I was recently tagged (thanks!!) by Caroljs to list 7 things you don't know about me. So forgive the narcissm (and I hope I've done it right, Carol!) here we go:
1) I have always wanted to drive a juggernaut, complete with checked shirt, Yorkie bar, little bed area at the back of the cab and CB radio "Ten Four for a copy... What's your handle?"
2) I have seen Bon Jovi in concert 9 times and I am Jon's true spirtual partner.
3) Many years ago I worked with a bully who, obsessed with teeth hygiene, used to leave her washbag in the ladies. After one particularly bad run in, I gave her toothbrush a little trip around the rim of the toilet and put it back in her bag.
4) When I was a student I worked as a wine waitress in the banqueting suite at London Zoo and after some events the staff got to consume any opened leftovers. On one occasion the keepers coming into work at 6am discovered me staggering around the zoo with a bottle of champagne under each arm, searching for the elephants "to say good morning".
5) Until recently I lived opposite a park and the ice cream van used to come round 3 times a day. Fed up saying no every time, I told the children that when it was playing the tune, it was telling all the people it had run out of ice cream.
6) I have a secret love of country music and the longer and more detailed the title, the better: "Who's bed have your boots been under?" by Shania is one of my favourites, and I have a (now not-so-secret) yearning to see Dolly Parton in concert later this year.
7) I have a ridiculous habit of making people jump. I am always hiding behind doors or shouting 'boo' in the tense bits of films. My FH didn't see the funny side when he opened the shower curtain once to find me brandishing (I SWEAR for a joke) a knife and making 'eek, eek' Psycho sounds.
I am now supposed to nominate some others to do the same, so with apologies...
sarahurbanmum
MumintheMiddle
Cupcakejojo
Earthskyevents
PocketGuideSoph
Sunday, 20 February 2011
Saturday, 5 February 2011
Wishful thinking
It's the weekend! Yay!! With no firm plans, here's what I hoped/thought I would be doing today:
1) Enjoying a well earned lie in, tea and toast in bed with a book whilst the DDs amused themselves or piled in next to me.
2) Mooching around the local charity shops.
3) Meeting a friend for coffee.
4) Writing.
5) Baking cakes with DD2.
6) A bit of washing.
7) Quiet evening with the girls watching their favourite programme.
What I actually did today:
1) Begged an urgent early appointment for hypertensive cat who's eyes suddenly dilated like Puss in Shrek and freaked us all out last night by sitting on the ends of our beds staring at us. (Walked away £150 lighter and that's just for starters.)
2) Raced to local shops to buy present for former MIL's birthday to get back in time to pick up moggie.
3) Washed the equivalent of Kilimanjaro as DD1 sorted her bedroom out yesterday and it's easier to put it in the laundry basket than hang it.
4) Resealed all around the bath to prevent the water that had begun flooding through to kitchen and toaster inconveniently positioned underneath. (A bit like icing a cake you need a steady hand and a gadget.)
5) Reattached the trim on the front of garden shed with a large hammer and copious nails after almost being decapitated whilst getting cat basket.
6) Filled and painted over hole from the loo roll holder which is perfectly happy to be used by adults but hurls itself on the floor every time a child uses/swings from it. (Giving up on it for a floor standing one.)
7) Got conned into letting DD1 have a sleepover here after DD2 got invited out to one.
8) Helped DD2 bake 3 dozen fairy cakes.
8) Cooking dinner at the same time as medicating and feeding cats, supervising decoration of fairy cakes, reloading the washing machine and wrapping former MIL's present, I picked up a baking tray full of crispy seaweed which I had forgotten had been in to pre-heat.
So I'm taking my burnt, sealant covered hands, placing them around a cold glass of chardonnay, commandeering the TV and starting my weekend again. At least Sunday is going to be a quiet one ...
1) Enjoying a well earned lie in, tea and toast in bed with a book whilst the DDs amused themselves or piled in next to me.
2) Mooching around the local charity shops.
3) Meeting a friend for coffee.
4) Writing.
5) Baking cakes with DD2.
6) A bit of washing.
7) Quiet evening with the girls watching their favourite programme.
What I actually did today:
1) Begged an urgent early appointment for hypertensive cat who's eyes suddenly dilated like Puss in Shrek and freaked us all out last night by sitting on the ends of our beds staring at us. (Walked away £150 lighter and that's just for starters.)
