Too late to make up for lost time...

TODAY, my eyes are sore.

I'd like to think it was down to an allergic reaction to the new super defining lash extending false effect waterproof mascara I've just invested in, but it's not.

Over the past week, I've had more than my fair share of tears. With less than two weeks to our departure date, the emotional pressure is overwhelming. We're having a fantastic time just now, spending endless hours with our nearest and dearest but I'm finding myself getting more and more attached to what and who I'll soon be leaving behind.

I can barely speak to them on the other end of the phone without blubbing and I've had to visit the chemist for some remedial tongue spray that 'provides comfort in times of anxiety or stress...'

I keep it close to hand in my purse and reach for it every time I feel myself well up. Can't say it's been successful in stopping the sqwarkage yet but even if it's a placebo and helps me keep it together for the next week or so, it'll be money well spent.

Our blue recycling box is a shadow of its former self as invitations to eat out with friends and family continue to flood in and lately, I've had a strange desire to go to all the places I've never visited and all the places I don't get to visit as often as I'd like.

The things right on your very doorstep are usually the ones overlooked the most but with the clock of change tickety-ticking away, I really can't see myself getting around to doing all the things I want to.

I'm not talking about taking on the Three Peaks Challenge, white water rafting in the Scottish Highlands or anything like that ... I'm just thinking of the simple things like visiting my pensioner neighbours for a Saturday afternoon rum and black or going to all the places we often just drive past, be it a pub, park or place of historic importance ...

I've never been to Ireland, spent minimal time in Scotland and the places I've visited as a tourist in my homeland Wales can be counted on one hand.

But now I find myself all out of both time and fine English pounds in order to make up for it...

Never say never...

AS much as I'm absolutely LOVING being a stay-at-home mum right now, the novelty is slightly - just slightly - starting to wear off.

When I'm not filling in forms or closing down bank and store card accounts, my newfound but shortlived role of daytime couch potato is plagued by those really annoying TV ads for "no win no fee" personal injury claims, cough syrups and celebrity fitness DVDs.

I'm brainwashed by them - I know off by heart the numbers of every finance and self-proclaimed debt-busting company on the planet and I have mentally taken on board the fact that as soon as I get out to Melbourne, the first class I join will be an aerobic one (I can hear the sniggers from former Leader colleagues right now!)

Eastender Letitia Dean, ice champion Jane Torvill and even Claire from Steps are hammering our screens with details of their fitness regimes that put them firmly back on the road to tip top perfection.
Even Mr Motivator is back in the limelight attempting to kick our butts to take a more healthy lifestyle on his comeback trail.

My TV ad annoyance was kept at bay yesterday though, as I'd been asked by my sons' school to help out on a coach trip to see a local panto. I pencilled the date in my fit-to-busting diary and turned up at the school to take charge of my group.

Looking after someone else's children is a huge responsibility but one I enjoyed no end. Having two boys myself, I melted when the four girls I had to keep a watchful eye over competed for my attention.
"Mrs Pugh, Mrs Pugh .... Do you know my name?" .... "Mrs Pugh, Mrs Pugh .... Are we ready to go yet?" .... "Mrs Pugh, Mrs Pugh .... Can you touch the ceiling in this classroom?"
Being a cat's whisker over 6ft, the answer to this latter request was a yes and they stood there, all open-mouthed and in awe.

They were so well-behaved and I enjoyed myself that much, I'm now considering a change in career. I'm tempted to swap my keyboard for a classroom, taking a back seat to the teachers and helping out Australia's little cherubs with their cutting, sticking and reading.

They say never work with animals or children. I really can't see where that came from because from where I was standing yesterday, working with children could be the most rewarding job I've ever done.

Never say never...

I could get used to this ....

IT was just a matter of time but it's happened. Inevitably. I have become idle.

We chose to quit our jobs just before Christmas and take January off. So having worked full time for the majority of our 40 years, we have just two deadlines a day that revolve around school collection and drop offs.

This morning, with a husband on the golf course, I had two boys - old enough now to get themselves ready in the mornings - to get to school before the bell sounded. From the comfort of my king size, I supervised teeth cleaning and uniform donning until they were ready to go.
My youngest was horrified as he climbed into the back of the car to see I was still in my PJs. Well, it wasn't worth getting dressed if my intention to get back into bed after the school visit was fulfilled.

