that box of Kleenex won't you ...?
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
All that glitters ... is not gold
I CAN'T make my mind up about something I saw on TV at the weekend.
It wasn't anything to do with the Brand-Ross-Sachs-Baillie fiasco that interests me not a jot ... it was Saturday night's X-Factor and its judges.
Not one to be overly-opinionated, I couldn't decide whether the two female judges were being disrespectful to our fallen war heroes or not. Granted, all four judges wore the timely poppies but Cheryl Cole and Dannii Minogue wore them as blatant fashion accessories - Cheryl had turned hers into an overstated hair bobble while Dannii sported hers on her right wrist.
After having a mini discussion about this with colleagues in the office, I was told that the presenters on Strictly Come Dancing - It Takes Two had their bright red poignant emblems made into glitzy pieces of jewellery.
But that said, at least they were worn where they were always intended to be worn .... close to the heart.
It wasn't anything to do with the Brand-Ross-Sachs-Baillie fiasco that interests me not a jot ... it was Saturday night's X-Factor and its judges.
Not one to be overly-opinionated, I couldn't decide whether the two female judges were being disrespectful to our fallen war heroes or not. Granted, all four judges wore the timely poppies but Cheryl Cole and Dannii Minogue wore them as blatant fashion accessories - Cheryl had turned hers into an overstated hair bobble while Dannii sported hers on her right wrist.
After having a mini discussion about this with colleagues in the office, I was told that the presenters on Strictly Come Dancing - It Takes Two had their bright red poignant emblems made into glitzy pieces of jewellery.
But that said, at least they were worn where they were always intended to be worn .... close to the heart.
Everybody needs a deadline
TODAY, I'd like to share my thoughts on deadlines. Ah, deadlines. I love them. I can't work without them. In fact, they're probably the reason I've worked for a newspaper for the past 16 years.
Each weekday is a fast-paced-here-there-and-everywhere sort of time, virtually living by the seat of our pants, as any full-time working family does. Come the weekend, my steam has long evaporated and the adrenaline that keeps me going throughout the week virtually disappears by the time I wake up on Saturday morning.I have been known to not even get dressed from my jim-jams before noon and those who know me well will not dare call before 11am, either in person or by phone, for fear of what they may find ... usually, the boys and I having lunch in our PJ's with not a pair of bright eyes or a bushy tail in sight.
If I don't have to be somewhere or do something by deadline-o'clock, I just moapse around the place picking up toys, crumbs and sweet wrappers that weadle their way into my life to annoy the living daylight out of me.
My weekend motivation levels are currently clocking in at minus zero but I really do need to get myself sorted as our move to far off waters is becoming increasingly closer.
We have a speculative date of mid-January in our minds before we fly off to catch the Melbourne summer and end of the school's six week summer holidays. Although this is still unconfirmed due to outstanding dotting of I's and crossing of T's, it becomes more real with each week that passes.
There have been tears from me this week and I'm sure more will flow, even more so when we're out there with husband in work and children at school and I'm left alone in contemplation..... Maybe I should consider rounding up all the Ex-Pats from the area in which we settle and replace the 'coffee morning' with a 'sobbing session'.
The thought of all those tears that could be used effectively towards easing Australia's water shortage makes me happy and reinstates my British Stiff Upper Lip ... what what.
Each weekday is a fast-paced-here-there-and-everywhere sort of time, virtually living by the seat of our pants, as any full-time working family does. Come the weekend, my steam has long evaporated and the adrenaline that keeps me going throughout the week virtually disappears by the time I wake up on Saturday morning.I have been known to not even get dressed from my jim-jams before noon and those who know me well will not dare call before 11am, either in person or by phone, for fear of what they may find ... usually, the boys and I having lunch in our PJ's with not a pair of bright eyes or a bushy tail in sight.
If I don't have to be somewhere or do something by deadline-o'clock, I just moapse around the place picking up toys, crumbs and sweet wrappers that weadle their way into my life to annoy the living daylight out of me.
My weekend motivation levels are currently clocking in at minus zero but I really do need to get myself sorted as our move to far off waters is becoming increasingly closer.
We have a speculative date of mid-January in our minds before we fly off to catch the Melbourne summer and end of the school's six week summer holidays. Although this is still unconfirmed due to outstanding dotting of I's and crossing of T's, it becomes more real with each week that passes.
There have been tears from me this week and I'm sure more will flow, even more so when we're out there with husband in work and children at school and I'm left alone in contemplation..... Maybe I should consider rounding up all the Ex-Pats from the area in which we settle and replace the 'coffee morning' with a 'sobbing session'.
The thought of all those tears that could be used effectively towards easing Australia's water shortage makes me happy and reinstates my British Stiff Upper Lip ... what what.
It's good to talk
MY WORKSTATION has been moved countless times over the past 16 years, with office re-organisation and the like, but wherever I end up in our open plan goldfish bowl of publishing, it seems to morph into the office 'bus stop' .... picking up a bit of gossip here and a snippet of news there.It's good to talk and it has to be said that in the business we're in, communication is king.
Simply by standing in the school yard or even the work canteen queue waiting for the usual black filter, two fruity teas, and three coffees I can pick up a corker that's printed the following day.
My husband cringes when he twigs he's told me 'too much' about something he's heard in the local and my mum physically clams up when she realises I've asked one too many questions about her current topic. Without people and communication, we, as a newspaper, are nothing. So I will continue to soak up any snippets I hear along the way.
Even if it does mean I get frowned upon by my managers for talking too much.
It's all for their own good I keep telling them...
Simply by standing in the school yard or even the work canteen queue waiting for the usual black filter, two fruity teas, and three coffees I can pick up a corker that's printed the following day.
My husband cringes when he twigs he's told me 'too much' about something he's heard in the local and my mum physically clams up when she realises I've asked one too many questions about her current topic. Without people and communication, we, as a newspaper, are nothing. So I will continue to soak up any snippets I hear along the way.
Even if it does mean I get frowned upon by my managers for talking too much.
It's all for their own good I keep telling them...
Happy families - are they?
FOR the second time this week, my six-year-old has brought home a book for homework reading practice.
The first was dubbed Miss Dirt the Dustman's Daughter and is taken from the 'Happy Families' range of reading. Settling down to unfold the story one night this week, we were taken on a journey that revealed how Daisy Dirt's dad was a dustman on the dole but her mum had re-married a Duke and became richer than rich.
Daisy's double life was shared spending time between the two parents and saw her going from rich to poor until everything changes. The demise of the Duke sees the filthy rich pair having to sell off their Daimler while dad scoops the lottery and gets himself quids in. The story focusses on the ins and outs of divorce and re-marriage and sets out to a child how 'normal' it all is.
The second book to come home, from the same range, was Ms Cliff the Climber. The clue is in the title as to what happens to this thrillseeking ladette.Every morning, Clara Cliff gets up and puts on her climbing boots. Closely followed by her climbing clothes and her climbing hat. She then climbs out the window ... and up onto roofs of buildings and mountains and all manner of heighty places.
In a nutshell, Clara finds a soulmate who shares her interest of all things rope-like. It follows her story of ups and downs, and tangles in life - from marriage, to children, through a divorce, re-marriage, even more children and in all, having more than the usual quota of family fun and adventure.
I was a little saddened to be reading stories like this to my youngest who, after completing the full range of books, will understand that life isn't always as simple as it could be.
But in all reality, this IS reality and who am I to say any different?
The first was dubbed Miss Dirt the Dustman's Daughter and is taken from the 'Happy Families' range of reading. Settling down to unfold the story one night this week, we were taken on a journey that revealed how Daisy Dirt's dad was a dustman on the dole but her mum had re-married a Duke and became richer than rich.
Daisy's double life was shared spending time between the two parents and saw her going from rich to poor until everything changes. The demise of the Duke sees the filthy rich pair having to sell off their Daimler while dad scoops the lottery and gets himself quids in. The story focusses on the ins and outs of divorce and re-marriage and sets out to a child how 'normal' it all is.
The second book to come home, from the same range, was Ms Cliff the Climber. The clue is in the title as to what happens to this thrillseeking ladette.Every morning, Clara Cliff gets up and puts on her climbing boots. Closely followed by her climbing clothes and her climbing hat. She then climbs out the window ... and up onto roofs of buildings and mountains and all manner of heighty places.
In a nutshell, Clara finds a soulmate who shares her interest of all things rope-like. It follows her story of ups and downs, and tangles in life - from marriage, to children, through a divorce, re-marriage, even more children and in all, having more than the usual quota of family fun and adventure.
I was a little saddened to be reading stories like this to my youngest who, after completing the full range of books, will understand that life isn't always as simple as it could be.
But in all reality, this IS reality and who am I to say any different?
Hommmmmmm ....
I FEEL liberated. Surprisingly, I haven't yelled at the children since Wednesday and my alcohol intake has depleted.
Suppose I could put it down to what I got upto one night this week. I tracked down a Reiki practitioner and, much to the jibes of even my fondest colleagues, I tripped trapped out to have my inner-being re-tuned. After a half hour chatette, I took to the couch and lay there trying to save myself from an attack of the giggles.
I was asked to close my eyes and fill my head with all things nice while a pink gemmed dowser was hovered over my 1m 83cm horizontal frame. My knee 'told' of the "big decision I was about to make", my heart told her how my emotions were in a bit of a state and my 'third eye' meant any intuition I have is totally off course.
My practitioner then set about curing me of my stress levels and anxieties by placing her healing hands on strategic chakra points of the body. Relaying my session to colleagues the next day resulted in raised eyebrows and smerky smiles but hand on heart, I DO feel 'different'. Perhaps it's a mental thing but I do sense a change in my sometimes irrational behaviour.
The new me will really be tested tomorrow when, after a night out on the town tonight that will probably feature one-too-many-Sambucas, I will put on my best smiles for a one-year-old's birthday party, day of entertaining my cherubs and whatever else the weekend throws at me!
Suppose I could put it down to what I got upto one night this week. I tracked down a Reiki practitioner and, much to the jibes of even my fondest colleagues, I tripped trapped out to have my inner-being re-tuned. After a half hour chatette, I took to the couch and lay there trying to save myself from an attack of the giggles.
I was asked to close my eyes and fill my head with all things nice while a pink gemmed dowser was hovered over my 1m 83cm horizontal frame. My knee 'told' of the "big decision I was about to make", my heart told her how my emotions were in a bit of a state and my 'third eye' meant any intuition I have is totally off course.
My practitioner then set about curing me of my stress levels and anxieties by placing her healing hands on strategic chakra points of the body. Relaying my session to colleagues the next day resulted in raised eyebrows and smerky smiles but hand on heart, I DO feel 'different'. Perhaps it's a mental thing but I do sense a change in my sometimes irrational behaviour.
The new me will really be tested tomorrow when, after a night out on the town tonight that will probably feature one-too-many-Sambucas, I will put on my best smiles for a one-year-old's birthday party, day of entertaining my cherubs and whatever else the weekend throws at me!
On my way to a new me
IT'S been pointed out to me that I haven't blogged since June 16... some seven weeks or so.This will highlight the fact that I've either been (a) busy; (b) boring or (c) beside myself trying to get through the school summer holidays with an ounce of sanity intact. I'd like to think it was down to (a) but more realistically it's a combination of (b) + (c) = barren bloggage.
Okay ... so what's been going down in the 'hood? Last week, I had a reading. My 'friend' pretty much read me like an open book ... an upside down one maybe ... but an open one all the same.
He told me that I was put on this earth for the enjoyment of everyone else, I take on the role of an unofficial agony aunt and people are magnetised to my healing qualities.
I really didn't think I had any of those ... my bedside manner is rubbish and my 'sympathetic' "Ah, go on, you'll be alright" attitude when the children hurt themselves is priceless. So, I was surprised to learn of my 'qualities'. That said, those who know me will know I am one of life's creatures who craves a bit of fun, a few smiles and all things rosy and I do have bend over backwards tendancies to sprinkle happy dust over the heads of those who need it.
But now I've been told that all my good karma is being systematically tapped into by everyone else, leaving me drained and in need of sponging some up myself. I'd never have worked that out in a month of Sundays and I'm glad it's been spelled out to me so my mystical 'friend' suggested I go out and find myself a good Reiki practitioner to help me re-establish myself with some inner goodness.
So, I'm off to thumb through the latest edition of the Yellow Pages, looking under 'N' for 'New Woman'. To be honest, I can't wait ... even if I just get an hour's peace on a comfy couch in a darkened room somewhere it'll be money well spent!
Okay ... so what's been going down in the 'hood? Last week, I had a reading. My 'friend' pretty much read me like an open book ... an upside down one maybe ... but an open one all the same.
He told me that I was put on this earth for the enjoyment of everyone else, I take on the role of an unofficial agony aunt and people are magnetised to my healing qualities.
I really didn't think I had any of those ... my bedside manner is rubbish and my 'sympathetic' "Ah, go on, you'll be alright" attitude when the children hurt themselves is priceless. So, I was surprised to learn of my 'qualities'. That said, those who know me will know I am one of life's creatures who craves a bit of fun, a few smiles and all things rosy and I do have bend over backwards tendancies to sprinkle happy dust over the heads of those who need it.
But now I've been told that all my good karma is being systematically tapped into by everyone else, leaving me drained and in need of sponging some up myself. I'd never have worked that out in a month of Sundays and I'm glad it's been spelled out to me so my mystical 'friend' suggested I go out and find myself a good Reiki practitioner to help me re-establish myself with some inner goodness.
So, I'm off to thumb through the latest edition of the Yellow Pages, looking under 'N' for 'New Woman'. To be honest, I can't wait ... even if I just get an hour's peace on a comfy couch in a darkened room somewhere it'll be money well spent!
Tissue anyone?
HAYFEVER ... It's a menace.
I went to cheer on our little footballing fella on Saturday morning and sat in the sunshine watching from the sidelines. The freshly mown pitch played host to a couple of kickabout friendlies and I sat there fully entertained watching all those little legs race up and down the field.
Well ... I sat there entertained at what I COULD see ... through water-filled eyes and a bit of a sniffly snout. I stood up at one point to give myself some distance between me and the greenery but that didn't do one ounce of difference.
You see, I've NEVER suffered from hayfever. These sniffles weren't down to the summer allergy pest .... it was just a severe case of mother's pride.
I'm such a big softie!
I went to cheer on our little footballing fella on Saturday morning and sat in the sunshine watching from the sidelines. The freshly mown pitch played host to a couple of kickabout friendlies and I sat there fully entertained watching all those little legs race up and down the field.
Well ... I sat there entertained at what I COULD see ... through water-filled eyes and a bit of a sniffly snout. I stood up at one point to give myself some distance between me and the greenery but that didn't do one ounce of difference.
You see, I've NEVER suffered from hayfever. These sniffles weren't down to the summer allergy pest .... it was just a severe case of mother's pride.
I'm such a big softie!
Showing my green athletic side
READING a recent piece from buddy-blogger, Getalifemold, on her sporting success, it has spurred me on to take part in a triathlon all of my very own.
Our trip to Melbourne a couple of weeks ago has brought firmly home the message just how valuable our planet's natural resources are. Over here, we are blessed with copious amounts of liquid gold - whether we want it or not - but it's not to say we should go around wasting it.
I, for one, groan like the best of them when the heavens open and yet another day is spoilt by rain. But it's a whole new ballgame when the heavens are bone dry. Like the ones over Oz.
In readiness for our impending move and to keep happy our new Australian Government friends, I have three personal challenges to complete my 'triathlon'. The first event I am taking part in is called The Chase. In this event, I have to shadow my energy-obsessed partner around the house as he turns off lights and plug sockets. Having to iron is a chore at the best of times but when you're doing it in the dark with a cold appliance, it's even less fun.
Second event is The Dodge. Here, I have to get the washing dry out on the line, au naturelle.As the use of my tumble dryer has been banned now the sun has started to shine, I have to use my foresight and agility to dodge any rainfall before it starts to lash down, taking the washed items back to their original soggy state.
Completing my three events is The Scrub. In this, I have to limit my time in the shower. I currently clock in at 8 minutes 27 seconds but officials Down Under are pretty much pleading with its well-washed nation to limit this to 3. For me to shower in 3 minutes or under, I would have to halve my height and chop off a few limbs. Another option to meet my 3 minute deadline, I suppose, would be to get out fully lathered up and persuade someone to hose me down in the back garden...
In view of the fact that fuel prices are set to rocket (again), husband has a very valid point and I appreciate his concern over not just the future of the planet and the environment, but my bank balance too....
Our trip to Melbourne a couple of weeks ago has brought firmly home the message just how valuable our planet's natural resources are. Over here, we are blessed with copious amounts of liquid gold - whether we want it or not - but it's not to say we should go around wasting it.
I, for one, groan like the best of them when the heavens open and yet another day is spoilt by rain. But it's a whole new ballgame when the heavens are bone dry. Like the ones over Oz.
In readiness for our impending move and to keep happy our new Australian Government friends, I have three personal challenges to complete my 'triathlon'. The first event I am taking part in is called The Chase. In this event, I have to shadow my energy-obsessed partner around the house as he turns off lights and plug sockets. Having to iron is a chore at the best of times but when you're doing it in the dark with a cold appliance, it's even less fun.