2) Raced to local shops to buy present for former MIL's birthday to get back in time to pick up moggie.
3) Washed the equivalent of Kilimanjaro as DD1 sorted her bedroom out yesterday and it's easier to put it in the laundry basket than hang it.
4) Resealed all around the bath to prevent the water that had begun flooding through to kitchen and toaster inconveniently positioned underneath. (A bit like icing a cake you need a steady hand and a gadget.)
5) Reattached the trim on the front of garden shed with a large hammer and copious nails after almost being decapitated whilst getting cat basket.
6) Filled and painted over hole from the loo roll holder which is perfectly happy to be used by adults but hurls itself on the floor every time a child uses/swings from it. (Giving up on it for a floor standing one.)
7) Got conned into letting DD1 have a sleepover here after DD2 got invited out to one.
8) Helped DD2 bake 3 dozen fairy cakes.
8) Cooking dinner at the same time as medicating and feeding cats, supervising decoration of fairy cakes, reloading the washing machine and wrapping former MIL's present, I picked up a baking tray full of crispy seaweed which I had forgotten had been in to pre-heat.
So I'm taking my burnt, sealant covered hands, placing them around a cold glass of chardonnay, commandeering the TV and starting my weekend again. At least Sunday is going to be a quiet one ...
Monday, 31 January 2011
The accidental hangover
I'm feeling a bit cheated today. On Saturday night I went to a party in a night club for my friends' joint birthdays, with live music courtesy of the birthday boy and his various bands. It was a fantastic night and as I had the DDs with me, plus I had a lot to do on Sunday, I deliberately only had two drinks (and a sneaky little vodka jelly) then switched to juice. As a further precaution, I downed a paracetamol with my Horlicks (rock and roll) when I dragged my tired dancing feet to bed at 1am and felt absolutely sober.
Then I woke up on Sunday morning feeling like cr*p, and wasted the day curled up on the sofa only emerging mid afternoon for chips.
After testing my recollection of the conversation in the cab home (I clearly recall giving my friend advice on how to use a drill, much to the amusement of the cabbie) and accepting my assurance that I wasn't drunk at all DD1, who has been learning about alcohol abuse at school, wisely suggested my drink had been spiked. Good point, I say except I didn't put it down plus it was a vodka alcopop thing in a small necked bottle (pretty revolting now I think about it, but the wine on offer was Leib... ).
I think it's more likely that I'm just out of practise. I have not had a proper social life for a long time so I tend to only really drink at home and only occasionally. I have a bit of a fear of drinking alone though, worrying that I'll wake up with my head in the cat food after having one too many so I recently started a book club. I now have a captive audience to drink with once a month and very well that's going too. We've even read some books.
If I'm honest, there are a couple of reasons for my lack of social life:
1) The DDs. By the time I've paid a sitter, a cab, a couple of rounds, we're talking half the weekly food bill. Not gonna happen. Admittedly I get one night off a week for good behaviour, but that leads me to...
2) Lack of available company. My close circle of friends are mostly married and cosy on a Friday or Saturday night. The few friends I have who like to party are hard core and I can't keep up with them. Which leads me to the saddest reason:
3) I really like hunkering down on the sofa when the kids have gone for the evening watching what I want on TV, or having a bath without having running conversations from their bedrooms. I adore my children with every breath, but if they made talking an Olympic sport, the DDs would be on the podium arguing over who deserved gold. Sometimes I just need silence. I crave it. Plus, I love my little house. Considering I get home from work at the same time as the kids I just like to enjoy it on my terms for a couple of hours.
The DDs want me to go out more, not least of all because they are nagging me to find a boyfriend. Unfortunately for them, I'm really not bothered. For the first time in my adult life, I'm enjoying the alone time and I'm getting to know me again (how very Oprah). Perhaps one day I will like the idea of sharing my precious quiet time with someone but as the next man in my life must meet the DDs strict criteria I think my peace and chardonnay are fairly safe. On a long car journey recently the DDs announced, with no prompting from me, their requirements for my next partner. He must:
1) Have children the same ages as them.
2) Drive a big car (for holidays apparently)
3) Own the following pets: dog, house rabbit, tortoise.