And fulfilled it was. On went BBC1 and all tuned in for another sobbing session watching Wanted: Down Under.
When I worked Monday to Friday, 9 to 5, I was constantly asked if I'd been watching the series that takes families on a weeklong trip to Australia or New Zealand to give them a taste of what a new life would be like.
This was never possible for me pre-Christmas as I was sitting at a desk compiling another set of Evening Leader pages when the show was being aired. But I would be filled in by many a colleague or friend on how Annabelle and Mark from Northamptonshire or Leah and Raymond from Shropshire were taken on a whistlestop tour of the Antipodes to see if it was their cup of fine English tea.

Personally, I had no inclination to watch the programmes. It was exactly what we, as a family, were going through ourselves. I had it first hand anyway. But now, at home with no deadlines to meet, I am drawn daily to the programme that never fails to make me weep.
I cry at lots of things - watching my youngest play fooball, watching my eldest sing in his school's harvest festival, watching X Factor, Extreme Makeover and even Noel's House Party - but coming face to face with fellow families putting them in this familiar situation that we find ourselves in simply sets me off.

I'm dreading the day we leave and have visions to try and mentally prepare myself on how things will pan out. The social calendar for the next three weeks is manic, then, after that, well ... that's it. We'll be all alone with just eachother for company.

City shoppers

TWO friends and I went on an impromptu shopping trip yesterday for a bit of pre-migration female bonding. After a couple of texts confirming details, we hoofed it up the high street to catch the bus to the big city.

We started off with good intentions but after lunch in a swish bar, it was corks out and glasses filled.
My store gift vouchers remained nestled at the bottom of my handbag for the duration of the trip as they simply couldn't compete with the call of the Cava.

We giggled at the bar while we waited for our cab home - our trip just summed up what we were all currently about.
One chum bought a woolly winter coat and roll neck jumper, the other leather boots and matching gloves ... while I simply perused the bikini sale racks, familiarised myself with the world's lightest luggage range and invested in a new address book to fill up before we leave for Melbourne.

Oi Nigella ... move over

NEW Year's Eve, New Year's Day, New Life and even a New Me.

Today, with a whole brand spanking new year ahead of us, I have inadvertently transformed myself into, as my husband has now dubbed me, a domestic goddess. I've been called all sorts of things over the years no doubt and he likened me to a cat, going from a stray to a domestic in a bat of the eyelids.

You see, today I made a pie. I didn't sport an apron for the feat or end up with flour all over my nose but simply rolled up my sleeves, stumbled across a rolling pin at the back of one of the kitchen drawers and went on to impress my family.

My times in the kitchen are not generally adventurous ones - I have my mum's genes in that department! But today, things changed. There was a straggler of a can of Guinness left over from our festive binge drinking sessions and a good dollop of beef chunks in the fridge ... and the rest is history.

Trouble is, I think I've blown my cover and my days in the kitchen have been re-numbered. I've played oven-shy for too long but now I guess the culinary dumbness game's up!

New Year ... New Life ...

NEW Year's Eve 2008 finds us homeless, jobless and, in a matter of weeks, friendless. Not to mention carless, cashless and clueless.

I'm hoping all these minor stumbling blocks are shortlived but it's a transition that's virtually inevitable when it comes to packing up your life and trying to cram it into a piece of luggage each, weighing no more than 20kg.

We're now getting incredibly closer to our departure date in early February. We've both jacked in our jobs and have the whole of January to soak up and sponge off family, friends and former colleagues in the hope it will see us through our hours of darkness after the sun's long gone down in the Melbourne suburb where we lay our baseball caps and factor 50.

I'm starting to get a little twitchy over what I'm to choose as my flight outfit. It needs to be comfortable enoughto withstand 21 hours in the air but also stylish and cosmopolitan enough to be paired with my skin tone coloured DVT-prevention flight socks and black leather boots.
I really don't want to but I can see no other option than to travelin my winter knee length footwear. There'll be no room for them in my suitcase and they probably count towards the lion's share of my baggage allowance, so it leaves me with no option other than to climb into them and introduce them to the clouds.
Can't see I'll have much use for them Down Under so I'm wearing the living daylights out of them while the UK cold snap takes its hold. That said, I hope it's dark when we land in the southern hemisphere otherwise I'm going to look more ridiculous in the 38 degree heat than Harry Hill's more than over-sized collars.

So, Christmas came and went without incident and although it's been a poignant one, it's been enjoyed all round. The word 'last' was banned and even Santa knew where we were temporarily hanging out to bring my globetrotting husband and I a gift that's yet to prove itself.
Designed by an airline pilot, these blow up seat cushions pledge to transform our cheap seats into first class with just 10 anxiety filled human puffs of air. Ingenious. A makeshift bed in the clouds for £30.

It'll be money well spent if it sees me arrive at Singapore Airport 12 odd hours after take off looking as good as the picture on the box!