Second event is The Dodge. Here, I have to get the washing dry out on the line, au naturelle.As the use of my tumble dryer has been banned now the sun has started to shine, I have to use my foresight and agility to dodge any rainfall before it starts to lash down, taking the washed items back to their original soggy state.
Completing my three events is The Scrub. In this, I have to limit my time in the shower. I currently clock in at 8 minutes 27 seconds but officials Down Under are pretty much pleading with its well-washed nation to limit this to 3. For me to shower in 3 minutes or under, I would have to halve my height and chop off a few limbs. Another option to meet my 3 minute deadline, I suppose, would be to get out fully lathered up and persuade someone to hose me down in the back garden...
In view of the fact that fuel prices are set to rocket (again), husband has a very valid point and I appreciate his concern over not just the future of the planet and the environment, but my bank balance too....
Virtual insanity
I REALLY don't do all that Facebook stuff. I simply can't get into it.
To be honest, it scares the hell out of me. On my profile page, it records my every move. It provides a stage to tell the world who I've just sent an email to, how many 'servants' I have as part of my make-believe Knighthood Kingdom in which I am Lady Mandi and even how many friends I have. I would like to think I have more than the 34 listed but that's what 'Faceache' is telling everyone.
The fantasy name chosen for me is Cinnamon Jellybutter (given the time and the inclination, I'm sure I could come up with a better one) and some of my "34 friends" regularly bamboozle, bite and even throw sheep at me. What on earth is all that about??!
This week, I was told I had been reviewed for dating 191 times, 12 people had expressed an interest in me and that I was more desirable than 77% of 30,305,963 people. Hmmm ... nice little bit of flattery. Until I read the next sentence ..."Last week you were viewed 7 times and no people expressed interest in you..." Talk about kick a girl when she's down.
Facebook has taken the internet world by the virtual horns and forms a part of daily log-on life for many. Personally, I take it all with a huge dollop of salt just tapping into it to see who's doing what, where and why.
Such morbid curiosity I have.
To be honest, it scares the hell out of me. On my profile page, it records my every move. It provides a stage to tell the world who I've just sent an email to, how many 'servants' I have as part of my make-believe Knighthood Kingdom in which I am Lady Mandi and even how many friends I have. I would like to think I have more than the 34 listed but that's what 'Faceache' is telling everyone.
The fantasy name chosen for me is Cinnamon Jellybutter (given the time and the inclination, I'm sure I could come up with a better one) and some of my "34 friends" regularly bamboozle, bite and even throw sheep at me. What on earth is all that about??!
This week, I was told I had been reviewed for dating 191 times, 12 people had expressed an interest in me and that I was more desirable than 77% of 30,305,963 people. Hmmm ... nice little bit of flattery. Until I read the next sentence ..."Last week you were viewed 7 times and no people expressed interest in you..." Talk about kick a girl when she's down.
Facebook has taken the internet world by the virtual horns and forms a part of daily log-on life for many. Personally, I take it all with a huge dollop of salt just tapping into it to see who's doing what, where and why.
Such morbid curiosity I have.
Daylight robbery
I WAS blessed with a child-free and fine-weathered day at the weekend so broke with normal weekend tradition of doing housework and being a 12-hr children's entertainer and jumped on a bus to Chester.
It was foolish not to, having lived right nextdoor to a bus stop for the past 15 years. That way, I could do a shop-bar-shop-bar sort of trip. And shop-bar-shop-bar I did .... until I was stopped in my tracks at the price of booze in these wooden-floored joints that grace the big city.
For one day only, I turned all cosmopolitan and ordered a glass of wine at a trendy wine bar. I'll not name and shame the bar itself because it's my own fault I bowed down and coughed up, but in a nutshell, think of slimy garden pests and crisp salad leaves... say no more.
I was gobsmacked to put it lightly at being asked for six pounds and forty fine English pence in return for what I can only describe as the worst glass of Rose I've ever got down me in my life ... and those who know me will know there have been many!
I'd only asked for ONE glass I thought to myself as I picked myself up off the deck, choked back the tears of shock and fumbled around in my purse for the extra cash. The days of getting change out of a fiver for one drink are seemingly long gone, and I, for one, think it's an absolute outrage.
I can't imagine for one minute paying 12.66 US dollars for the same bevvy. Or 132.73 Mexican pesos or even 514.26 Indian rupees. And as for 1,327.63 Japanese yen .... But then, if we're prepared to pay these extortionate over-inflated prices, the big companies are perfectly within their rights to charge them.
Nuff said.
It was foolish not to, having lived right nextdoor to a bus stop for the past 15 years. That way, I could do a shop-bar-shop-bar sort of trip. And shop-bar-shop-bar I did .... until I was stopped in my tracks at the price of booze in these wooden-floored joints that grace the big city.
For one day only, I turned all cosmopolitan and ordered a glass of wine at a trendy wine bar. I'll not name and shame the bar itself because it's my own fault I bowed down and coughed up, but in a nutshell, think of slimy garden pests and crisp salad leaves... say no more.
I was gobsmacked to put it lightly at being asked for six pounds and forty fine English pence in return for what I can only describe as the worst glass of Rose I've ever got down me in my life ... and those who know me will know there have been many!
I'd only asked for ONE glass I thought to myself as I picked myself up off the deck, choked back the tears of shock and fumbled around in my purse for the extra cash. The days of getting change out of a fiver for one drink are seemingly long gone, and I, for one, think it's an absolute outrage.
I can't imagine for one minute paying 12.66 US dollars for the same bevvy. Or 132.73 Mexican pesos or even 514.26 Indian rupees. And as for 1,327.63 Japanese yen .... But then, if we're prepared to pay these extortionate over-inflated prices, the big companies are perfectly within their rights to charge them.
Nuff said.
Don't know much about history ....
or English for all that matter!
I came across some of my high school reports at the weekend and what giggleage they provided.
I've always said it's better to laugh at yourself before anyone else does it for you. With that in mind, I've just handed them out to colleagues. One of them asked if it was parchment they were written on. These whippersnappers we have working here really hit where it hurts - right in the birth certificate.
Hurtling right back to 1981, my parents were told by my geography teacher that I had coped well with the course and had a good understanding of the basics of map reading. Try telling that to my husband who almost divorced me on our recent trip to Australia.
We picked up the hire car, he jumped in the driver's seat, took the wheel and gave me the map. How we got from A to B on the first leg of our journey, God only knows but it had absolutely nothing to do with my so-called 'map reading basics.' When we should have been going straight on, I was demanding we go left. When we should have being going up hill, I was taking us down dale.
It was only when we came close to throttling eachother over the gearstick that all became clear. Upon closer inspection of our printed piece of highways and freeways of Melbourne east, we discovered the roads we were on hadn't even been crafted into any such piece of printed literature. The map we were using had been, how shall I say ..... "acquired" by my father-in-law who was also Down Under at the same time as us. He had picked it up from a local scrapyard which begs the question..... why was it in the scrapyard in the first place???? ARRGGHH!
Going back to the school reports, one other colleague gave a chuckle at the times I had been called a "quiet and pleasant member of the class". Okay, pleasant I most definitely am but I don't think many will agree with the quiet element. And comments from my English teacher in 1982 suggested I develop a more mature style of writing and that I should read things more accurately.
I wonder if our editor-in-chief knows how rubbish I am?!
I came across some of my high school reports at the weekend and what giggleage they provided.
I've always said it's better to laugh at yourself before anyone else does it for you. With that in mind, I've just handed them out to colleagues. One of them asked if it was parchment they were written on. These whippersnappers we have working here really hit where it hurts - right in the birth certificate.
Hurtling right back to 1981, my parents were told by my geography teacher that I had coped well with the course and had a good understanding of the basics of map reading. Try telling that to my husband who almost divorced me on our recent trip to Australia.
We picked up the hire car, he jumped in the driver's seat, took the wheel and gave me the map. How we got from A to B on the first leg of our journey, God only knows but it had absolutely nothing to do with my so-called 'map reading basics.' When we should have been going straight on, I was demanding we go left. When we should have being going up hill, I was taking us down dale.
It was only when we came close to throttling eachother over the gearstick that all became clear. Upon closer inspection of our printed piece of highways and freeways of Melbourne east, we discovered the roads we were on hadn't even been crafted into any such piece of printed literature. The map we were using had been, how shall I say ..... "acquired" by my father-in-law who was also Down Under at the same time as us. He had picked it up from a local scrapyard which begs the question..... why was it in the scrapyard in the first place???? ARRGGHH!
Going back to the school reports, one other colleague gave a chuckle at the times I had been called a "quiet and pleasant member of the class". Okay, pleasant I most definitely am but I don't think many will agree with the quiet element. And comments from my English teacher in 1982 suggested I develop a more mature style of writing and that I should read things more accurately.
I wonder if our editor-in-chief knows how rubbish I am?!
Just what Sunday mornings were made for ....
CHECKING out the weekend weather forecast on Friday afternoon wiped the smile right off my face. "Here we go...." I muttered under my breath while rolling my eyeballs right up into their sockets in a very attractive sort of manner.
It seems that whenever we have something planned, the heaven's decide to do what they do best .... open. And open they did. Just as my youngest son climbed into his team's red and black strip and played in his first ever football match.
Off he went, to kickaround with his team-mates of three weeks. It was a joy to watch this cluster of six-year-olds come together on a soggy and muddy patch of grass to fumble their way through 15 minutes either way of good, harmless tackling.
It was equally heart-warming to see the parents standing on the sidelines braving the elements to cheer on their offspring as best they could, although a handful of parents just ended up confusing their children while they bawled at them telling them to go here, there and everywhere and do this, that and the other.
Even I couldn't stop myself from giving a little yelp every now and again. I think I remember holloring "Go on my son ...." at one point!! One person I did enjoy listening to, though, was the team's inspirational Coach, Leanne. She makes me laugh.
Other coaches who witness their little players fall over and hurt themselves give an "Oh dear, now get up and get on with it" reaction. Leanne's mum-like methods are far more endearing. She frequents the sidelines with open arms, a reassuring smile and a pack of Elastoplast for her little players.
Yesterday, there were footballs kicked onto ears, slippy and slidey falls and even little guys who simply didn't want to play. Coach was there for each and every one of them. That's when she wasn't congratulating team members of the opposition for their soccer prowess!
But, our chilly morning standing there cheering on the cherub was fruitful. After his debut on the pitch, my little fella was named Man of the Match and hasn't stopped smiling since.
His temporary trophy has not been put down since it was placed firmly in his grip. All I need to do now is get a mantlepiece built before it has to be returned to Coach in time for the next match!
It seems that whenever we have something planned, the heaven's decide to do what they do best .... open. And open they did. Just as my youngest son climbed into his team's red and black strip and played in his first ever football match.
Off he went, to kickaround with his team-mates of three weeks. It was a joy to watch this cluster of six-year-olds come together on a soggy and muddy patch of grass to fumble their way through 15 minutes either way of good, harmless tackling.
It was equally heart-warming to see the parents standing on the sidelines braving the elements to cheer on their offspring as best they could, although a handful of parents just ended up confusing their children while they bawled at them telling them to go here, there and everywhere and do this, that and the other.
Even I couldn't stop myself from giving a little yelp every now and again. I think I remember holloring "Go on my son ...." at one point!! One person I did enjoy listening to, though, was the team's inspirational Coach, Leanne. She makes me laugh.
Other coaches who witness their little players fall over and hurt themselves give an "Oh dear, now get up and get on with it" reaction. Leanne's mum-like methods are far more endearing. She frequents the sidelines with open arms, a reassuring smile and a pack of Elastoplast for her little players.
Yesterday, there were footballs kicked onto ears, slippy and slidey falls and even little guys who simply didn't want to play. Coach was there for each and every one of them. That's when she wasn't congratulating team members of the opposition for their soccer prowess!
But, our chilly morning standing there cheering on the cherub was fruitful. After his debut on the pitch, my little fella was named Man of the Match and hasn't stopped smiling since.
His temporary trophy has not been put down since it was placed firmly in his grip. All I need to do now is get a mantlepiece built before it has to be returned to Coach in time for the next match!
Who am I again?
I HAVE evolved. I am no longer Mandi. I am Mandi, you know the one who's off to live in Oz ....
Although I am the very same person who started this Australian-permanent-residency-application ball rolling some 18 months ago, it seems I can't actually go anywhere now without the 'A' word being mentioned.
We've just returned from our three week lookaround trip of the southern hemisphere and can honestly say, it was fabulous. The weather is fab, the people are fab, the country is fab. The spiders and snakes are, however, not so fab but as long as they keep themselves to themselves in their little, dark, damp hidey-holes, that will suit me fine.
Now I've got the trip under my belt, I feel a tad anxious about my position that's now set firmly on the top rung of the ladder. I've run out of stepping stones, I've got to the end of the tether, I may even have, somehow, run out of steam. But it's something we will do, just as soon as the house sells.
In all honesty, I'm in no rush. I like my job, I like my home, and believe or not, I even like my family and friends (!!!) so now I've actually spent some time down under, I want to sit back and clear my head of the geographical furball that's accumulated inside it.
I need time to sit back and reflect on what I've seen, where I've seen it and when I'd like to see it again. I do believe our lives are mapped out for us by a force of the unknown .... I wait to see where mine sends me....
Crystal ball anyone??
Although I am the very same person who started this Australian-permanent-residency-application ball rolling some 18 months ago, it seems I can't actually go anywhere now without the 'A' word being mentioned.
We've just returned from our three week lookaround trip of the southern hemisphere and can honestly say, it was fabulous. The weather is fab, the people are fab, the country is fab. The spiders and snakes are, however, not so fab but as long as they keep themselves to themselves in their little, dark, damp hidey-holes, that will suit me fine.
Now I've got the trip under my belt, I feel a tad anxious about my position that's now set firmly on the top rung of the ladder. I've run out of stepping stones, I've got to the end of the tether, I may even have, somehow, run out of steam. But it's something we will do, just as soon as the house sells.
In all honesty, I'm in no rush. I like my job, I like my home, and believe or not, I even like my family and friends (!!!) so now I've actually spent some time down under, I want to sit back and clear my head of the geographical furball that's accumulated inside it.
I need time to sit back and reflect on what I've seen, where I've seen it and when I'd like to see it again. I do believe our lives are mapped out for us by a force of the unknown .... I wait to see where mine sends me....
Crystal ball anyone??
Don't make me lamb dressed as mutton - YET!
BEING called by my official marital title doesn't make me feel very alluring.
"Good morning Mrs Pugh" is a statement I regularly respond to and although there's no getting away from it, hearing it makes me wince all the same. Especially so now I'm hurtling towards the grand old age of 40.
My title makes me feel like I should be a character from Postman Pat ... maybe working all the hours God sends behind a post office counter. Or even a storybook farmer's wife with ruddy cheeks and a matching cableknit sweater.
I can usually bat off any jokey references to my impending big birthday, that was until I received some post at the weekend. I'd only just got over my what-I-thought-premature invitation to join the Reader's Digest club. Now, I have been sent a catalogue from the clothing company "Fifty Plus - Fashion That Fits Your Lifestyle." I'm as happy as a celebrity with no cash, an eight-year-old with no Nintendo DS and Amy Winehouse with no hairspray .... all rolled into one.
The catalogue's introduction is quoted as saying: "Welcome to Fifty Plus, THE fashion catalogue created especially for you, upto size 34." How do these people know what my fashion preferences are? Or what size I currently measure in at, for all that matter.....?
Don't get me wrong - in the years that follow, olive green crochet button bobble cardigans may well hang in my wardrobe but not until I've outgrown my vast array of slinky halter neck tops thank you very much.
I've been told once before that I'm getting young in my old age which I take as a massive compliment. No matter how old you get, you should never allow for complacency.
Fashion police rule!
"Good morning Mrs Pugh" is a statement I regularly respond to and although there's no getting away from it, hearing it makes me wince all the same. Especially so now I'm hurtling towards the grand old age of 40.
My title makes me feel like I should be a character from Postman Pat ... maybe working all the hours God sends behind a post office counter. Or even a storybook farmer's wife with ruddy cheeks and a matching cableknit sweater.
I can usually bat off any jokey references to my impending big birthday, that was until I received some post at the weekend. I'd only just got over my what-I-thought-premature invitation to join the Reader's Digest club. Now, I have been sent a catalogue from the clothing company "Fifty Plus - Fashion That Fits Your Lifestyle." I'm as happy as a celebrity with no cash, an eight-year-old with no Nintendo DS and Amy Winehouse with no hairspray .... all rolled into one.
The catalogue's introduction is quoted as saying: "Welcome to Fifty Plus, THE fashion catalogue created especially for you, upto size 34." How do these people know what my fashion preferences are? Or what size I currently measure in at, for all that matter.....?
Don't get me wrong - in the years that follow, olive green crochet button bobble cardigans may well hang in my wardrobe but not until I've outgrown my vast array of slinky halter neck tops thank you very much.
I've been told once before that I'm getting young in my old age which I take as a massive compliment. No matter how old you get, you should never allow for complacency.
Fashion police rule!
It's a jungle out there
ADVICE .... hmmm. It's not something I relish. But over the past few weeks, I've found myself being bombarded with it.