So I guess the ideal scenario for us all would be for me to meet a slightly agoraphobic Dr Dolittle with a camper van. But, thankfully, unless he's the postman or the Tesco delivery guy, the chances of me meeting him are about as remote as me never having another hangover.
Then I woke up on Sunday morning feeling like cr*p, and wasted the day curled up on the sofa only emerging mid afternoon for chips.
After testing my recollection of the conversation in the cab home (I clearly recall giving my friend advice on how to use a drill, much to the amusement of the cabbie) and accepting my assurance that I wasn't drunk at all DD1, who has been learning about alcohol abuse at school, wisely suggested my drink had been spiked. Good point, I say except I didn't put it down plus it was a vodka alcopop thing in a small necked bottle (pretty revolting now I think about it, but the wine on offer was Leib... ).
I think it's more likely that I'm just out of practise. I have not had a proper social life for a long time so I tend to only really drink at home and only occasionally. I have a bit of a fear of drinking alone though, worrying that I'll wake up with my head in the cat food after having one too many so I recently started a book club. I now have a captive audience to drink with once a month and very well that's going too. We've even read some books.
If I'm honest, there are a couple of reasons for my lack of social life:
1) The DDs. By the time I've paid a sitter, a cab, a couple of rounds, we're talking half the weekly food bill. Not gonna happen. Admittedly I get one night off a week for good behaviour, but that leads me to...
2) Lack of available company. My close circle of friends are mostly married and cosy on a Friday or Saturday night. The few friends I have who like to party are hard core and I can't keep up with them. Which leads me to the saddest reason:
3) I really like hunkering down on the sofa when the kids have gone for the evening watching what I want on TV, or having a bath without having running conversations from their bedrooms. I adore my children with every breath, but if they made talking an Olympic sport, the DDs would be on the podium arguing over who deserved gold. Sometimes I just need silence. I crave it. Plus, I love my little house. Considering I get home from work at the same time as the kids I just like to enjoy it on my terms for a couple of hours.
The DDs want me to go out more, not least of all because they are nagging me to find a boyfriend. Unfortunately for them, I'm really not bothered. For the first time in my adult life, I'm enjoying the alone time and I'm getting to know me again (how very Oprah). Perhaps one day I will like the idea of sharing my precious quiet time with someone but as the next man in my life must meet the DDs strict criteria I think my peace and chardonnay are fairly safe. On a long car journey recently the DDs announced, with no prompting from me, their requirements for my next partner. He must:
1) Have children the same ages as them.
2) Drive a big car (for holidays apparently)
3) Own the following pets: dog, house rabbit, tortoise.
So I guess the ideal scenario for us all would be for me to meet a slightly agoraphobic Dr Dolittle with a camper van. But, thankfully, unless he's the postman or the Tesco delivery guy, the chances of me meeting him are about as remote as me never having another hangover.
Friday, 14 January 2011
Crazy lady coming through
To help keep some perspective during what was without question the most horrible year of my life, I read a whole range of self-help books: 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' I was exhorted, 'I can make you happy/rich/thin/sleep' (yes please, Paul, all of the above), 'Happy kids, Happy you' (except that they can be mutually exclusive concepts...)
I found that after reading each book I was raring to go and full of positivity: to write that novel I've started several times, exercise regularly, learn to crochet, re-start my hypnotherapy practise... and then once the glow of the book wore off, I'd be back to the excuses: no time, too hard, too expensive, can’t fit it around the DDs... So much for positive thinking.
Then one morning, I had a mini revelation: Every day we do things out of necessity and habit. We don't need positive thinking to take a shower, to put the bins out on rubbish day, to change the beds etc. No decision-making process, no pep talk. We just do it. So I thought I'd try this re-frame on other areas of my life, starting with exercise. From now on, I thought, I'd just do it.
And I have. For the past fortnight, I have managed to workout 3 times a week. Might not sound like a lot but that's probably more than I did for the entire previous year. I don’t have gym membership, I nearly always have the DDs with me when I’m not at work and only the hardy want to train outside in this weather.
So I get up at 6am and jog around my kitchen table for an hour. No, really. I include boxing, weights and a bit of pilates, but generally the plan is to just keep moving. I'm not sure if the rear of my house is overlooked but I have my suspicions that any early risers get a thrice weekly vision of a wobbly brunette in bunches, stripey socks and Bon Jovi t-shirt (from the 'Bounce' tour... yes, thank you...) like a hamster on a wheel, tripping over curious cats and sleepy kids slowly surfacing for breakfast.