"Do this, don't do that, you need to go there, there and over there but for heaven's sake don't do this, that and the other." You name it ... I've had it.
I recently received a gift from a colleague - a National Geographic Bug Barn. Unusual I thought. And to add insult to injury, it came with an internet printout of a list showing Australia's deadliest spiders. Great.
Showing off my new piece of equipment around the office, I heard all manner of wildlife horror stories, from how the deadliest Ozzie spiders would eat my little plastic contraption for breakfast to, on the other hand, how it's not the venomous ones that are the most dangerous. This, I wanted to hear.
Apparently, the great big hairy Huntsman spiders - measuring in at upto 15cm from leg to leg - are the ones that cause the most deaths. NOT by creeping up the toilet bowl and biting you on the rear end (this also happens, so I've been told) ..... but by playing hide and seek in your car.
It seems that by driving along with the sun beating down on you and reaching for some shade from the sun visor, the pesky blighters fall onto your lap, you crash the car and the rest is history. So it's shock that get's you in the end, eh??
But the best piece of advice by far came in last night from my husband and I have ranked it at #1.
He said very matter-of-factly: "When we're in Australia and you find yourself being chased by a crocodile, run in zig-zag fashion so they can't catch you ....."
C'mon ... somebody please tell me you don't get many human-hungry reptiles hanging around the shopping malls, because that's where I'll be spending the lion's share of MY time!!!
"Do this, don't do that, you need to go there, there and over there but for heaven's sake don't do this, that and the other." You name it ... I've had it.
I recently received a gift from a colleague - a National Geographic Bug Barn. Unusual I thought. And to add insult to injury, it came with an internet printout of a list showing Australia's deadliest spiders. Great.
Showing off my new piece of equipment around the office, I heard all manner of wildlife horror stories, from how the deadliest Ozzie spiders would eat my little plastic contraption for breakfast to, on the other hand, how it's not the venomous ones that are the most dangerous. This, I wanted to hear.
Apparently, the great big hairy Huntsman spiders - measuring in at upto 15cm from leg to leg - are the ones that cause the most deaths. NOT by creeping up the toilet bowl and biting you on the rear end (this also happens, so I've been told) ..... but by playing hide and seek in your car.
It seems that by driving along with the sun beating down on you and reaching for some shade from the sun visor, the pesky blighters fall onto your lap, you crash the car and the rest is history. So it's shock that get's you in the end, eh??
But the best piece of advice by far came in last night from my husband and I have ranked it at #1.
He said very matter-of-factly: "When we're in Australia and you find yourself being chased by a crocodile, run in zig-zag fashion so they can't catch you ....."
C'mon ... somebody please tell me you don't get many human-hungry reptiles hanging around the shopping malls, because that's where I'll be spending the lion's share of MY time!!!
"You must be SO excited ...?"
EVERYONE is telling me how excited I should be. About to embark on a long haul trek to a land Down Under doesn't make me excited.... it fills me with apprehension because I know this holiday is not just any ordinary holiday. It's a holiday on which we will be basing a life-changing decision.
To be honest, I'll be glad when it's all over. At least then I'll know whether or not my gut feeling for all things Antipodean will be positive or negative. I've always viewed myself as one of life's optimists but more recently, the pessimistic side of me has started to rear its ugly head.
Already, I'm dreading the invasion of mosquitoes and the daily battle to get the kids smothered in their beloved Factor 30. And as for the flight ......... oh, the long, drawn out flight.
The first leg of 16 hours will carry us to Singapore for a couple of nights. I've made a mental note that stipulates my husband whisks me off to the world-famous Raffles Hotel for a world-famous 'Singapore Sling.' I haven't a clue what's in the lavish sounding cocktail, but I'll try anything once!
I'm told that for twenty-five of the finest Singapore dollars, you get to sample the cocktail and even, wait for it .... keep the glass. Husband will have to dig deep in his pockets here - a pint of beer comes a close second with a price tag of S$22 firmly attached and a glass of water for the boys will set him back S$13 each. I get the feeling we won't be staying at this joint all night.
After Singapore, it's off to Melbourne for a whistlestop tour in a hire car to check out real estate and the local amenities on offer. My relocation criteria is simple .... Our new home has to be no more than a 40-minute drive from the airport, on a direct train route into the city and within spitting distance of an off licence.
Whether my little piece of suburb heaven exists or not I'm yet to find out ....
To be honest, I'll be glad when it's all over. At least then I'll know whether or not my gut feeling for all things Antipodean will be positive or negative. I've always viewed myself as one of life's optimists but more recently, the pessimistic side of me has started to rear its ugly head.
Already, I'm dreading the invasion of mosquitoes and the daily battle to get the kids smothered in their beloved Factor 30. And as for the flight ......... oh, the long, drawn out flight.
The first leg of 16 hours will carry us to Singapore for a couple of nights. I've made a mental note that stipulates my husband whisks me off to the world-famous Raffles Hotel for a world-famous 'Singapore Sling.' I haven't a clue what's in the lavish sounding cocktail, but I'll try anything once!
I'm told that for twenty-five of the finest Singapore dollars, you get to sample the cocktail and even, wait for it .... keep the glass. Husband will have to dig deep in his pockets here - a pint of beer comes a close second with a price tag of S$22 firmly attached and a glass of water for the boys will set him back S$13 each. I get the feeling we won't be staying at this joint all night.
After Singapore, it's off to Melbourne for a whistlestop tour in a hire car to check out real estate and the local amenities on offer. My relocation criteria is simple .... Our new home has to be no more than a 40-minute drive from the airport, on a direct train route into the city and within spitting distance of an off licence.
Whether my little piece of suburb heaven exists or not I'm yet to find out ....
Laughter is the best remedy
I WAS a tad under the weather on Saturday. It was ALL my own fault having over-indulged on a night out in Chester with some friends so I'm not expecting any sympathy.
However, the black cloud that followed me around the house for most of the day was temporarily lifted when I took a phone call.
I don't really do all that survey stuff from companies wanting to know intricate details like your head circumference or how many times you put your washing machine on a week. I really couldn't be bothered with answering a whole load of questions about my day-to-day life, but these people have a job to do so I accepted "spending just five minutes of my time" to help them out.
The woman on the other end of the line started by asking me my age. I'm often told not to answer a question with a question but I asked if she had an age range in which I could slot myself into. She didn't so I shaved a decade off my years and she continued....
Off now to questions about what television channels I watch, which domestic appliances I use, and even if I had ever .... booked a holiday! The questions became more and more bizarre as the grilling continued but it was the next batch that sent me into guffaw-like laughter.
"Do you....." she asked "....think that businesses taking their customers on corporate hospitality trips to lapdancing bars is A:Acceptable. B: Fairly Acceptable or C: Not Acceptable?"
I was in disbelief at such an odd question and in response, the more I laughed, the more she laughed ..... the more she laughed, the more I did. The children thought I had gone stark raving mad and took a screen break from their favourite TV show to glance over at me suffering from a fit of the giggles.
I hope the answers I provided will help someone somewhere in their research towards God-knows-what. Even if they don't, at least the kooky call took my mind off my hangover for 10 minutes!
However, the black cloud that followed me around the house for most of the day was temporarily lifted when I took a phone call.
I don't really do all that survey stuff from companies wanting to know intricate details like your head circumference or how many times you put your washing machine on a week. I really couldn't be bothered with answering a whole load of questions about my day-to-day life, but these people have a job to do so I accepted "spending just five minutes of my time" to help them out.
The woman on the other end of the line started by asking me my age. I'm often told not to answer a question with a question but I asked if she had an age range in which I could slot myself into. She didn't so I shaved a decade off my years and she continued....
Off now to questions about what television channels I watch, which domestic appliances I use, and even if I had ever .... booked a holiday! The questions became more and more bizarre as the grilling continued but it was the next batch that sent me into guffaw-like laughter.
"Do you....." she asked "....think that businesses taking their customers on corporate hospitality trips to lapdancing bars is A:Acceptable. B: Fairly Acceptable or C: Not Acceptable?"
I was in disbelief at such an odd question and in response, the more I laughed, the more she laughed ..... the more she laughed, the more I did. The children thought I had gone stark raving mad and took a screen break from their favourite TV show to glance over at me suffering from a fit of the giggles.
I hope the answers I provided will help someone somewhere in their research towards God-knows-what. Even if they don't, at least the kooky call took my mind off my hangover for 10 minutes!
What a woman
I HAVE just met the woman I aspire to be when I'm her age. For parking next to me at the local 'pay and display' was a lady of some stature.
She was a glamorous and well turned out late-80-something with all her faculties firmly still in situ and didn't need any help at the ticket machine to punch in her car's registration details, unlike me when I first used it.
Being the personable type, I strolled back to where I had parked up and noticed she was my 'neighbour'. She unlocked her door and placed the ticket inside .... of her gleaming white Toyota MR2 two-litre hatchback ... complete with personalised number plate.
In the boot, she rummaged around for her zimmer frame and after a brief chat, she was gone ... pleased as Punch that I had seemed so impressed with her aura.
If somehow I can make someone's day ... I will. All part and parcel of my Virgo disposition I suppose!
She was a glamorous and well turned out late-80-something with all her faculties firmly still in situ and didn't need any help at the ticket machine to punch in her car's registration details, unlike me when I first used it.
Being the personable type, I strolled back to where I had parked up and noticed she was my 'neighbour'. She unlocked her door and placed the ticket inside .... of her gleaming white Toyota MR2 two-litre hatchback ... complete with personalised number plate.
In the boot, she rummaged around for her zimmer frame and after a brief chat, she was gone ... pleased as Punch that I had seemed so impressed with her aura.
If somehow I can make someone's day ... I will. All part and parcel of my Virgo disposition I suppose!
What a woman
I HAVE just met the woman I aspire to be when I'm her age. For parking next to me at the local 'pay and display' was a lady of some stature.
She was a glamorous and well turned out late-80-something with all her faculties firmly still in situ and didn't need any help at the ticket machine to punch in her car's registration details, unlike me when I first used it.
Being the personable type, I strolled back to where I had parked up and noticed she was my 'neighbour'. She unlocked her door and placed the ticket inside .... of her gleaming white Toyota MR2 two-litre hatchback ... complete with personalised number plate.
In the boot, she rummaged around for her zimmer frame and after a brief chat, she was gone ... pleased as Punch that I had seemed so impressed with her aura.
If somehow I can make someone's day ... I will. All part and parcel of my Virgo disposition I suppose!
She was a glamorous and well turned out late-80-something with all her faculties firmly still in situ and didn't need any help at the ticket machine to punch in her car's registration details, unlike me when I first used it.
Being the personable type, I strolled back to where I had parked up and noticed she was my 'neighbour'. She unlocked her door and placed the ticket inside .... of her gleaming white Toyota MR2 two-litre hatchback ... complete with personalised number plate.
In the boot, she rummaged around for her zimmer frame and after a brief chat, she was gone ... pleased as Punch that I had seemed so impressed with her aura.
If somehow I can make someone's day ... I will. All part and parcel of my Virgo disposition I suppose!
The day I've been dreading
TODAY WAS monumental ... for dropping through my letterbox was an invitation to join the ranks of the Reader's Digest.
I well remember my dad signing up as a fully paid up member of the publication many moons ago when I was just a wee ankle-biter. And how he looked forward to the little cellophane wrapped book dropping onto the doormat.
My heart sank though when I was invited to join the association this week. I took it personally, as an insult, I'm simply not old enough to be interested in the articles from what has been considered the 'wrinkly's monthly handbook'. Or am I??
I was given six chances to bank upto £250,000, told I could win a brand new car provided my peel-off 'key' unlocked the secret code and would receive special deals if I ordered books entitled "How to Clean Just About Anything," "Extraordinary Uses for Ordinary Things" or even "Discover Amazing New Ways to Use the Stuff You Already Have ...." I was intrigued as ever with this latter item so I read on.
I mean .... did you know the countless advantages of salt? Around the house, it can make brooms last longer, make fireplace cleaning easier and you can even make your own scented air freshener with it. In the kitchen, it can wipe up spilled eggs fast, restore the sparkle to teapot spouts and remove stubborn lipstick marks from glasses.
Call me modern but if my broom wears down, I buy another from the supermarket. I don't have a fireplace to scrub and I get my air fresheners courtesy of Airwick. On the very rare occasion of me getting up, close and personal with a box of eggs, a dishcloth is always waiting in the wings, the only teapot I have is an antique one for decorative use only and any lipstick left on my glasses is removed adequately by the Zanussi in the corner.
But jokes aside, there is a whole world of ingenious solutions that can make life easier for the thrifty. Now, I'm off to put in my subscription as I'm desperate to find out how to use cardboard tubes to keep my trousers wrinkle-free and why I should be taking a tub of car wax into the shower with me .....
I well remember my dad signing up as a fully paid up member of the publication many moons ago when I was just a wee ankle-biter. And how he looked forward to the little cellophane wrapped book dropping onto the doormat.
My heart sank though when I was invited to join the association this week. I took it personally, as an insult, I'm simply not old enough to be interested in the articles from what has been considered the 'wrinkly's monthly handbook'. Or am I??
I was given six chances to bank upto £250,000, told I could win a brand new car provided my peel-off 'key' unlocked the secret code and would receive special deals if I ordered books entitled "How to Clean Just About Anything," "Extraordinary Uses for Ordinary Things" or even "Discover Amazing New Ways to Use the Stuff You Already Have ...." I was intrigued as ever with this latter item so I read on.
I mean .... did you know the countless advantages of salt? Around the house, it can make brooms last longer, make fireplace cleaning easier and you can even make your own scented air freshener with it. In the kitchen, it can wipe up spilled eggs fast, restore the sparkle to teapot spouts and remove stubborn lipstick marks from glasses.
Call me modern but if my broom wears down, I buy another from the supermarket. I don't have a fireplace to scrub and I get my air fresheners courtesy of Airwick. On the very rare occasion of me getting up, close and personal with a box of eggs, a dishcloth is always waiting in the wings, the only teapot I have is an antique one for decorative use only and any lipstick left on my glasses is removed adequately by the Zanussi in the corner.
But jokes aside, there is a whole world of ingenious solutions that can make life easier for the thrifty. Now, I'm off to put in my subscription as I'm desperate to find out how to use cardboard tubes to keep my trousers wrinkle-free and why I should be taking a tub of car wax into the shower with me .....
Ridiculous
I KNOW Easter falls a little earlier than usual this year but what I saw yesterday takes the biscuit.
Twelfth Night fell over the weekend and this, as we all know, is traditionally the time to take down the festive decorations and get the gaff looking normal again. It's a job I will get around to later, after I've got over the shock of seeing shelf upon shelf full of ..... wait for it .... EASTER EGGS!
We'd hardly got the sun creams off the shelves before the gruesome Halloween-ware came out. Long before this event was celebrated, shelf space was being shared with Christmas stuff. Then as soon as the last hooter for New Year has been blown at the strike of midnight ... whack .... we're thrown into chocolate bunny land.
I blatantly refuse to buy Easter eggs at this time of year regardless of what offers the stores tempt me with. I need time to recover from one event to the next and expect a whole load of others do too.
Whatever next .....?
Twelfth Night fell over the weekend and this, as we all know, is traditionally the time to take down the festive decorations and get the gaff looking normal again. It's a job I will get around to later, after I've got over the shock of seeing shelf upon shelf full of ..... wait for it .... EASTER EGGS!
We'd hardly got the sun creams off the shelves before the gruesome Halloween-ware came out. Long before this event was celebrated, shelf space was being shared with Christmas stuff. Then as soon as the last hooter for New Year has been blown at the strike of midnight ... whack .... we're thrown into chocolate bunny land.
I blatantly refuse to buy Easter eggs at this time of year regardless of what offers the stores tempt me with. I need time to recover from one event to the next and expect a whole load of others do too.
Whatever next .....?
What a load of rubbish
I HAD a good Christmas. It's now a distant memory but 'twas a good one nonetheless. What wasn't so good was sitting in the queue at the local tip.
Car .... upon car .... upon rubbish-filled car .... all sat behind one another one weekday morning between Christmas and New Year, with countless passengers breathing in everyone elses exhaust fumes and just hanging around in the hope that the queue would shorten in time to get home before dark.
Ever the impatient one, I did a swift U-turn after 15 minutes, only to take my stash of trash home with me and add it to the pile that already sat there. And there it sat until normal refuse collection service was resumed last week. We had a pile that big, I feared any visitors would start calling us 'Stig' and pondered whether the binwagon boys would actually take that amount away in one go.
My cunning plan of lining them up in a neat procession all the way up the driveway worked a treat - this didn't look half as much as when they were piled up on top of eachother in the corner. I was tempted to lay them out in a squiggly sort of line .... up the driveway, around the car and then upto the front door, like a trail of breadcrumbs, but didn't want to push my luck and risk upsetting our council staff.
Our boys of the binwagon have now restored my path to its former glory having chucked all 18 bags of rubbish into the back of their truck.
What a valued team they are.
Car .... upon car .... upon rubbish-filled car .... all sat behind one another one weekday morning between Christmas and New Year, with countless passengers breathing in everyone elses exhaust fumes and just hanging around in the hope that the queue would shorten in time to get home before dark.
Ever the impatient one, I did a swift U-turn after 15 minutes, only to take my stash of trash home with me and add it to the pile that already sat there. And there it sat until normal refuse collection service was resumed last week. We had a pile that big, I feared any visitors would start calling us 'Stig' and pondered whether the binwagon boys would actually take that amount away in one go.
My cunning plan of lining them up in a neat procession all the way up the driveway worked a treat - this didn't look half as much as when they were piled up on top of eachother in the corner. I was tempted to lay them out in a squiggly sort of line .... up the driveway, around the car and then upto the front door, like a trail of breadcrumbs, but didn't want to push my luck and risk upsetting our council staff.
Our boys of the binwagon have now restored my path to its former glory having chucked all 18 bags of rubbish into the back of their truck.
What a valued team they are.
Zzzzzzzz
WHENEVER the weather forecasters predict a night of gales, it fills me with dread.
I really don't mind that the leaves of autumn past and outdoor toys get blown all over the driveway making the place look like Steptoe's yard. It's the thought of having a night of musical beds that makes me wince.
You can bet your bottom dollar that when it's blowing a gale outside, our little fella will wake up in the early hours and make his way in to see us to tell us all about his bad dream. With a quivering lip and trembling mumble, he goes into great detail of the sounds he can hear.
This morning at 1.39am, all bleary-eyed, I reassured him that the noises were the springs on his bunk bed and the wind that was whistling around the chimney flue. I fumbled around in the dark for his favourite bear and tucked up the pair together.
Back to bed, I managed to pick up my dream where I left off, only to have to press the pause button again ... this time at 2.24am. Up again, to usher the little guy back to his room. Back to bed again ..... until 3.10am. It is at this point that I reach my naggiest ..... and go for the musical beds option. Put youngster in the spare room with me right next to him. This tactic is pure magic and not one that I like to use often, but needs must and he's out like a light.
Sometimes, it's just best to admit defeat if it means getting some zzzz's .... and incidentally, the dream WAS worth it!
I really don't mind that the leaves of autumn past and outdoor toys get blown all over the driveway making the place look like Steptoe's yard. It's the thought of having a night of musical beds that makes me wince.
You can bet your bottom dollar that when it's blowing a gale outside, our little fella will wake up in the early hours and make his way in to see us to tell us all about his bad dream. With a quivering lip and trembling mumble, he goes into great detail of the sounds he can hear.
This morning at 1.39am, all bleary-eyed, I reassured him that the noises were the springs on his bunk bed and the wind that was whistling around the chimney flue. I fumbled around in the dark for his favourite bear and tucked up the pair together.
Back to bed, I managed to pick up my dream where I left off, only to have to press the pause button again ... this time at 2.24am. Up again, to usher the little guy back to his room. Back to bed again ..... until 3.10am. It is at this point that I reach my naggiest ..... and go for the musical beds option. Put youngster in the spare room with me right next to him. This tactic is pure magic and not one that I like to use often, but needs must and he's out like a light.
Sometimes, it's just best to admit defeat if it means getting some zzzz's .... and incidentally, the dream WAS worth it!
Can yi giss who it eez yit?
I DON'T mean to sound a misery, but I can't wait to get back to work on Monday. I do miss the old gaff and the characters it contains.
And incidentally, it will be good to get into the office and see a lesser-spotted .... FACE. Thanks to the Christmas arrival of a Nintendo Wii games console, all I've seen for the past three days solid is the rear ends belonging to my friends and relatives.
I am sure I could easily pick one out in an identity parade .... I've been up, close and personal with little ones, pert ones, big ones, rotund ones, skinny ones and sexy ones. I won't say which describes who's as that would cause a kerfuffle but I think they all secretly know who they are!
One thing I haven't missed since I broke up on Christmas Eve, though, is my kitchen. It has been a shadow of its former self due to the Family Pugh putting it about the locality to raid everyone else's festive larders! Today is the first day that the smell of good old fashioned home cooking has wafted from within those four walls. But it won't last. Tomorrow, we're off to a fancy dress party and more sausage rolls and finger buffet chicken lattice rolls and there's no prizes for guessing who I'm going as.
Think Australian ..... Kylie Minogue?? No, too tall. Dame Edna?? Nah, too scared. An aborigine?? Just a thong and a flattened nose?? No thanks! This may not be an obvious choice, but it's the easiest costume option as I have most of the items hanging in the wardrobe .... we're going as Ozzie wildlife warriors, Steve and Terri Irwin ..... what a little beauty!
We have the outfits, we have the boots, we have the hats with corks ... all I need to get my hands on now is a prop to put under my arm.
Anyone loan me a croc?
And incidentally, it will be good to get into the office and see a lesser-spotted .... FACE. Thanks to the Christmas arrival of a Nintendo Wii games console, all I've seen for the past three days solid is the rear ends belonging to my friends and relatives.
I am sure I could easily pick one out in an identity parade .... I've been up, close and personal with little ones, pert ones, big ones, rotund ones, skinny ones and sexy ones. I won't say which describes who's as that would cause a kerfuffle but I think they all secretly know who they are!
One thing I haven't missed since I broke up on Christmas Eve, though, is my kitchen. It has been a shadow of its former self due to the Family Pugh putting it about the locality to raid everyone else's festive larders! Today is the first day that the smell of good old fashioned home cooking has wafted from within those four walls. But it won't last. Tomorrow, we're off to a fancy dress party and more sausage rolls and finger buffet chicken lattice rolls and there's no prizes for guessing who I'm going as.
Think Australian ..... Kylie Minogue?? No, too tall. Dame Edna?? Nah, too scared. An aborigine?? Just a thong and a flattened nose?? No thanks! This may not be an obvious choice, but it's the easiest costume option as I have most of the items hanging in the wardrobe .... we're going as Ozzie wildlife warriors, Steve and Terri Irwin ..... what a little beauty!
We have the outfits, we have the boots, we have the hats with corks ... all I need to get my hands on now is a prop to put under my arm.
Anyone loan me a croc?
A real all-star line up
I'VE JUST twigged why my mouth aches. It's not because I've had it in vocal festive overdrive or that I've munched through more than my body weight in mince pies ..... it's because of Beckham.
We tuned into Parky's last ever show over the weekend and I more or less smiled most of the way through it, apart from when Dame Judi started to croon a melody alongside a baby Grand.
First on was one of my favourite comedians. Billy Connolly does it for me. He is a God. I only have to look at him and it brings me out in a smile. Next on, and equally as comical as the Big Yin, was Michael Caine, followed by naturalist and broadcaster, Sir David Attenborough. I went to put the kettle on at this point, in readiness for the star of the show who was waiting in the wings to wow me. And wow me he did.
David Beckham. Oh David..... my hero. I watched him with a grin from ear to ear. Some ten minutes into the interview, I was aware I was being watched, only to be prodded by a novelty backscratcher that lives on the bedside table. "Take that stupid smile off your face" I was told .... I was brought back from dreamland and wiped the dribble that had started to form in the corners of my mouth.
I went on to imagine what Christmas at the Beckham household would be like .... David, Victoria, Brooklyn, Romeo and little Cruz, all sitting around their designer table, clad in designer gear and eating designer sprouts. I bet they managed to get hold of a Nintendo Wii in time for the big day.
Many frown upon the Beckhams and the lifestyle they enjoy. During his interview, David reiterated time and again how the money was not important to him. It was his love of football and family that was of paramount importance. Call me gullible, but I actually believe what he said .... I would believe ANYTHING that came from such a gorgeous, handsome mouth though.
Personally, I won't have a word said against the Beckhams, even if I do get lockjaw as a result of watching them. I am a die-hard fan, always have been, always will be! Sad eh???!
We tuned into Parky's last ever show over the weekend and I more or less smiled most of the way through it, apart from when Dame Judi started to croon a melody alongside a baby Grand.
First on was one of my favourite comedians. Billy Connolly does it for me. He is a God. I only have to look at him and it brings me out in a smile. Next on, and equally as comical as the Big Yin, was Michael Caine, followed by naturalist and broadcaster, Sir David Attenborough. I went to put the kettle on at this point, in readiness for the star of the show who was waiting in the wings to wow me. And wow me he did.
David Beckham. Oh David..... my hero. I watched him with a grin from ear to ear. Some ten minutes into the interview, I was aware I was being watched, only to be prodded by a novelty backscratcher that lives on the bedside table. "Take that stupid smile off your face" I was told .... I was brought back from dreamland and wiped the dribble that had started to form in the corners of my mouth.
I went on to imagine what Christmas at the Beckham household would be like .... David, Victoria, Brooklyn, Romeo and little Cruz, all sitting around their designer table, clad in designer gear and eating designer sprouts. I bet they managed to get hold of a Nintendo Wii in time for the big day.
Many frown upon the Beckhams and the lifestyle they enjoy. During his interview, David reiterated time and again how the money was not important to him. It was his love of football and family that was of paramount importance. Call me gullible, but I actually believe what he said .... I would believe ANYTHING that came from such a gorgeous, handsome mouth though.
Personally, I won't have a word said against the Beckhams, even if I do get lockjaw as a result of watching them. I am a die-hard fan, always have been, always will be! Sad eh???!
You're only as old as you feel
ANYONE WHO knows me will know how easily distracted I can get.
Today, for the third time in as many weeks, I mislaid my debit card. Spend, spend, spend ... I can't get enough of it. Whether I'm off out for petrol or pasta, my plastic is by far my most flexible friend.
But when it decides to stray, I'm so lost. It is so unforgiving to be without this little rectangular piece of kit. In its favour, I can easily forego my lip gloss and even, in extreme conditions, my top lip waxing strips ... but the plastic? No, no, no.
Like I said, three times in the past month has my little fella been left behind because I allow myself to get distracted. While my new top was being bagged up at the tillpoint today, my eyes were averted to a little old lady who was a double of Granny from the Looney Tunes' Tweety Pie and Sylvester cartoons.
There she was, hidden under a black fluffy fake fur hat, winter coat and those little tan coloured suede ankle boots with a zip up the front. She was busy dancing in and out of the racks to the thud of cranked up RnB sounds. I couldn't even get near the gear I had my eye on for the little geriatric dancing queen was hellbent on sashaying her way around the store. At one point, I had to resist the urge to get on down with grandma and join right in.
So, there you have it. Another distraction under my belt and another card left behind to fend for itself. My husband now knows what he will be buying me for Christmas ... a body piercing with an 18in chain, securely attached to which will be a brand new Switch card!
Today, for the third time in as many weeks, I mislaid my debit card. Spend, spend, spend ... I can't get enough of it. Whether I'm off out for petrol or pasta, my plastic is by far my most flexible friend.
But when it decides to stray, I'm so lost. It is so unforgiving to be without this little rectangular piece of kit. In its favour, I can easily forego my lip gloss and even, in extreme conditions, my top lip waxing strips ... but the plastic? No, no, no.
Like I said, three times in the past month has my little fella been left behind because I allow myself to get distracted. While my new top was being bagged up at the tillpoint today, my eyes were averted to a little old lady who was a double of Granny from the Looney Tunes' Tweety Pie and Sylvester cartoons.
There she was, hidden under a black fluffy fake fur hat, winter coat and those little tan coloured suede ankle boots with a zip up the front. She was busy dancing in and out of the racks to the thud of cranked up RnB sounds. I couldn't even get near the gear I had my eye on for the little geriatric dancing queen was hellbent on sashaying her way around the store. At one point, I had to resist the urge to get on down with grandma and join right in.
So, there you have it. Another distraction under my belt and another card left behind to fend for itself. My husband now knows what he will be buying me for Christmas ... a body piercing with an 18in chain, securely attached to which will be a brand new Switch card!
Brass monkeys
ON MY way to work this week, a shiver ran down my spine.
For standing at the bus stop was a complete mirror image of me when I was a teenager.
Waiting there, turning a wonderful shade of blue, was a high school kid in sub-zero North Walian temperatures in just her shirt, tie and trousers. "Brrrr...." I mumbled to myself from the warmth of my Peugeot as I cranked up the heater a little bit more.
I sounded like my mum and dad all those years ago. "Put a jumper on" they would yell from the kitchen as I was halfway up the driveway on the walk to school. But teenagers never listen. They don't now and they didn't then. At the time, I thought I looked cool on the bleak midwinter hike to school, minus a coat. Cool?? I was frozen to the bone but hey, I thought I looked good so that's all that mattered.
I have always been one to stand out in a crowd. My 6ft stature plays a major part in that but I'm also one who strives to do things differently. So much so, that this time next year, I will be taking a crash course in the art of barbecuing Brussel sprouts and coming to terms with swapping turkey and tinsel for kangaroo and Cabernet Sauvignon.
I'm hoping mum will be there to hold my hand through the 'ordeal' of spending Christmas Day on the beach and that dad will be on hand with his toolbox with all the necessary equipment to get the sand out of the barbecue. I know one thing's for sure though .... they won't be shouting "put a jumper on" at me!
For standing at the bus stop was a complete mirror image of me when I was a teenager.
Waiting there, turning a wonderful shade of blue, was a high school kid in sub-zero North Walian temperatures in just her shirt, tie and trousers. "Brrrr...." I mumbled to myself from the warmth of my Peugeot as I cranked up the heater a little bit more.
I sounded like my mum and dad all those years ago. "Put a jumper on" they would yell from the kitchen as I was halfway up the driveway on the walk to school. But teenagers never listen. They don't now and they didn't then. At the time, I thought I looked cool on the bleak midwinter hike to school, minus a coat. Cool?? I was frozen to the bone but hey, I thought I looked good so that's all that mattered.
I have always been one to stand out in a crowd. My 6ft stature plays a major part in that but I'm also one who strives to do things differently. So much so, that this time next year, I will be taking a crash course in the art of barbecuing Brussel sprouts and coming to terms with swapping turkey and tinsel for kangaroo and Cabernet Sauvignon.
I'm hoping mum will be there to hold my hand through the 'ordeal' of spending Christmas Day on the beach and that dad will be on hand with his toolbox with all the necessary equipment to get the sand out of the barbecue. I know one thing's for sure though .... they won't be shouting "put a jumper on" at me!
Anybody want to buy .....
..... A HOUSE .... a car .... or a cute white Netherland Dwarf rabbit called Jimmy-Lad?
We've had the call we were waiting for. The one telling us we have been made permanent residents of Australia and that they await our arrival with open arms.
Shockwaves ran through me when I took the call yesterday because now, the ball has landed in our court. For the past 14-odd months, we've been doing the donkey work in putting over our case to make the Ozzie's see how much they could do with us over there in their neck of the woods. All that time and effort (and money) has now paid off and it looks like we're off to start a new life in the southern hemisphere.
Yes, I do have the heebie-jeebies about it. Yes, I am having second thoughts. But, it's something we've wanted to do for a while and now we have to knuckle down and get on with it.
I will be gutted to leave my family, friends and colleagues .... I have real belly-laughs with each and every one of them. But my very first "must-buy" when we get out there is the biggest diary I can get my hands on. This, I will use effectively to pencil in a regular and constant stream of visits from our UK band of kith and kin.
I will have to get a job that pays well enough to keep our guests in food and suntan lotion but initially, I will be a homemaker to my boys. The transition for them has to be a smooth one. I have been so wrapped up in my own feelings about the whole operation that I have barely spared a thought for the little chaps and what THEY will be like when it comes to leave behind their chums.
We have kept them informed all the way through the application process and they are really blase about the whole thing. It seems as long as we can have three trampolines so they can bounce from one to the other to the other and then into a pool ..... they'll be happy!
Isn't life great when you're a kid?
We've had the call we were waiting for. The one telling us we have been made permanent residents of Australia and that they await our arrival with open arms.
Shockwaves ran through me when I took the call yesterday because now, the ball has landed in our court. For the past 14-odd months, we've been doing the donkey work in putting over our case to make the Ozzie's see how much they could do with us over there in their neck of the woods. All that time and effort (and money) has now paid off and it looks like we're off to start a new life in the southern hemisphere.
Yes, I do have the heebie-jeebies about it. Yes, I am having second thoughts. But, it's something we've wanted to do for a while and now we have to knuckle down and get on with it.
I will be gutted to leave my family, friends and colleagues .... I have real belly-laughs with each and every one of them. But my very first "must-buy" when we get out there is the biggest diary I can get my hands on. This, I will use effectively to pencil in a regular and constant stream of visits from our UK band of kith and kin.
I will have to get a job that pays well enough to keep our guests in food and suntan lotion but initially, I will be a homemaker to my boys. The transition for them has to be a smooth one. I have been so wrapped up in my own feelings about the whole operation that I have barely spared a thought for the little chaps and what THEY will be like when it comes to leave behind their chums.
We have kept them informed all the way through the application process and they are really blase about the whole thing. It seems as long as we can have three trampolines so they can bounce from one to the other to the other and then into a pool ..... they'll be happy!
Isn't life great when you're a kid?
First time for everything
THIS WEEKEND, I broke with tradition. The boys have been mithering for weeks and weeks to get the Christmas tree but as usual this weekend, time was short.