It’s imperfect and a little nuts. But it’s doing the job. The trick I think is this: when the alarm goes off at 5.45 on my workout days, I don’t lie there and think “do I feel motivated to do this?” Because believe me the answer would always be a resounding “NO”! and I would burrow into my duvet. Without giving myself time to ask questions I just chuck on the first clothes I can lay my hands on and get jogging. The looks on the DDs faces the first time they encountered nocturnal mummy were delightful. They have been known to join in so we looked like a Benny Hill sketch, falling into each other as I shouted "TURN" - it's only a 6-seater so we have to alternate regularly to avoid motion sickness.
Now I am looking at how I can apply this to the other areas of my life. Writing that book will be next. I have a plan and it starts now. Whether I feel like it or not. Because all this self help and motivational awareness can just be used as an excuse not to start anything. And the only thing that seems to get results is not positive thinking, but positive doing.
I found that after reading each book I was raring to go and full of positivity: to write that novel I've started several times, exercise regularly, learn to crochet, re-start my hypnotherapy practise... and then once the glow of the book wore off, I'd be back to the excuses: no time, too hard, too expensive, can’t fit it around the DDs... So much for positive thinking.
Then one morning, I had a mini revelation: Every day we do things out of necessity and habit. We don't need positive thinking to take a shower, to put the bins out on rubbish day, to change the beds etc. No decision-making process, no pep talk. We just do it. So I thought I'd try this re-frame on other areas of my life, starting with exercise. From now on, I thought, I'd just do it.
And I have. For the past fortnight, I have managed to workout 3 times a week. Might not sound like a lot but that's probably more than I did for the entire previous year. I don’t have gym membership, I nearly always have the DDs with me when I’m not at work and only the hardy want to train outside in this weather.
So I get up at 6am and jog around my kitchen table for an hour. No, really. I include boxing, weights and a bit of pilates, but generally the plan is to just keep moving. I'm not sure if the rear of my house is overlooked but I have my suspicions that any early risers get a thrice weekly vision of a wobbly brunette in bunches, stripey socks and Bon Jovi t-shirt (from the 'Bounce' tour... yes, thank you...) like a hamster on a wheel, tripping over curious cats and sleepy kids slowly surfacing for breakfast.
It’s imperfect and a little nuts. But it’s doing the job. The trick I think is this: when the alarm goes off at 5.45 on my workout days, I don’t lie there and think “do I feel motivated to do this?” Because believe me the answer would always be a resounding “NO”! and I would burrow into my duvet. Without giving myself time to ask questions I just chuck on the first clothes I can lay my hands on and get jogging. The looks on the DDs faces the first time they encountered nocturnal mummy were delightful. They have been known to join in so we looked like a Benny Hill sketch, falling into each other as I shouted "TURN" - it's only a 6-seater so we have to alternate regularly to avoid motion sickness.
Now I am looking at how I can apply this to the other areas of my life. Writing that book will be next. I have a plan and it starts now. Whether I feel like it or not. Because all this self help and motivational awareness can just be used as an excuse not to start anything. And the only thing that seems to get results is not positive thinking, but positive doing.
Wednesday, 15 December 2010
Christmas is for big kids too.
I bloody love Christmas! I'm the biggest child going at this time of year and always run the risk of peaking too soon. Take the presents: The real kids in the house know not to leave mummy's presents lying around as I will hunt them down and find them. I cannot be trusted. It's not the present(s) per se, but I get overexcited and cannot bear knowing a surprise is coming. When they were little I used to prise out of them what they'd seen FH buy. (Prise? Who am I kidding, it was like taking candy canes from a baby.) The FH used to use techniques not unlike the SAS to keep them away from me, even resorting to storing them in the garden shed one year. Rookie mistake. He finally took to hiding them at his parents' house, only for me to realise if I wanted to know what I had to look forward to I just needed to find the receipts in his wallet... Yes, I know. I am very bad. So now they are wise to it, my children think it's hilarious to give me false clues. D1 "Sssh, don't tell mum about the orange plastic apron we got her... Oh, hi mum, didn't see you there".