"Please mum .... PLEASE mum ..... PLEEEEEEEEASE can we get the tree today?" Aw, to see their little doe-eyes looking up at me all forlorn with all four arms wrapped tightly around my waist. How could I resist? It was only when husband suggested he take them for the tree that shockwaves ran right through me.
However could I not attend the annual nit-picking event that is the selection of the festive focal point?? I felt dejected at the thought that they could go off, without giving me a second thought. However would they manage without my input? I mean, the tree has to be just the right height, just the right bushyness and just the right colour green. Will they get it right??
I gave in and watched them set off down the driveway like the Three Wise Men. Off in search of their very own king .... the king of Nordmann Firs. I went off shopping and took my time ... Two hours later, shopping complete, I glanced at the time and imagined at what stage they would be at back home. I reckoned it would be sand in the bucket time so stopped off for a lengthy coffee at mum and dads.
Coffee drunk and fridge raided, I headed home and there he was ... a beauty of a festive focal point. He stood all majestic and tall, with just the right amount of bushyness and a perfect shade of green. It's a shame all the decorations had been hung in just one area and that most of the chocolates had been ate - but then, that's half the fun of it!
"Please mum .... PLEASE mum ..... PLEEEEEEEEASE can we get the tree today?" Aw, to see their little doe-eyes looking up at me all forlorn with all four arms wrapped tightly around my waist. How could I resist? It was only when husband suggested he take them for the tree that shockwaves ran right through me.
However could I not attend the annual nit-picking event that is the selection of the festive focal point?? I felt dejected at the thought that they could go off, without giving me a second thought. However would they manage without my input? I mean, the tree has to be just the right height, just the right bushyness and just the right colour green. Will they get it right??
I gave in and watched them set off down the driveway like the Three Wise Men. Off in search of their very own king .... the king of Nordmann Firs. I went off shopping and took my time ... Two hours later, shopping complete, I glanced at the time and imagined at what stage they would be at back home. I reckoned it would be sand in the bucket time so stopped off for a lengthy coffee at mum and dads.
Coffee drunk and fridge raided, I headed home and there he was ... a beauty of a festive focal point. He stood all majestic and tall, with just the right amount of bushyness and a perfect shade of green. It's a shame all the decorations had been hung in just one area and that most of the chocolates had been ate - but then, that's half the fun of it!
Getting close to nature
I HAVE a habit and it's one I'm not exactly proud of.... I laugh when I see people in a state of panic. It makes me chuckle, I can't help it.
Take this morning for example. While I was downstairs serving up breakfast I heard the shower start to run and then the sound of the door closing tight. I have only ever heard my husband shriek twice over the past 15-odd years - the first time was when he discovered a mouse in the fridge, tucking into our stash of Lurpak and fine selection of breaded hams.
This morning, I heard that very same "whoah" that had us all stopping in our tracks to race up the stairs at breakneck speed. Not easy on a spiral staircase, I almost wrapped my 1.83m frame right around it.
Upon closer inspection, the children discovered that dad had company in the shower. There, all wet and scared in the corner of the tray was a bat. He was running a little late for a Halloween prank but still managed to scare the hell out of husband. So what do I do .... I laugh!
The boys have had endless amounts of bats of the plastic variety over the years but when faced with the real McCoy, they went to pot, only just managing a peep around the back of the shampoo bottle to see what all the fuss was about.
Our little furry, leathery-winged friend was carefully picked up with a towel and taken outside to fly off and wake up his kinfolk who were probably in the land of nod after a night around the town.
Always said it was a bit batty in our house.
Take this morning for example. While I was downstairs serving up breakfast I heard the shower start to run and then the sound of the door closing tight. I have only ever heard my husband shriek twice over the past 15-odd years - the first time was when he discovered a mouse in the fridge, tucking into our stash of Lurpak and fine selection of breaded hams.
This morning, I heard that very same "whoah" that had us all stopping in our tracks to race up the stairs at breakneck speed. Not easy on a spiral staircase, I almost wrapped my 1.83m frame right around it.
Upon closer inspection, the children discovered that dad had company in the shower. There, all wet and scared in the corner of the tray was a bat. He was running a little late for a Halloween prank but still managed to scare the hell out of husband. So what do I do .... I laugh!
The boys have had endless amounts of bats of the plastic variety over the years but when faced with the real McCoy, they went to pot, only just managing a peep around the back of the shampoo bottle to see what all the fuss was about.
Our little furry, leathery-winged friend was carefully picked up with a towel and taken outside to fly off and wake up his kinfolk who were probably in the land of nod after a night around the town.
Always said it was a bit batty in our house.
Mand About The House
TODAY, I am cleansed. Cleansed from all the skeletons in my closet .... well, all the junk from my front porch more like.
I finished work for a kid-free week off and set mental aims to tackle all those niggly little tasks like changing the light bulbs on the landing, re-polishing my toenails and tackling the pile of ironing that would put Mount Vesuvius in the shade. Day two into my holidays, I admit that none of these have yet been accomplished, but the week is still in its infancy.
I feel justifiably proud of myself that what I DID manage to get under my belt today was clearing out my now relatively empty porch. Over the past 12 months, anything and everything that we no longer had a use for was banished to the dark and murky depths of this obsolete part of the house - clothes the kids had grown out of, clothes I had ordered while obviously under the influence and clothes that my husband had gone out and bought for himself .... without me standing guard outside the changing room, tugging back the curtain and checking out the view from over the top of my glasses, shaking my head while thumbing through my address book for Trinny and Susannah's mobile number.
Gone too are all those "Ooh, do you want this, it would go lovely in your house" ornaments that you simply can't stand but don't have the heart to reject?? They were all bagged up and I filled my car three times over, setting off in search of the nearest charitable cause. In the shop, their eyes were like saucers when I turned up to offload my trash. It was like watching an episode of "I'm a Celebrity ...." you know, that bit when the TV crew drops the day's food into the jungle camp for the starving stars.
Eyes agog and mouths ajar, the shoppers obviously wanted to hang around and see what they could rummage amongst. I really wanted to tell them that I'd kept all the family heirlooms in readiness for a guest appearance on the Antiques Roadshow and any small items of designer gear, but that would have simply spoilt it for them.
So, I can now return to my real Virgo self .... as a whole, we are reputed to be "hard working, neat and tidy perfectionists, carrying out duties efficiently and conscientiously." Neat and tidy??? Has anyone seen my desk ..... or my dressing room ..... or behind my settees?
My yin and yang are now at peace with eachother and my chakras have been re-balanced.Whatever will I tackle tomorrow? ... Bring on the fuchsia pink paint (only for my toenails, of course!)
I finished work for a kid-free week off and set mental aims to tackle all those niggly little tasks like changing the light bulbs on the landing, re-polishing my toenails and tackling the pile of ironing that would put Mount Vesuvius in the shade. Day two into my holidays, I admit that none of these have yet been accomplished, but the week is still in its infancy.
I feel justifiably proud of myself that what I DID manage to get under my belt today was clearing out my now relatively empty porch. Over the past 12 months, anything and everything that we no longer had a use for was banished to the dark and murky depths of this obsolete part of the house - clothes the kids had grown out of, clothes I had ordered while obviously under the influence and clothes that my husband had gone out and bought for himself .... without me standing guard outside the changing room, tugging back the curtain and checking out the view from over the top of my glasses, shaking my head while thumbing through my address book for Trinny and Susannah's mobile number.
Gone too are all those "Ooh, do you want this, it would go lovely in your house" ornaments that you simply can't stand but don't have the heart to reject?? They were all bagged up and I filled my car three times over, setting off in search of the nearest charitable cause. In the shop, their eyes were like saucers when I turned up to offload my trash. It was like watching an episode of "I'm a Celebrity ...." you know, that bit when the TV crew drops the day's food into the jungle camp for the starving stars.
Eyes agog and mouths ajar, the shoppers obviously wanted to hang around and see what they could rummage amongst. I really wanted to tell them that I'd kept all the family heirlooms in readiness for a guest appearance on the Antiques Roadshow and any small items of designer gear, but that would have simply spoilt it for them.
So, I can now return to my real Virgo self .... as a whole, we are reputed to be "hard working, neat and tidy perfectionists, carrying out duties efficiently and conscientiously." Neat and tidy??? Has anyone seen my desk ..... or my dressing room ..... or behind my settees?
My yin and yang are now at peace with eachother and my chakras have been re-balanced.Whatever will I tackle tomorrow? ... Bring on the fuchsia pink paint (only for my toenails, of course!)
All aglow
I'VE JUST been asked if I'd been away. I was tempted to say that I'd jetted off to Barcelona for the day on a friend's private jet but couldn't bring myself to do it.
The truth is that I spent yesterday's lunch break in a solarium. With a Friday night out planned, I made mental images of being transformed into a golden goddess for the event so I hoofed it up the High Street and invested in six minutes' worth of rays.
Standing there, in a Tardis-like cocoon, I was warmed up all nice and cosy and for a minute thought I was in foreign quarters with the heat beating down on me. Within a flash, my time was up and with a distinct 'clunk' I was plunged into darkness sporting just a pair of dark goggles and a small item of underwear.
A quick check in the mirror showed disappointing results. It hadn't done a thing so I told the girl on the desk that I'd be back "for another go at it tomorrow". Back at the office, I had work to be getting on with but while I was getting on with it, I was subconsciously changing shade like a Madagascan chameleon.
The backs of my knees started to itch and my belt seemed to dig in more than it did four hours previous. The results of a quick glance under my clothes shocked me for I had turned into the Ready Brek kid. Colleagues looked horrified as I revealed white bits to them (whether they wanted to see them or not!) and some even asked if they could fry bacon on me.
Overnight, the severity of the redness has subsided but I won't be re-visiting the sun-shop today.
Everyone feels better with a tan, eh? Hmmmmm .....
The truth is that I spent yesterday's lunch break in a solarium. With a Friday night out planned, I made mental images of being transformed into a golden goddess for the event so I hoofed it up the High Street and invested in six minutes' worth of rays.
Standing there, in a Tardis-like cocoon, I was warmed up all nice and cosy and for a minute thought I was in foreign quarters with the heat beating down on me. Within a flash, my time was up and with a distinct 'clunk' I was plunged into darkness sporting just a pair of dark goggles and a small item of underwear.
A quick check in the mirror showed disappointing results. It hadn't done a thing so I told the girl on the desk that I'd be back "for another go at it tomorrow". Back at the office, I had work to be getting on with but while I was getting on with it, I was subconsciously changing shade like a Madagascan chameleon.
The backs of my knees started to itch and my belt seemed to dig in more than it did four hours previous. The results of a quick glance under my clothes shocked me for I had turned into the Ready Brek kid. Colleagues looked horrified as I revealed white bits to them (whether they wanted to see them or not!) and some even asked if they could fry bacon on me.
Overnight, the severity of the redness has subsided but I won't be re-visiting the sun-shop today.
Everyone feels better with a tan, eh? Hmmmmm .....
Get a wriggle on....
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES came flooding back this week. As a nipper, I can clearly remember my mum hollering at us three children to get us to school on time. We had a 30-minute walk to tackle so it was imperitive we left the house by 8.30am.
Now I have a family of my own, it's MY turn to do the hollering ..... at my two sons who simply adore to dawdle, the youngest especially so.
He has it off to a fine art, it is his hobby .... one of the things he does best, in fact. That, coupled with jumping around the house Power Ranger-style, armed with swords, lightsabers or anything else of similar shape and structure.
Sad as it may seem, this morning alone, I counted the times I had to say "Get dressed...." "Stop messing around ..." or "If you don't hurry up, you're going to school in your underpants...." The total was 23.
This latter threat of mine is often met with a disgruntled expression from the little fella. The older one knows exactly which side his bread is buttered and gets the hell out of the bathroom, shirt all untucked and collar scruffy, at a rate of knots for fear of seeing his pocket money diminish before his very eyes.
When they were babies, I longed for the days when they could get themselves dressed and sorted in the mornings ..... now they are 8 and 5, and I still wait for that day with (not much) patience!
Now I have a family of my own, it's MY turn to do the hollering ..... at my two sons who simply adore to dawdle, the youngest especially so.
He has it off to a fine art, it is his hobby .... one of the things he does best, in fact. That, coupled with jumping around the house Power Ranger-style, armed with swords, lightsabers or anything else of similar shape and structure.
Sad as it may seem, this morning alone, I counted the times I had to say "Get dressed...." "Stop messing around ..." or "If you don't hurry up, you're going to school in your underpants...." The total was 23.
This latter threat of mine is often met with a disgruntled expression from the little fella. The older one knows exactly which side his bread is buttered and gets the hell out of the bathroom, shirt all untucked and collar scruffy, at a rate of knots for fear of seeing his pocket money diminish before his very eyes.
When they were babies, I longed for the days when they could get themselves dressed and sorted in the mornings ..... now they are 8 and 5, and I still wait for that day with (not much) patience!
What's a girl to do?
I STRIVE to be well turned out when I show up at the office. Today, however, was a job in itself to do just that.
I got home last night to a bombsite .... that's what I get for leaving husband on half-term kid duty.The breakfast dishes remained where they had been put that very morning, the wet washing had developed an interestingly close relationship with the machine it was in, reluctant to move over to the tumble dryer, toys were scattered across the length and breadth of every room and a film of dust covered every single thing that had lain still for the past eight hours.
There was, however, a very simple explanation for this pandemonium ...... the boiler had packed in resulting in no heating and more importantly - no hot water. So before I could pull one of my finest "What the heck ......???" faces, I was met with a husband whose head was firmly set among the wiry contents of that big white box on the wall in the utility room.
The thing whose pretty green dial I constantly crank up to "three-o-clock" in order for me to parade round the house in the middle of winter sporting just the smaller items of my wardrobe. I do get told to cover up and put a jumper on, but where's the fun in that?
So, while getting stuck into a sinkful of cold water washing up, I was thinking about the new day ahead - hair wash day. There was absolutely no way I could turn up for work sporting an unkempt barnet. I couldn't possibly. I had to put contingency plans into operation ....
I suppose I could get up early and use the showers at the gym I joined during the summer. I mean, my £29 a month doesn't get me anything else since I haven't been through the doors since September so perhaps I should get my money's worth in hot water and soap suds. But then, it would mean me going out in public with no make-up applied. Tricky one, that.
No .... there was a better idea. Get mum and dad out of bed before their alarm clock goes off to open up their lovely warm bathroom for me. It was like old times, think my mum quite liked me being there first thing in the morning again. And I liked it too in equal amounts. Dad had a coffee waiting for when I came out and we enjoyed our usual bit of playful banter.
This new part of a my daily regime is shortlived, however, as we - thanks to a very handy husband - are now back in the cosy land of central heating. I just hope he's done the housework by the time I get in tonight ......
Some women are just never happy!
I got home last night to a bombsite .... that's what I get for leaving husband on half-term kid duty.The breakfast dishes remained where they had been put that very morning, the wet washing had developed an interestingly close relationship with the machine it was in, reluctant to move over to the tumble dryer, toys were scattered across the length and breadth of every room and a film of dust covered every single thing that had lain still for the past eight hours.
There was, however, a very simple explanation for this pandemonium ...... the boiler had packed in resulting in no heating and more importantly - no hot water. So before I could pull one of my finest "What the heck ......???" faces, I was met with a husband whose head was firmly set among the wiry contents of that big white box on the wall in the utility room.
The thing whose pretty green dial I constantly crank up to "three-o-clock" in order for me to parade round the house in the middle of winter sporting just the smaller items of my wardrobe. I do get told to cover up and put a jumper on, but where's the fun in that?
So, while getting stuck into a sinkful of cold water washing up, I was thinking about the new day ahead - hair wash day. There was absolutely no way I could turn up for work sporting an unkempt barnet. I couldn't possibly. I had to put contingency plans into operation ....
I suppose I could get up early and use the showers at the gym I joined during the summer. I mean, my £29 a month doesn't get me anything else since I haven't been through the doors since September so perhaps I should get my money's worth in hot water and soap suds. But then, it would mean me going out in public with no make-up applied. Tricky one, that.
No .... there was a better idea. Get mum and dad out of bed before their alarm clock goes off to open up their lovely warm bathroom for me. It was like old times, think my mum quite liked me being there first thing in the morning again. And I liked it too in equal amounts. Dad had a coffee waiting for when I came out and we enjoyed our usual bit of playful banter.
This new part of a my daily regime is shortlived, however, as we - thanks to a very handy husband - are now back in the cosy land of central heating. I just hope he's done the housework by the time I get in tonight ......
Some women are just never happy!
Are they there yet ....?
THE DOCUMENTS holding the key to the biggest decision of our lives are hurling their way across the globe - or not, as it would seem.
We had a letter from Wrexham's Yale Hospital confirming that our medical results had been sent by courier to the office of immigration in Sydney and we were given a number to track the package's step-by-step, truck-by-truck and plane-by-plane travel itinerary.
This little 10-digit number is keyed into the courier's website and voila .... you get to see a minute by minute log of exactly where your parcel is in the world. Our 0.50kg offering left GB waters at 16:16 on October 19, on its maiden voyage to ..... Cologne.
Imagine my horror when reading "the package was mis-sorted at the hub and had been re-routed to the correct destination site." So, after taking a brief holiday in Germany, maybe taking in some Oktoberfest celebrations, it went to .... er .... Rhyl .... took in a city break in Manchester ..... then eventually made its weary way to Sydney.
On its whistlestop tour, our poor little jet-lagged package has endured a wait for clearance, was origin-scanned, import-scanned, released by the clearing agency, spent time in-transit and was eventually delivered to "James at the front desk" at 9:39 on October 22. I bet it's exhausted!
We had a letter from Wrexham's Yale Hospital confirming that our medical results had been sent by courier to the office of immigration in Sydney and we were given a number to track the package's step-by-step, truck-by-truck and plane-by-plane travel itinerary.
This little 10-digit number is keyed into the courier's website and voila .... you get to see a minute by minute log of exactly where your parcel is in the world. Our 0.50kg offering left GB waters at 16:16 on October 19, on its maiden voyage to ..... Cologne.
Imagine my horror when reading "the package was mis-sorted at the hub and had been re-routed to the correct destination site." So, after taking a brief holiday in Germany, maybe taking in some Oktoberfest celebrations, it went to .... er .... Rhyl .... took in a city break in Manchester ..... then eventually made its weary way to Sydney.
On its whistlestop tour, our poor little jet-lagged package has endured a wait for clearance, was origin-scanned, import-scanned, released by the clearing agency, spent time in-transit and was eventually delivered to "James at the front desk" at 9:39 on October 22. I bet it's exhausted!
That's that then ...
THIS WEEK, the Welsh Family Pugh (Cymraeg equivalent of the Swiss Family Robinson) were put under the medical microscope. The aim? To prove our stamina and fitness levels before being allowed to start our new lives Down Under.
I suppose you do have to have a certain degree of fitness in Australia ... in the eventuality of having to wrestle with a croc who's made his way into your pool or maybe to sprint away from some of the world's deadliest spiders.... I suppose we might one day have to box with a kangaroo in our back garden or even chase possums out of our rumpus room.... Who knows???!
I'm not sure I'm ready for a new life just yet. I mean, I'm pretty happy with the one I've got. It's been 12 months since this emigration plan was hatched and since then, it's been a nit-picking process to convince immigration officers that we are JUST what they're looking for. Now we're at the final stages, I'm feeling the need to put the brakes on it a bit .....
I was a little apprehensive over being sent for the meds. It wasn't so much the actual appointment itself, moreover the results they will bring.
So, after parting with six hundred of the Royal Mint's finest, the family Pugh was checked out in the departments of weight, height, eyes, chest, blood, urine, heart (yes, I DO have one after all) legs and even intestines. The three boys of the household had one extra test to me ... one that gave the children a fit of the giggles! Dad, however, was not so enamoured by it.
The next time we hear from our consultants will be with news of whether or not we passed the tests. Either way, there will be tears, I'm sure.
I suppose you do have to have a certain degree of fitness in Australia ... in the eventuality of having to wrestle with a croc who's made his way into your pool or maybe to sprint away from some of the world's deadliest spiders.... I suppose we might one day have to box with a kangaroo in our back garden or even chase possums out of our rumpus room.... Who knows???!
I'm not sure I'm ready for a new life just yet. I mean, I'm pretty happy with the one I've got. It's been 12 months since this emigration plan was hatched and since then, it's been a nit-picking process to convince immigration officers that we are JUST what they're looking for. Now we're at the final stages, I'm feeling the need to put the brakes on it a bit .....
I was a little apprehensive over being sent for the meds. It wasn't so much the actual appointment itself, moreover the results they will bring.
So, after parting with six hundred of the Royal Mint's finest, the family Pugh was checked out in the departments of weight, height, eyes, chest, blood, urine, heart (yes, I DO have one after all) legs and even intestines. The three boys of the household had one extra test to me ... one that gave the children a fit of the giggles! Dad, however, was not so enamoured by it.
The next time we hear from our consultants will be with news of whether or not we passed the tests. Either way, there will be tears, I'm sure.
The things we do for beauty ...
THE EVENING Leader carried a report last week on 'Yummy Mummies.' I don't actually consider myself to be one but yes, I do generally make an effort in the way I look so I read my colleague's report with interest.
Take this week for instance .... I risked life and limb in a vain attempt to get a piece of unruly hair well and truly straightened before breezing into the office on Monday morning. It was on Friday night that my hair straighteners started to cough, splutter and smoke but I managed to resuscitate them enough to get the last bit of heat out of them in readiness for a night on the town. Phew!
The house soon filled with that pungent sort of electrical stench that had my husband frog-marching up the stairs like one of the Bisto kids ....sniffing his way to find the fault. He condemned my trusty heat stylers to the bin with a stark warning and a disapproving dad's sort of look.
After a night flicking through the pages of my favourite book (the Argos catalogue!!!), I found a suitable replacement that was collected the next day. Out of the box they came and into the socket they went. Thanks to me forking out on a dodgy appliance, the whole house was plunged into darkness with a bang and a puff of smoke.
With all shops locked up for end of business, I had no choice but to contemplate going into work the next day sporting a surfing dude's sort of hairstyle. Unless ..... I could get the very, very, very last bit of life out of my old, faithful and waning electrical friend. But first, I had to fish it out of the bin and wipe off any roast dinner leftovers and bits of stale cheese.
Job done, I plugged them in, waited for the smoke to subside from the on/off button and pulled out the plug with a wince and a squirm. Still alive, I went on to beautify my flick of hair that has developed a real mind of its own over recent months and set myself on the road to sleekness.
Oh, to be so self-obsessed! This time, I lived to tell the tale and I hope my new product will withstand the paces I'm about to put it through!
Take this week for instance .... I risked life and limb in a vain attempt to get a piece of unruly hair well and truly straightened before breezing into the office on Monday morning. It was on Friday night that my hair straighteners started to cough, splutter and smoke but I managed to resuscitate them enough to get the last bit of heat out of them in readiness for a night on the town. Phew!
The house soon filled with that pungent sort of electrical stench that had my husband frog-marching up the stairs like one of the Bisto kids ....sniffing his way to find the fault. He condemned my trusty heat stylers to the bin with a stark warning and a disapproving dad's sort of look.
After a night flicking through the pages of my favourite book (the Argos catalogue!!!), I found a suitable replacement that was collected the next day. Out of the box they came and into the socket they went. Thanks to me forking out on a dodgy appliance, the whole house was plunged into darkness with a bang and a puff of smoke.
With all shops locked up for end of business, I had no choice but to contemplate going into work the next day sporting a surfing dude's sort of hairstyle. Unless ..... I could get the very, very, very last bit of life out of my old, faithful and waning electrical friend. But first, I had to fish it out of the bin and wipe off any roast dinner leftovers and bits of stale cheese.
Job done, I plugged them in, waited for the smoke to subside from the on/off button and pulled out the plug with a wince and a squirm. Still alive, I went on to beautify my flick of hair that has developed a real mind of its own over recent months and set myself on the road to sleekness.
Oh, to be so self-obsessed! This time, I lived to tell the tale and I hope my new product will withstand the paces I'm about to put it through!
Getting ready to jump the final hurdle
ONE OF my last days of providing summer holiday kid cover sent me reeling .... again.
Amazingly, this reaction was nothing to do with the behaviour of the children, or the fact that I still had so much new uniform to buy. It was due to me taking a call from our emigration consultants saying the time was high to trip trap along to get our police checks and medical check-ups under our belts. This, it seems, is the final hurdle to us obtaining (or not) our Australian permanent residency visas.
Subject to passing these final two tests with flying colours depends entirely on how we have conducted ourselves and whether we've ate enough of the good stuff over the past 30-odd years. We now have to be risk assessed by a doctor at Wrexham's private hospital and an officer or two at North Wales Police. If there's a hint of a shadow of a doubt .... we're going NOWHERE.
Can't say I'm enamoured at the prospect of being poked, prodded and X-rayed to prove I'm fighting fit and of sound mind (!!!) to take on the Aussies! And although I do claim to be one of life's law abiding citizens, I do hold a few speedy-related offences. My right foot just aint as agile at coming off the gas as it used to be.
With any luck, my minor speeding offences will be overlooked, as will my husband's late-1980s charge of being drunk and disorderly with the theft of a 50-pence beer glass. This, he got, for standing outside a local pub on a summer's night with a half drunk pint.
Being sent off by our boys in blue to spend a night in the cells is laughable to us now and he does see the funny side of it but I hope his long-term squeaky clean record is the one that will outshine any others.
Amazingly, this reaction was nothing to do with the behaviour of the children, or the fact that I still had so much new uniform to buy. It was due to me taking a call from our emigration consultants saying the time was high to trip trap along to get our police checks and medical check-ups under our belts. This, it seems, is the final hurdle to us obtaining (or not) our Australian permanent residency visas.
Subject to passing these final two tests with flying colours depends entirely on how we have conducted ourselves and whether we've ate enough of the good stuff over the past 30-odd years. We now have to be risk assessed by a doctor at Wrexham's private hospital and an officer or two at North Wales Police. If there's a hint of a shadow of a doubt .... we're going NOWHERE.
Can't say I'm enamoured at the prospect of being poked, prodded and X-rayed to prove I'm fighting fit and of sound mind (!!!) to take on the Aussies! And although I do claim to be one of life's law abiding citizens, I do hold a few speedy-related offences. My right foot just aint as agile at coming off the gas as it used to be.
With any luck, my minor speeding offences will be overlooked, as will my husband's late-1980s charge of being drunk and disorderly with the theft of a 50-pence beer glass. This, he got, for standing outside a local pub on a summer's night with a half drunk pint.
Being sent off by our boys in blue to spend a night in the cells is laughable to us now and he does see the funny side of it but I hope his long-term squeaky clean record is the one that will outshine any others.
No news is good news
IT HAS just been pointed out to me that the lion's share of my blog, when I get round to updating it, is devoted to the weather.
Subconsciously, I have been spending hour upon hour tappety-tapping away on my keyboard airing frustration at the inclement weather.
You wouldn't believe how many times I've read the words 'inclement weather' over the past few months - my community news copy has been full of reports from groups and individuals whose plans for strawberry fairs, outdoor coffee mornings and other summer fundraising events, have fallen apart around their ears due to the rain ....... or the hail ...... or the wind ....... everything, in fact, bar what we should expect at this time of year - UV rays.
That said, I'm now making a concerted effort to focus on what else is going on in my life - emigration.
Our application process has fallen quiet over the past month or two. It's nothing to worry about, I'm told by our team of emigration consultants, who we pay handsomely to dot the visa I's and cross the immigraton T's for us. We're just forming part of an orderly queue along with all the other 196,000-odd hopefuls in the race to become Australian permanent residency visa holders.
We were expecting to hear from Adelaide if we were successful or not around October. This is now more realistically going to be December. But hey, I'm in no rush to leave UK soil just yet.....
In fact, if we are successful in being awarded permanent residency, that will probably scare the hell out of me too because then, it becomes a whole new ball game with my husband and I having to make probably the biggest decision of our lives. Obviously we are serious about the big move but when the decision lays itself at our door and our door only, that makes it scary. Uprooting the family unit and shipping it out to a place we've never even set foot in ..... sounds scary but adventurous in the same breath.
It will be a sad day if, and when, it comes to leave. I regularly have thoughts of what do we do if the house sells quicker than we imagined ..... and we then systematically have to offload/sell/give away all the possessions we've acquired along the way.
What will I do with the Welsh dresser? Should I take the freestanding fireplace? Will there be room in the shipping container for my stash of Harrod's make-up that I'll have to stock up on after Mike has filled it with his tools?? All questions that need an answer but just now, I don't want to think about it.
I aim to spend the next few months concentrating on the things that matter - family and friends. This past month has been manic with social plans coming out of my ears. It seems everybody wants a piece of us 'before we go' and feel the need to spend time with us. But, in the grand scheme of things, if immigration don't want us ...... we're here for good I'm afraid!
Subconsciously, I have been spending hour upon hour tappety-tapping away on my keyboard airing frustration at the inclement weather.
You wouldn't believe how many times I've read the words 'inclement weather' over the past few months - my community news copy has been full of reports from groups and individuals whose plans for strawberry fairs, outdoor coffee mornings and other summer fundraising events, have fallen apart around their ears due to the rain ....... or the hail ...... or the wind ....... everything, in fact, bar what we should expect at this time of year - UV rays.
That said, I'm now making a concerted effort to focus on what else is going on in my life - emigration.
Our application process has fallen quiet over the past month or two. It's nothing to worry about, I'm told by our team of emigration consultants, who we pay handsomely to dot the visa I's and cross the immigraton T's for us. We're just forming part of an orderly queue along with all the other 196,000-odd hopefuls in the race to become Australian permanent residency visa holders.
We were expecting to hear from Adelaide if we were successful or not around October. This is now more realistically going to be December. But hey, I'm in no rush to leave UK soil just yet.....
In fact, if we are successful in being awarded permanent residency, that will probably scare the hell out of me too because then, it becomes a whole new ball game with my husband and I having to make probably the biggest decision of our lives. Obviously we are serious about the big move but when the decision lays itself at our door and our door only, that makes it scary. Uprooting the family unit and shipping it out to a place we've never even set foot in ..... sounds scary but adventurous in the same breath.
It will be a sad day if, and when, it comes to leave. I regularly have thoughts of what do we do if the house sells quicker than we imagined ..... and we then systematically have to offload/sell/give away all the possessions we've acquired along the way.
What will I do with the Welsh dresser? Should I take the freestanding fireplace? Will there be room in the shipping container for my stash of Harrod's make-up that I'll have to stock up on after Mike has filled it with his tools?? All questions that need an answer but just now, I don't want to think about it.
I aim to spend the next few months concentrating on the things that matter - family and friends. This past month has been manic with social plans coming out of my ears. It seems everybody wants a piece of us 'before we go' and feel the need to spend time with us. But, in the grand scheme of things, if immigration don't want us ...... we're here for good I'm afraid!
Why do we do it???
THERE ARE certain things that simply do not go together - oil and water ..... a square peg in a round hole ..... and in my opinion, camping in the UK.
A couple of weeks ago, we packed up our trailer tent and headed off to Pembrokeshire for a four night camping break. After working up a bit of a sweat putting up our temporary home on wheels, the shorts came out. Wearing them, however, was shortlived. The more-than-refreshing sea breeze got a little full of itself at times and I spent the four days, and most of the nights, securely attached to my onion-like outfits.
First to go on each and every morning was my fuchsia pink bikini (ever the optimist), then a vest, then a T-shirt, then a sweatshirt, topped with a fleece, finishing up with an anorak. Oh joy!
All I could think of was friends in foreign places .... sitting on beaches in the far flung corners of the world with a book in one hand and a Strawberry Daiquiri in the other. And here was I, washed up on a semi-deserted beach with just a windbreaker and an unused bottle of sun lotion for company.
This weekend, thinking that lightning never strikes twice among the camping fraternity, we teamed up with some good friends and hit the A-roads to Abersoch. The journey was a lot less painful than the tedious 5-hour one to Pembrokeshire the week previous and it was dry when we pitched up. Bliss.
By 4pm, we were all ready to raid the fridge - a washing up bowl full of cold water - the boys hit the beer and us girls settled for a plastic wine glass full to the brim of the sparkly white stuff. Out came the disposable barbecues and tea was cooked under a sun brolly. Not to protect us all from harmful UV rays, but rather the inclement weather that had come to visit. I find rainwater on my rib-eye a real treat sometimes.
During the night, the winds whooped themselves up into a right frenzy and battered most of the tents on the site. I spent most of the night with my fingers in my ears and building up an image of Farmer Bryn Bach who, too, was probably awake like the rest of us. Only as we were rubbing our hands together to keep warm, he was probably rubbing his with glee as he glanced out of his cosy farmhouse bedroom window to check out the view. His new 'flock' who had earlier that day paid up to rent a plot from him were out there, in the dead of the night, fighting tooth and nail to keep the canvas over their heads!
The next morning, we all compared notes with how much damage was sustained. We came off unscathed but I felt guilty as hell after hearing our friends had been up most of the night holding their tent together after some of the poles had snapped.
We hit the beach on Sunday and unlike my Pembrokeshire visit, I managed to get by with just four layers, one of which was a borrowed wind-busting wetsuit. After the children had had a good old muck around in the sand, we headed back to base to freshen up before going into the town for some tea. It's a strange one this ... but no-one in Abersoch actually eats til gone 6pm! We traipsed up hill and down dirt tracks looking for an eaterie only to be sent away with our four hungry children. If anyone reading this is considering a new business venture, set up a family-friendly all-day restaurant in Abersoch and you'll be quids in by the end of the year.
I am, for now, all camped out. I have packed away my washing up bowl and my cool bag and my super deluxe sleeping bag ... and have demanded we book some winter sun. The only time I was warm on these breaks was when I was elbow-deep in Fairy Liquid at the communal sink. I have NEVER looked forward to washing up so much ....!
These bones of mine need some serious sunshine on them ... serious sunshine that I'm just not finding here in my home land.
A couple of weeks ago, we packed up our trailer tent and headed off to Pembrokeshire for a four night camping break. After working up a bit of a sweat putting up our temporary home on wheels, the shorts came out. Wearing them, however, was shortlived. The more-than-refreshing sea breeze got a little full of itself at times and I spent the four days, and most of the nights, securely attached to my onion-like outfits.