Of course, I LOVE the whole festive thing for the girls too. When I was a kid my brother, sister and I used to drag mum and dad out of bed at 5am to check out the bootie under the tree. When my two were younger, I used to be lying there wide awake waiting for them to get up . One year, it got to 7am and I was beside myself with excitement. I started crashing around on the landing, turning the light on and exclaiming in a loud voice "ooh, I wonder if Santa has been yet?". Eventually they woke up but I can't say I wasn't a bit disappointed that I had raised such Christmas amateurs.
This week we've had D2's school Christmas Fayre and Carol Concert. I sang my not insubstantial lungs out to everything, peaking with the 'Gloria's'. D1 was mortified but I didn't let that stop me. It was a lovely service and I still felt uplifted by it when I woke up. In the shower, I gave an encore of all of the previous nights ditties, and a smattering of my personal favourites. When I turned the shower off, I heard D1 and D2 singing too - they'd been accompanying me all along.
But I must admit I had been a tiny bit worried that my yuletide enthusiasm had left me after the disaster that was last Christmas. It was, without a doubt, the worst I've ever had. In the run up I had a major upset, I was facing the hardest and final part of some huge life changing challenges and to compound it all I ended up with flu. I spent most of Christmas week wading through boxes of tissues and alternating between Beechams and Quality Street (generally whilst lying on the new Wii Fit mat. Glad to see it was good for something.). So I was more than a little relieved when I could feel the familiar excitement welling this year. I'd not lost it.
And as for the presents, I genuinely don't care what I have or haven't got. No, I mean it. I've not even tried to find out from the girls. (Well, just once, but that was more for their benefit than mine.) Because after everything we've been through this year, I realise that I already have everything I need.
Of course, I LOVE the whole festive thing for the girls too. When I was a kid my brother, sister and I used to drag mum and dad out of bed at 5am to check out the bootie under the tree. When my two were younger, I used to be lying there wide awake waiting for them to get up . One year, it got to 7am and I was beside myself with excitement. I started crashing around on the landing, turning the light on and exclaiming in a loud voice "ooh, I wonder if Santa has been yet?". Eventually they woke up but I can't say I wasn't a bit disappointed that I had raised such Christmas amateurs.
This week we've had D2's school Christmas Fayre and Carol Concert. I sang my not insubstantial lungs out to everything, peaking with the 'Gloria's'. D1 was mortified but I didn't let that stop me. It was a lovely service and I still felt uplifted by it when I woke up. In the shower, I gave an encore of all of the previous nights ditties, and a smattering of my personal favourites. When I turned the shower off, I heard D1 and D2 singing too - they'd been accompanying me all along.
But I must admit I had been a tiny bit worried that my yuletide enthusiasm had left me after the disaster that was last Christmas. It was, without a doubt, the worst I've ever had. In the run up I had a major upset, I was facing the hardest and final part of some huge life changing challenges and to compound it all I ended up with flu. I spent most of Christmas week wading through boxes of tissues and alternating between Beechams and Quality Street (generally whilst lying on the new Wii Fit mat. Glad to see it was good for something.). So I was more than a little relieved when I could feel the familiar excitement welling this year. I'd not lost it.
And as for the presents, I genuinely don't care what I have or haven't got. No, I mean it. I've not even tried to find out from the girls. (Well, just once, but that was more for their benefit than mine.) Because after everything we've been through this year, I realise that I already have everything I need.
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
Making a meal of it
I think it's fair to say that I'm not the world's most talented cook. I learnt to make a mean spag bol at Poly, testing the spaghetti the student way - by chucking it at the ceiling. (I can't remember if it's done when it sticks, or vice versa.) And then there were the 15 vegetarian years, when Linda McCartney was my best friend. Lentil bake? Yum. The unfortunate residual effect of my years as a veggie mean that any meat I now cook isn't allowed out of the oven until we start singing 'Jerusalem'. As proof that my talents lie elsewhere, I even have a fridge magnet which declares "I kiss better than I cook" which is probably a bit more information than is necessary here...