First to go on each and every morning was my fuchsia pink bikini (ever the optimist), then a vest, then a T-shirt, then a sweatshirt, topped with a fleece, finishing up with an anorak. Oh joy!
All I could think of was friends in foreign places .... sitting on beaches in the far flung corners of the world with a book in one hand and a Strawberry Daiquiri in the other. And here was I, washed up on a semi-deserted beach with just a windbreaker and an unused bottle of sun lotion for company.
This weekend, thinking that lightning never strikes twice among the camping fraternity, we teamed up with some good friends and hit the A-roads to Abersoch. The journey was a lot less painful than the tedious 5-hour one to Pembrokeshire the week previous and it was dry when we pitched up. Bliss.
By 4pm, we were all ready to raid the fridge - a washing up bowl full of cold water - the boys hit the beer and us girls settled for a plastic wine glass full to the brim of the sparkly white stuff. Out came the disposable barbecues and tea was cooked under a sun brolly. Not to protect us all from harmful UV rays, but rather the inclement weather that had come to visit. I find rainwater on my rib-eye a real treat sometimes.
During the night, the winds whooped themselves up into a right frenzy and battered most of the tents on the site. I spent most of the night with my fingers in my ears and building up an image of Farmer Bryn Bach who, too, was probably awake like the rest of us. Only as we were rubbing our hands together to keep warm, he was probably rubbing his with glee as he glanced out of his cosy farmhouse bedroom window to check out the view. His new 'flock' who had earlier that day paid up to rent a plot from him were out there, in the dead of the night, fighting tooth and nail to keep the canvas over their heads!
The next morning, we all compared notes with how much damage was sustained. We came off unscathed but I felt guilty as hell after hearing our friends had been up most of the night holding their tent together after some of the poles had snapped.
We hit the beach on Sunday and unlike my Pembrokeshire visit, I managed to get by with just four layers, one of which was a borrowed wind-busting wetsuit. After the children had had a good old muck around in the sand, we headed back to base to freshen up before going into the town for some tea. It's a strange one this ... but no-one in Abersoch actually eats til gone 6pm! We traipsed up hill and down dirt tracks looking for an eaterie only to be sent away with our four hungry children. If anyone reading this is considering a new business venture, set up a family-friendly all-day restaurant in Abersoch and you'll be quids in by the end of the year.
I am, for now, all camped out. I have packed away my washing up bowl and my cool bag and my super deluxe sleeping bag ... and have demanded we book some winter sun. The only time I was warm on these breaks was when I was elbow-deep in Fairy Liquid at the communal sink. I have NEVER looked forward to washing up so much ....!
These bones of mine need some serious sunshine on them ... serious sunshine that I'm just not finding here in my home land.
Somebody pinch me.......
AM I dreaming .... or is it getting warmer out there? I mean, for weeks and weeks, I've had to put my new summer wardrobe collection on the back burner in favour of the boots and pop socks.
Since Easter, I've braved the elements and traipsed around in short sleeves, not even admitting to myself for a single minute that I was frozen to the bone. And that was BEFORE I got into work to suffer the air conditioning system, brrrrr.
Tonight though, as I flip the calendar from July to August, I feel outside temperatures have been cranked up so I plan to shave all the bits that require it and fake tan myself to those areas that I will hopefully be able to show off over the next few days.
I have even joined a gym in an attempt to welcome the summer with open arms, a cheeky nod and a sly wink .... oh yes, we're talking ground-breaking earth-shattering stuff here. I plan to be rid of my whiter shade of pale spare tyre in around 6 weeks (optimist that I am), so every other lunchtime, I trot off to the sports centre to pound a kilometre or two on the treadmill, struggle with a few sets of chest presses, tricep dips and press ups and huff and puff my way through quarter of an hour straddled an inflatable silver ball that negotiates me in all sorts of positions.
When I was a gym virgin, about 9 days ago, I felt as rare as hen's teeth sprawling myself over this bouncy bit of rubber in all sorts of unmentionable positions on a gym mat .... but now, I simply can't get enough of it and I really don't care who clocks an eyeful of me as they snigger their way past. I'm on a mission and a mission it is, by the time the leaves start to fall from the trees and the dark nights set in, I want the Dunlop SP2030 that I call my waistline to be lo-o-o-o-ng gone.
After my condensed version of a weekend workout, I go back to work looking like a radish hot off a sunbed. The time spent getting showered and changed after my session is harder a workout than the workout itself! Trying to battle with hot, clammy, just-showered feet into the legs of trousers at breakneck speed aint good. Neither is trying to tame the unruly and rebellious section of hair that has spent the previous 40 minutes stuffed under a baseball cap. I thought taking exercise exhilarated and refreshed both body and mind .... I get back to work and yawn my way to home time!
Perhaps I need spurring on by my close friends - Mr Coffee, Mrs Chocolate or Miss Ever So Tasty Savoury Snack ... but at the back of my mind, I think they are the demons that got me in this position in the first place.
Wish me luck......
Since Easter, I've braved the elements and traipsed around in short sleeves, not even admitting to myself for a single minute that I was frozen to the bone. And that was BEFORE I got into work to suffer the air conditioning system, brrrrr.
Tonight though, as I flip the calendar from July to August, I feel outside temperatures have been cranked up so I plan to shave all the bits that require it and fake tan myself to those areas that I will hopefully be able to show off over the next few days.
I have even joined a gym in an attempt to welcome the summer with open arms, a cheeky nod and a sly wink .... oh yes, we're talking ground-breaking earth-shattering stuff here. I plan to be rid of my whiter shade of pale spare tyre in around 6 weeks (optimist that I am), so every other lunchtime, I trot off to the sports centre to pound a kilometre or two on the treadmill, struggle with a few sets of chest presses, tricep dips and press ups and huff and puff my way through quarter of an hour straddled an inflatable silver ball that negotiates me in all sorts of positions.
When I was a gym virgin, about 9 days ago, I felt as rare as hen's teeth sprawling myself over this bouncy bit of rubber in all sorts of unmentionable positions on a gym mat .... but now, I simply can't get enough of it and I really don't care who clocks an eyeful of me as they snigger their way past. I'm on a mission and a mission it is, by the time the leaves start to fall from the trees and the dark nights set in, I want the Dunlop SP2030 that I call my waistline to be lo-o-o-o-ng gone.
After my condensed version of a weekend workout, I go back to work looking like a radish hot off a sunbed. The time spent getting showered and changed after my session is harder a workout than the workout itself! Trying to battle with hot, clammy, just-showered feet into the legs of trousers at breakneck speed aint good. Neither is trying to tame the unruly and rebellious section of hair that has spent the previous 40 minutes stuffed under a baseball cap. I thought taking exercise exhilarated and refreshed both body and mind .... I get back to work and yawn my way to home time!
Perhaps I need spurring on by my close friends - Mr Coffee, Mrs Chocolate or Miss Ever So Tasty Savoury Snack ... but at the back of my mind, I think they are the demons that got me in this position in the first place.
Wish me luck......
Relight my fire
THIS WEEK, I have been reunited with an old flame.
It's been a while since we were last together but oh, how I have realised how much I've missed his company. He was a faithful partner, always more than willing and able to comfort me whenever the need arose.
Our relationship was always a strong one with never a cross word. We were the perfect match, always were and I think we always will be. In fact, I don't really know why I packed him up and sent him away.
My husband has been at work late for the past few days so we have spent countless hours together. Our closeness has become enviable and I don't think that, under the current clime, I can ever be without him.
I look forward to seeing what tonight brings ..... Will we get the chance to be together again?
Looking out of the window right now, I can more or less put my last coin down on it.
You see, my old flame is my hot water bottle and with summer well and truly here (!!!!!!!!!), I can't see myself being without the company of this little friend for a while yet.
It's been a while since we were last together but oh, how I have realised how much I've missed his company. He was a faithful partner, always more than willing and able to comfort me whenever the need arose.
Our relationship was always a strong one with never a cross word. We were the perfect match, always were and I think we always will be. In fact, I don't really know why I packed him up and sent him away.
My husband has been at work late for the past few days so we have spent countless hours together. Our closeness has become enviable and I don't think that, under the current clime, I can ever be without him.
I look forward to seeing what tonight brings ..... Will we get the chance to be together again?
Looking out of the window right now, I can more or less put my last coin down on it.
You see, my old flame is my hot water bottle and with summer well and truly here (!!!!!!!!!), I can't see myself being without the company of this little friend for a while yet.
It never rains, but it pours
IF I don't do anything else today, I need to do one of two things ..... grow some webbed feet or build an Ark.
Just where is all this rain coming from?? My youngest son keeps telling me it's God leaving his tap running. Bless. But I think God is too green and environmentally friendly for any of that malarky.
I keep thinking that kayak my husband bought a few weeks ago will come in handy soon and we won't need to travel to Bala to launch it but as we live on a mound, that shouldn't be entirely necessary.
For the third time in as many weeks, my eldest son's sports day has been put on the back burner due to waterlogged school fields and each morning on my daily ride to work, I pass the same woman standing at the same bus stop under the same fuchsia pink brolly.
This woman has become a commuting landmark for me. In fact, I think I will quite miss her day-glo piece of rain tackle once the clouds clear. That said, I suppose we should be grateful for any droplets that fall from the sky. If we ever do get out to Oz to live, we'll be playing a whole new different ball game.
It'll be all buckets in the shower and butts in the garden (the water type not the posterior type!) for us over there. What we moan and whinge about so much over here is something that is welcomed with open arms Down Under.
As one of my news correspondents said to me today: "Thanks be flaming June is finished. If we can all survive the monsoons until the end of Wimbledon, the weather might remember it's supposed to be summer!"
Nicely summed up Sonia!
Just where is all this rain coming from?? My youngest son keeps telling me it's God leaving his tap running. Bless. But I think God is too green and environmentally friendly for any of that malarky.
I keep thinking that kayak my husband bought a few weeks ago will come in handy soon and we won't need to travel to Bala to launch it but as we live on a mound, that shouldn't be entirely necessary.
For the third time in as many weeks, my eldest son's sports day has been put on the back burner due to waterlogged school fields and each morning on my daily ride to work, I pass the same woman standing at the same bus stop under the same fuchsia pink brolly.
This woman has become a commuting landmark for me. In fact, I think I will quite miss her day-glo piece of rain tackle once the clouds clear. That said, I suppose we should be grateful for any droplets that fall from the sky. If we ever do get out to Oz to live, we'll be playing a whole new different ball game.
It'll be all buckets in the shower and butts in the garden (the water type not the posterior type!) for us over there. What we moan and whinge about so much over here is something that is welcomed with open arms Down Under.
As one of my news correspondents said to me today: "Thanks be flaming June is finished. If we can all survive the monsoons until the end of Wimbledon, the weather might remember it's supposed to be summer!"
Nicely summed up Sonia!
I'm a lay-deeeee ...
FROM NOW on, I am refined.
Through no fault of my own, the make-up I have used for over 15 years is now only sold at one store in the UK. And that's Harrods.
Sounds mighty impressive I know, but that's the way it is. Obviously, I don't hoof it down to the big city on a regular basis so I choose to get it delivered for a modest charge that's cheaper (and probably more reliable) than a Virgin train ticket.
I'm not entirely sure why Chester's Debenhams store decided to pull the plug on the cosmetic franchise in question ... Perhaps there were too many pale and pasty-faced women on the streets up north. Perhaps the Geisha girl look is a thing of the past. Perhaps I should've taken the hint that as it's not available up here any more, I should find something else that more suits my ageing skin!
So, trawling through the Knightsbridge store's glitzy website, I came across my product. Probably the cheapest thing on there, alongside a Kurt Geiger shoelace and an Elle Macpherson Coranto thong, but at least I can still get my hands on it.
After filling my online basket with online products, I was sent along ... online of course .... to the online checkout. It asked me for my title, for which the usual choice is 'Mr, Mrs, Miss or Ms'.
Oh no, no, no ..... on THIS website, you get to be anything you want!! Now, just for laughs, should I be a Professor ... or a Baroness ..... or even HRH??!?! The list is endless.
I cast aside the Countess, Duchess and even Dame titles, as I did the Princess one. "Princess Pugh" I put in an air bubble to myself .... Na, sounds a bit naff.
I settled with one that I thought suited me down to the ground so as we speak, there is a little parcel of website goodies making it's weary way up north to Lady Amanda Jane Pugh.
I'm sure my refined status won't last but it should give our postman a good laugh!
Through no fault of my own, the make-up I have used for over 15 years is now only sold at one store in the UK. And that's Harrods.
Sounds mighty impressive I know, but that's the way it is. Obviously, I don't hoof it down to the big city on a regular basis so I choose to get it delivered for a modest charge that's cheaper (and probably more reliable) than a Virgin train ticket.
I'm not entirely sure why Chester's Debenhams store decided to pull the plug on the cosmetic franchise in question ... Perhaps there were too many pale and pasty-faced women on the streets up north. Perhaps the Geisha girl look is a thing of the past. Perhaps I should've taken the hint that as it's not available up here any more, I should find something else that more suits my ageing skin!
So, trawling through the Knightsbridge store's glitzy website, I came across my product. Probably the cheapest thing on there, alongside a Kurt Geiger shoelace and an Elle Macpherson Coranto thong, but at least I can still get my hands on it.
After filling my online basket with online products, I was sent along ... online of course .... to the online checkout. It asked me for my title, for which the usual choice is 'Mr, Mrs, Miss or Ms'.
Oh no, no, no ..... on THIS website, you get to be anything you want!! Now, just for laughs, should I be a Professor ... or a Baroness ..... or even HRH??!?! The list is endless.
I cast aside the Countess, Duchess and even Dame titles, as I did the Princess one. "Princess Pugh" I put in an air bubble to myself .... Na, sounds a bit naff.
I settled with one that I thought suited me down to the ground so as we speak, there is a little parcel of website goodies making it's weary way up north to Lady Amanda Jane Pugh.
I'm sure my refined status won't last but it should give our postman a good laugh!
How do you like your eggs in the morning?
THIS MORNING, for breakfast, I fancied a poached egg. Simple as that.
After investing in a couple of those fancy devices that provide a foolproof road to the land of perfect poachiness, I decided to get cracking, literally.
You know the type of contraption I'm on about, those nice and shiny silver things that grace the pages of those magazines that drop through your letterbox ... pictured alongside all the other useless bits of tat that clog up your cutlery drawers and are of no sound use to man nor beast.
Okay, so sad as it may seem, I've always longed to gain the know-how on how to turn out a swanky-hotel-style egg ... even the ones you get in the Little Chef knock spots off mine.I set to work after 10 minutes studying the packaging. This was shortlived as my Masterchef husband turned up to show me "how it's really done".
Casting aside any instructions, he got the pan of water to boiling point and the time had come for the grand egg dropping ... In it went, and, out it went - straight through the contraption's perforated bottom. "Hmmm, needs to be IN the water I think." he muttered as I shadowed him rolling my eyes like a disapproving school ma'am.
In went another ..... and another, until he threw the towel in with a light peppering of obscenities on how much money I spend on rubbish. He doesn't say that when I'm spending my hard earned cash on golf equipment for him though!!
Determined to dish out a breakfast to die for, I took over. Away were flushed the contents of the pan, that incidentally had more egg than water, and it was back to square one.
Now, I'm not going to go into any great detail here, because I'm starting to bore myself never mind you lot .... but yup, even with different tactics and a more determined constitution, it still spelled out disaster. "So what happened to the eggs-pert then??" he whispered in my shell-like after creeping up on me to check on my stubborn progress. Oh, how I could see that one coming......
So if anyone can take on the challenge to be my 'poach-coach', bring it on .....
After investing in a couple of those fancy devices that provide a foolproof road to the land of perfect poachiness, I decided to get cracking, literally.
You know the type of contraption I'm on about, those nice and shiny silver things that grace the pages of those magazines that drop through your letterbox ... pictured alongside all the other useless bits of tat that clog up your cutlery drawers and are of no sound use to man nor beast.
Okay, so sad as it may seem, I've always longed to gain the know-how on how to turn out a swanky-hotel-style egg ... even the ones you get in the Little Chef knock spots off mine.I set to work after 10 minutes studying the packaging. This was shortlived as my Masterchef husband turned up to show me "how it's really done".
Casting aside any instructions, he got the pan of water to boiling point and the time had come for the grand egg dropping ... In it went, and, out it went - straight through the contraption's perforated bottom. "Hmmm, needs to be IN the water I think." he muttered as I shadowed him rolling my eyes like a disapproving school ma'am.
In went another ..... and another, until he threw the towel in with a light peppering of obscenities on how much money I spend on rubbish. He doesn't say that when I'm spending my hard earned cash on golf equipment for him though!!
Determined to dish out a breakfast to die for, I took over. Away were flushed the contents of the pan, that incidentally had more egg than water, and it was back to square one.
Now, I'm not going to go into any great detail here, because I'm starting to bore myself never mind you lot .... but yup, even with different tactics and a more determined constitution, it still spelled out disaster. "So what happened to the eggs-pert then??" he whispered in my shell-like after creeping up on me to check on my stubborn progress. Oh, how I could see that one coming......