But what tiny amount of skill I had in the kitchen has had the heart and soul ripped out of it by the two gorgeous creatures who share my house, to the point where I now absolutely dread mealtimes. D2 has always been a fussy little horror. She will not touch anything with a sauce (which rules out said spag bol, lasagne, chilli, curry, pie of the shepherd or fish variety, meatballs, pasta bake.... the list goes on). D1, who used to eat everything on the planet except broccoli, has now declared that she's "never liked" all the things she ate as a small child, even jacket potatoes. I mean, who doesn't like jacket potatoes?
It gets worse. With chips as the only exception to the rule, everything that one daughter likes the other professes to hate. Whilst D2 is a tiny carnivore who demolishes any meat put in front of her with the fervour of a sabre tooth tiger regardless of how incinerated her mother makes it (and broccoli), D1 is a wannabe veggie, if she would only give up KFC, bacon and pepperoni pizza.
So my repertoire of meals they will both eat with no or minor variation extends to just four:
- Risotto
- Toad in the hole
- Chicken wrapped in bacon with pesto (omit pesto for D2)
- Roast (D1 has the meat soaked in gravy, D2 - bone dry)
Most nights I cook two options to keep everyone happy. And I rarely experiment. What's the point? I could spend an hour pottering about at the stove, a bit of this, a bit of that, and only have a 50% chance of one of them eating it. To keep my sanity, I've just introduced one night of the week where we have 'freezer surprise'. They choose, I 'cook'. You've got to love Captain Birds Eye.
If you are reading this and thinking "well, she should have been stricter when they were little" I don't blame you, I would say the same. Except I was! They ate a huge variety of foods. D2 doesn't believe me when I tell her she used to eat such outrageous things as butternut squash and sweet potato puree. They both point blank refuse to believe they ate, and liked, marmite. I've always been in the 'love it' camp, so it was only natural they should eat it too. Besides, watching your baby's face contort with a "what the **** was that???" when they try it for the first time is sweet payback for the sleepless nights. Pretty much whatever I used to spoon into their open mouths they'd love. I just wish I knew when it all changed.
But for now I have to sit back and envy friends who decide what they want to cook and prepare just one meal for the whole family. Or perhaps I should just experiment with the one area of my cooking which is always a success and guaranteed to put a smile on their faces, leaving them wanting more. Broccoli and marmite cupcakes anyone?
Footnote: D1 read this and said "I keep meaning to say, I've gone right off that bacon and chicken pesto thing".
But what tiny amount of skill I had in the kitchen has had the heart and soul ripped out of it by the two gorgeous creatures who share my house, to the point where I now absolutely dread mealtimes. D2 has always been a fussy little horror. She will not touch anything with a sauce (which rules out said spag bol, lasagne, chilli, curry, pie of the shepherd or fish variety, meatballs, pasta bake.... the list goes on). D1, who used to eat everything on the planet except broccoli, has now declared that she's "never liked" all the things she ate as a small child, even jacket potatoes. I mean, who doesn't like jacket potatoes?
It gets worse. With chips as the only exception to the rule, everything that one daughter likes the other professes to hate. Whilst D2 is a tiny carnivore who demolishes any meat put in front of her with the fervour of a sabre tooth tiger regardless of how incinerated her mother makes it (and broccoli), D1 is a wannabe veggie, if she would only give up KFC, bacon and pepperoni pizza.
So my repertoire of meals they will both eat with no or minor variation extends to just four:
- Risotto
- Toad in the hole
- Chicken wrapped in bacon with pesto (omit pesto for D2)
- Roast (D1 has the meat soaked in gravy, D2 - bone dry)
Most nights I cook two options to keep everyone happy. And I rarely experiment. What's the point? I could spend an hour pottering about at the stove, a bit of this, a bit of that, and only have a 50% chance of one of them eating it. To keep my sanity, I've just introduced one night of the week where we have 'freezer surprise'. They choose, I 'cook'. You've got to love Captain Birds Eye.
If you are reading this and thinking "well, she should have been stricter when they were little" I don't blame you, I would say the same. Except I was! They ate a huge variety of foods. D2 doesn't believe me when I tell her she used to eat such outrageous things as butternut squash and sweet potato puree. They both point blank refuse to believe they ate, and liked, marmite. I've always been in the 'love it' camp, so it was only natural they should eat it too. Besides, watching your baby's face contort with a "what the **** was that???" when they try it for the first time is sweet payback for the sleepless nights. Pretty much whatever I used to spoon into their open mouths they'd love. I just wish I knew when it all changed.
But for now I have to sit back and envy friends who decide what they want to cook and prepare just one meal for the whole family. Or perhaps I should just experiment with the one area of my cooking which is always a success and guaranteed to put a smile on their faces, leaving them wanting more. Broccoli and marmite cupcakes anyone?
Footnote: D1 read this and said "I keep meaning to say, I've gone right off that bacon and chicken pesto thing".
Wednesday, 24 November 2010
A sorry tale.
I'm going to massively generalise here. Why is it that we women on the whole feel compelled to apologise, even when it's not our fault? And I do mean genuinely not our fault before any blokes reading this start rolling their eyes and saying "it's never your fault".
One afternoon this week, I was in a narrow one-way street with cars parked on both sides, waiting patiently for the car in front of the car in front to parallel park. There was a queue of traffic behind me and the deed was almost done when <CRUNCH> the car behind went straight into the back of me. I muttered something like 'oh, goodness, what can have happened?' (ok, so there were a few biological and biblical words in there too) and we dutifully pulled into the bus stop to examine the damage. The other driver - yes, it was a woman - jumped out of the car and starting apologising over and over. Now I know you're not supposed to do that in an accident but it did diffuse the situation instantly. Turns out she thought I'd moved off (?). We went to inspect the damage.
Let's just talk cars here for a second - they were both the same colour. Kidding! I know what models they are. I have a dreaded 4x4 though in my defence, it's a very compact and bijou one, while she was driving a Ford Focus. Her car hit mine under the spare wheel on the back. Both of us were rubbing the wheel casing to see if there was any damage and what I thought was a scrape turned out to be dirt. Phew. (Note to self, get the car washed!) Then we turned to look at her car. At the crumpled, dented, paint-chipped bonnet...
As we exchanged details just to be on the safe side she laughed slightly hysterically saying "I can't believe there's not a mark on yours but mine's all bashed up". The bizzare thing is, at this point I went to say "sorry" even though I'd done nothing wrong! Maybe I meant, I'm sorry for your lack of concentration. Or for the fact that my spare wheel was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or for your pain. Or for the pain you'll feel if there's a Mr Ford Focus at home to explain it to (yes, massively generalising again). I just think maybe the reason I felt compelled to apologise was to try and make her feel better plus the fact that I was so relieved my car lived to tell the tale. So maybe sorry wouldn't have been out of place after all. I didn't actually say it though - are you mad? It wasn't my fault!!
One afternoon this week, I was in a narrow one-way street with cars parked on both sides, waiting patiently for the car in front of the car in front to parallel park. There was a queue of traffic behind me and the deed was almost done when <CRUNCH> the car behind went straight into the back of me. I muttered something like 'oh, goodness, what can have happened?' (ok, so there were a few biological and biblical words in there too) and we dutifully pulled into the bus stop to examine the damage. The other driver - yes, it was a woman - jumped out of the car and starting apologising over and over. Now I know you're not supposed to do that in an accident but it did diffuse the situation instantly. Turns out she thought I'd moved off (?). We went to inspect the damage.
Let's just talk cars here for a second - they were both the same colour. Kidding! I know what models they are. I have a dreaded 4x4 though in my defence, it's a very compact and bijou one, while she was driving a Ford Focus. Her car hit mine under the spare wheel on the back. Both of us were rubbing the wheel casing to see if there was any damage and what I thought was a scrape turned out to be dirt. Phew. (Note to self, get the car washed!) Then we turned to look at her car. At the crumpled, dented, paint-chipped bonnet...
As we exchanged details just to be on the safe side she laughed slightly hysterically saying "I can't believe there's not a mark on yours but mine's all bashed up". The bizzare thing is, at this point I went to say "sorry" even though I'd done nothing wrong! Maybe I meant, I'm sorry for your lack of concentration. Or for the fact that my spare wheel was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or for your pain. Or for the pain you'll feel if there's a Mr Ford Focus at home to explain it to (yes, massively generalising again). I just think maybe the reason I felt compelled to apologise was to try and make her feel better plus the fact that I was so relieved my car lived to tell the tale. So maybe sorry wouldn't have been out of place after all. I didn't actually say it though - are you mad? It wasn't my fault!!
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