So if anyone can take on the challenge to be my 'poach-coach', bring it on .....
Coming soon to a lake near you ...
I ALWAYS thought I was allergic to all things aquatic ... I simply don't 'do' water, be it in the form of swimming pools, lakes, sea. You name it, I hate it.
Well, I DID hate it ... that is until yesterday, when I became a fully fledged water baby. My husband is very much a spur of the moment sort of guy .... he's the type that goes shopping for a pizza and comes back with a kayak .... yes, a bloody kayak.
I got home from work the other night and clapped eyes on an oversized piece of plastic that he had parked in the middle of the garden. My dropped jaw was met with his wry smile, obviously more than pleased with his new 'must have'.
"The kids love it" he remarked in a vain attempt to win me round ..... when all I could think about was how easy it was going to be to get the cash equivalent in Next vouchers. He was right, the kids do love it, and they loved it even more when we launched it into Bala lake at the weekend.
I set up my luxury recliner at the water's edge and watched them all row off into the sunshine ... half an hour later, I looked up to a boatful of ear to ear grins. Who would've thought this oversized piece of plastic could bring such joy???!
I was just starting to catch a few rays in peace when I was told it was my turn and in I clambered - just to prove the point that mums can do things just as well as dads can.
It was the first time I've taken full control over a paddle, but it won't be the last. It was a great workout for my bingo wings and if I keep up the good work, I may even get a six pack and a waistline to die for out of it. And if I don't, I'll trade in my Next vouchers for some liposuction!
Well, I DID hate it ... that is until yesterday, when I became a fully fledged water baby. My husband is very much a spur of the moment sort of guy .... he's the type that goes shopping for a pizza and comes back with a kayak .... yes, a bloody kayak.
I got home from work the other night and clapped eyes on an oversized piece of plastic that he had parked in the middle of the garden. My dropped jaw was met with his wry smile, obviously more than pleased with his new 'must have'.
"The kids love it" he remarked in a vain attempt to win me round ..... when all I could think about was how easy it was going to be to get the cash equivalent in Next vouchers. He was right, the kids do love it, and they loved it even more when we launched it into Bala lake at the weekend.
I set up my luxury recliner at the water's edge and watched them all row off into the sunshine ... half an hour later, I looked up to a boatful of ear to ear grins. Who would've thought this oversized piece of plastic could bring such joy???!
I was just starting to catch a few rays in peace when I was told it was my turn and in I clambered - just to prove the point that mums can do things just as well as dads can.
It was the first time I've taken full control over a paddle, but it won't be the last. It was a great workout for my bingo wings and if I keep up the good work, I may even get a six pack and a waistline to die for out of it. And if I don't, I'll trade in my Next vouchers for some liposuction!
Treading water
IS IT just me or do all women get tarred with the same brush? .... When the house is untidy, is it the male or female of the species that gets the bad press? I always tend to lay the blame at my own door.....
Work for me is always a busy place and there's always something ready to wing its way over to land on my desk. But being busy is good. Treading water isn't ... 'specially when you get home after a hard days' work to an absolute bombsite.
Each night this week, I've got home and sighed to myself at the thought of having to start the day all over again ... this time in my role as mother/cleaner/washer/ironer/moaner/ social organiser.
Any unexpected visitors send me spiralling into a cringetastic sort of state when the place is a pigsty. Countless trips 'to the loo' armed with a can of Mr Sheen and a fluffy duster pay dividends though as I take on an undercover janitor's role gliding my way around the gaff totally unnoticed. Unnecessary, I know, but it makes me feel better in the slob stakes.
What is it about men? They leave empty plates in the fridge, the cereal box out on the worktop, clean crockery in the dishwasher and even more annoying, they walk past things on the stairs that need taking up and putting away.
At home I am a solitary woman with the men-odds all stacked up against me. But it was an absolute delight to see them last night .... my little discrete sigh was taken on board and resulted in Son Number One with the hoover, Son Number Two on the polish and Husband on the jaycloth! Sighing has never been more fruitful!
Work for me is always a busy place and there's always something ready to wing its way over to land on my desk. But being busy is good. Treading water isn't ... 'specially when you get home after a hard days' work to an absolute bombsite.
Each night this week, I've got home and sighed to myself at the thought of having to start the day all over again ... this time in my role as mother/cleaner/washer/ironer/moaner/ social organiser.
Any unexpected visitors send me spiralling into a cringetastic sort of state when the place is a pigsty. Countless trips 'to the loo' armed with a can of Mr Sheen and a fluffy duster pay dividends though as I take on an undercover janitor's role gliding my way around the gaff totally unnoticed. Unnecessary, I know, but it makes me feel better in the slob stakes.
What is it about men? They leave empty plates in the fridge, the cereal box out on the worktop, clean crockery in the dishwasher and even more annoying, they walk past things on the stairs that need taking up and putting away.
At home I am a solitary woman with the men-odds all stacked up against me. But it was an absolute delight to see them last night .... my little discrete sigh was taken on board and resulted in Son Number One with the hoover, Son Number Two on the polish and Husband on the jaycloth! Sighing has never been more fruitful!
Star struck
IT'S ALWAYS a struggle getting into work and today was no exception. I spent last night rubbing shoulders with the 'stars' at a pre-charity football tournament bash in Wrexham and burnt the midnight oil all the way into the bank holiday.
We turned up at the Ramada fashionably late and met colleagues in the bar, one in particular I noticed, had developed some sort of nervous twitch every time a 'celeb' brushed past her. With a nod and a wink, she'd look them up and down, like me, trying to work out who they were. Was it a celeb or just someone with a familiar face who had served me in the pastry shop a few hours earlier ......??
If it hadn't been for the table plan on display in the foyer, I'd still be struggling to get the bottom of who was who. Always said I'd be no good as Paparazzi.
I knew the glamorous girl in the gold number was someone I vaguely recognised. She had an obvious cleavage that she was struggling to control and over-made up eyes, but glamorous nonetheless. It definitely wasn't her who had served me in the pastry shop. It was Michelle Heaton of Liberty X.
Former Leeds and Manchester United player and Celebrity Love Islander, Lee Sharpe, was propping up the bar with his well groomed and finely turned out 'friends' (these, too, could have been stars, but hey, like I said, I'm no Pap) and I also clocked X Factor's Andy Abraham as he arrived.
We were all seated and ready to rock 'n' roll by the time Jade Goody and boyfriend, Jack Tweedy, turned up. It was this pair who I watched most of the night ... didn't think I'd ever see the day I'd get star struck. But last night I did.
I couldn't rest easy until I'd gone over to Jack like a giggling teenager (while Jade was out of the frame dancing to Andy Abraham's crooning) and asked him to pose for a picture with me (pictured above). I was stone cold sober and simply didn't care. He obliged by putting his arm around me and smiling politely.
Unlike me - I grinned from ear to ear and had to stop myself from grabbing him round the waist in a really un-ladylike sort of way, something I always do when picture posing.
I couldn't fully concentrate on my pose as Maxwell (yet another former Big Bro contestant) kept getting in the way trying to put me off. Ever the professional, I pulled it off and I now have a lovely print of Jack and I that I'm about to airbrush and email to Bella magazine. With a flutter in my heart, I scuttled back to my table and started showing off my 'prize'.
Another celeb on my 'people-watching-hitlist' was Nikki Grahame (yes ... ANOTHER former Big Bro-er). She was wearing the teeniest, weeniest little black dress that barely would have covered my kneecap. Her arms were the same width as my index fingers and all our eyes were on her to see exactly what she picked up from the buffet. Surprisingly, she mounded food high on her plate and gurned her way all the way through it.
I didn't feel the need to be pictured with Nikki ... probably for fear of the result making me look like something out of Gulliver's Travels. She is the tiniest woman I have ever seen - apart from the Barbie and Bratz dolls I've seen on the shelves in Woolworths, that is.
A charity auction of signed football shirts proved popular, with Jade digging deep into her designer purse for a Liverpool one. Poor Andy Abraham was outbid on each of the five framed items ..... but they kept the best til last. A signed Pele shirt was up for grabs.
Again, Andy (pictured with me below) started the bidding war with Jade. He played a blinder though and handed over the bidding to his 10 year old son. You could hear the heartstrings being pulled from the other side of the bar but Jade was going all out for it ..... midway through the war, she held out the olive branch to the 10 year old saying she would give him the Liverpool one she had just bought so that she could take home the one she REALLY wanted. Deal or no deal. Deal indeed.
Auction over and music cranked up, it was now or never to pluck up the courage to ask Jade to pose with us. We could have come home with one of two things - a fat lip or a photo. Thankfully, she was in good spirits and agreed to a photo!
I hope today's event at The Racecourse is a successful one. Cash raised will be used to raise awareness for the Wrexham FC Football in the Community initiative. There was a whole load of beer flowing last night and the thought of kicking a football around Wrexham all day with a mouth like a buffalo's armpit is probably the last thing on the minds of these D-list celebrities this morning!!
Good luck you lot!
We turned up at the Ramada fashionably late and met colleagues in the bar, one in particular I noticed, had developed some sort of nervous twitch every time a 'celeb' brushed past her. With a nod and a wink, she'd look them up and down, like me, trying to work out who they were. Was it a celeb or just someone with a familiar face who had served me in the pastry shop a few hours earlier ......??
If it hadn't been for the table plan on display in the foyer, I'd still be struggling to get the bottom of who was who. Always said I'd be no good as Paparazzi.
I knew the glamorous girl in the gold number was someone I vaguely recognised. She had an obvious cleavage that she was struggling to control and over-made up eyes, but glamorous nonetheless. It definitely wasn't her who had served me in the pastry shop. It was Michelle Heaton of Liberty X.
Former Leeds and Manchester United player and Celebrity Love Islander, Lee Sharpe, was propping up the bar with his well groomed and finely turned out 'friends' (these, too, could have been stars, but hey, like I said, I'm no Pap) and I also clocked X Factor's Andy Abraham as he arrived.
We were all seated and ready to rock 'n' roll by the time Jade Goody and boyfriend, Jack Tweedy, turned up. It was this pair who I watched most of the night ... didn't think I'd ever see the day I'd get star struck. But last night I did.
I couldn't rest easy until I'd gone over to Jack like a giggling teenager (while Jade was out of the frame dancing to Andy Abraham's crooning) and asked him to pose for a picture with me (pictured above). I was stone cold sober and simply didn't care. He obliged by putting his arm around me and smiling politely.
Unlike me - I grinned from ear to ear and had to stop myself from grabbing him round the waist in a really un-ladylike sort of way, something I always do when picture posing.
I couldn't fully concentrate on my pose as Maxwell (yet another former Big Bro contestant) kept getting in the way trying to put me off. Ever the professional, I pulled it off and I now have a lovely print of Jack and I that I'm about to airbrush and email to Bella magazine. With a flutter in my heart, I scuttled back to my table and started showing off my 'prize'.
Another celeb on my 'people-watching-hitlist' was Nikki Grahame (yes ... ANOTHER former Big Bro-er). She was wearing the teeniest, weeniest little black dress that barely would have covered my kneecap. Her arms were the same width as my index fingers and all our eyes were on her to see exactly what she picked up from the buffet. Surprisingly, she mounded food high on her plate and gurned her way all the way through it.
I didn't feel the need to be pictured with Nikki ... probably for fear of the result making me look like something out of Gulliver's Travels. She is the tiniest woman I have ever seen - apart from the Barbie and Bratz dolls I've seen on the shelves in Woolworths, that is.
A charity auction of signed football shirts proved popular, with Jade digging deep into her designer purse for a Liverpool one. Poor Andy Abraham was outbid on each of the five framed items ..... but they kept the best til last. A signed Pele shirt was up for grabs.
Again, Andy (pictured with me below) started the bidding war with Jade. He played a blinder though and handed over the bidding to his 10 year old son. You could hear the heartstrings being pulled from the other side of the bar but Jade was going all out for it ..... midway through the war, she held out the olive branch to the 10 year old saying she would give him the Liverpool one she had just bought so that she could take home the one she REALLY wanted. Deal or no deal. Deal indeed.
Auction over and music cranked up, it was now or never to pluck up the courage to ask Jade to pose with us. We could have come home with one of two things - a fat lip or a photo. Thankfully, she was in good spirits and agreed to a photo!
I hope today's event at The Racecourse is a successful one. Cash raised will be used to raise awareness for the Wrexham FC Football in the Community initiative. There was a whole load of beer flowing last night and the thought of kicking a football around Wrexham all day with a mouth like a buffalo's armpit is probably the last thing on the minds of these D-list celebrities this morning!!
Good luck you lot!
It all started when ......
..... I had an idea. A great idea. An idea that would change our lives ....... forever!
The time had come and I decided I wanted to get a little more out of life, I mean, you only get one crack at it so I thought I'd better act quick and do something about it.
When you get to my age and you've done the housebuilding - marriage - pregnancy - giving birth - etc - you get a little time to reflect on stuff.
We had talked about emigration Down Under almost ten years ago, even got as far as sending off for the forms but somehow, we 'never got round to filling them in.'
This time, I meant business. I put the call in to a consultancy group specialising in 'big moves' and there they were again ... the very same forms I had received a decade earlier.
Yes, they are enough to put off the faint-hearted .... but they're nothing in comparison to the wait we're having to endure from the Department of Australian Immigration while they crack open another tinny and pore over our application that was completed with pristine accuracy and a good dollop of telling them exactly what they want to hear.
We started this rollercoaster of a ride last October and took almost seven weeks obtaining the references required from my husband's previous schools/colleges/employers. Now, THAT was a struggle. He was last a student over 20 years ago and getting references from tutors that were crocs way back then was always going to be a virtual impossibility.
That said, we gathered what we could and it seemed to have cut the mustard as we heard a few weeks ago that the first major part of our application had been successful. Trades Recognition Australia (TRA) obviously like the cut of our jib so let's hope that our friends at immigration do too, as we wait to hear from them if they would like to welcome us with open arms in becoming permanent residents.
Getting a positive TRA outcome brought with it some mixed feelings - success in something you want is always a comfort but hell, the reality of it all has made me feel a little confused. Taking my young family 12,000 miles away is part of a plan I have in my mind that will see them having a 'better life' .... I just want to know how I came up with the idea that Australia is a better place, having not even stepped foot in the country. Every single person I've spoken to who has gone Down Under cannot say a bad word about the place ..... and I want to know why. So I'm just going to have to pack up, sell up and find out for myself.
Yes, there have been tears along the way (as anyone in work will confirm) but that was always going to happen. Words of comfort from friends and colleagues rattle around in my head ..."I know it's a big step Mand, but it's not like you're going off to the other side of the world...."
Oh my friends ............. "but I AM!"
The time had come and I decided I wanted to get a little more out of life, I mean, you only get one crack at it so I thought I'd better act quick and do something about it.
When you get to my age and you've done the housebuilding - marriage - pregnancy - giving birth - etc - you get a little time to reflect on stuff.
We had talked about emigration Down Under almost ten years ago, even got as far as sending off for the forms but somehow, we 'never got round to filling them in.'
This time, I meant business. I put the call in to a consultancy group specialising in 'big moves' and there they were again ... the very same forms I had received a decade earlier.
Yes, they are enough to put off the faint-hearted .... but they're nothing in comparison to the wait we're having to endure from the Department of Australian Immigration while they crack open another tinny and pore over our application that was completed with pristine accuracy and a good dollop of telling them exactly what they want to hear.
We started this rollercoaster of a ride last October and took almost seven weeks obtaining the references required from my husband's previous schools/colleges/employers. Now, THAT was a struggle. He was last a student over 20 years ago and getting references from tutors that were crocs way back then was always going to be a virtual impossibility.
That said, we gathered what we could and it seemed to have cut the mustard as we heard a few weeks ago that the first major part of our application had been successful. Trades Recognition Australia (TRA) obviously like the cut of our jib so let's hope that our friends at immigration do too, as we wait to hear from them if they would like to welcome us with open arms in becoming permanent residents.
Getting a positive TRA outcome brought with it some mixed feelings - success in something you want is always a comfort but hell, the reality of it all has made me feel a little confused. Taking my young family 12,000 miles away is part of a plan I have in my mind that will see them having a 'better life' .... I just want to know how I came up with the idea that Australia is a better place, having not even stepped foot in the country. Every single person I've spoken to who has gone Down Under cannot say a bad word about the place ..... and I want to know why. So I'm just going to have to pack up, sell up and find out for myself.
Yes, there have been tears along the way (as anyone in work will confirm) but that was always going to happen. Words of comfort from friends and colleagues rattle around in my head ..."I know it's a big step Mand, but it's not like you're going off to the other side of the world...."
Oh my friends ............. "but I AM!"
Welcome to Mandi Pugh's new blog...
This is the new home for my globetrotting ramblings. I will spend the next day or two trying to muster up the enthusiasm to rid myself of technophobia and will update soon...........
Here's a link to my old blog ...
http://www.blogstoday.co.uk/BlogHome.aspx?username=Mandi%20Pugh
Here's a link to my old blog ...
http://www.blogstoday.co.uk/BlogHome.aspx?username=Mandi%20Pugh
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