Wednesday, 25 March 2015

Large vehicle reversing

"WATCH OUT!!!!!!! VEHICLE IS REVERSING!!!!"

A dusty old drain sucking water tank on wheels was trying to reverse around the corner whilst humping over the pavement. I was thinking what use is that silly announcement that spews out of large trucks as they reverse, especially when they are already on the pavement, with some poor old deer hobbling quickly out of the way like an out of control Churchill nodding dog.

Some trucks have a white noise type of hiss to alert you to their manoeuvres, similar to the type of noise your old bedroom TV would make whilst attempting a furious ariel adjustment before Friends came on.

I stood there and wondered what it would be like if there was a regional alternative to the reversing announcements:

London circa 1940's
"I say old chap I am reversing here, could you be an awfully good sport and move out of the way"

Yorkshire
"Aye up, I'm moving lorry over t'road, watch out now, be reet nasty if you got in't way"

Manchester
"hiyogh, I'm movin this truck, innit"

Cheshire
"Watch out now, this vehicle is reversing, please wait, I won't be a moment, many thanks"

Liverpool
"calm down, calm down, it's only a lorry reversing, like"

By the time I'd finished doing all these impressions around my local sainsburys store, I believed I had found a way to make large vehicles more noticeable. Put the announcements in the different regions!!! Imagine, you're just about to cross the road in Liverpool and suddenly you hear a manc lad telling you he's moving a truck, you'd move it sharpish.

So the next time you hear that annoying announcement coming from the back of truck, have a think about what your part of the country, or world would say, and let me know below.

My large vehicle is about reverse into the sofa old chap, chin chin!!









Friday, 13 March 2015

Actual Red Nose Day and PG Tips Monkey

"mummy please don't turn up in your dressing gown.....or your slippers"

I've had the most horrendous lurgy, sent from satan himself, manifested in the 6ft heap of snotty tissues that surround wherever I've been collapsed at that moment of time. Before picking the children up from school solo, I'd joked with the children saying I'd be there but in my dressing gown.

Instead I was wearing my husband's duvet coat as I like to describe it, it goes down to my knees and is super thick, the hood is shaped like I should be on a fishing trawler, it's too big but it's warm and I can hide in it and there's plenty of pockets for tissues.

Talking about tissues, where does all the snot come from?? Only yesterday I had a tissue constantly inserted into my left nostril and was contemplating whether a dragons den style pitch for nose tampons would be a viable business model.

My nose is so red I don't even need a Red Nose for Red Nose Day!!! Tissues and tea have been my life source through the lurgy and PG Tips have come to my rescue and delivered a box of tea, a cute tea set and their cute loveable mascot Monkey. 

Monkey and I shared a tea party to cheer me up and he wanted to tell you that you can help raise money for Comic relief by buying their limited edition packs of PGTips on sale until the end of March.











Friday, 6 March 2015

Blowing champions!

"Basses....up!!!!!"
*nothing moves* 
"basses up!!!!!!" 
*still no movement* 
"GET UP!!!!!"

They sprung up out of their seats, stuck out their chests and continued to stand as we all rose up in turn, like a badly choreographed cheerleading routine. We were a blaze of golden brass and buttons under the stage lights, eyes wider than a rabbit in headlights, heads whipping around to reassure each other that we'd done ourselves proud, a glance at the music that had dominated our lives for the past couple of months, the tempos, the melody, the chords that had become part of our very inner workings. Not only had we breathed together but sometimes all our hearts would miss the same beat together too.

That very moment was when we were announced as North West Area section 3 champions, it felt like slow motion as the echo of the microphone disappeared and was replaced by raptuous yells and cheering, but as I jumped up, arms raised in celebration I quickly remembered that I was absolutely desperately in need of the toilet. I mean the pint of cider before was probably a mistake, but it was nerves and well that's what we do, we perform then sit in the bar until the results, it's a great tradition.

After running up to the stage, raisng the silverware and walking back down, I remembered that I still desperately needed the toilet......so the trophy went to the toilet with me. I was very proud walking in, nods from other players in different bands, silently congratulating me and then I walked into the cubical.....don't worry I washed my hands.

In September we go to compete in the National Finals and I promise I won't take the trophy to the toilet next time. 





Wednesday, 25 February 2015

Tannoy sex and heels

"Ooooooaaaaaahhhh Jeff!" Is what I heard whilst walking around my local morisons this week. 

I'm not sure if the lady attached to this obviously breathless voice, had accidentally hit the tannoy button whist riding Jeff around the managerial office or he'd just put his enormous pay packet on the desk, either way, I nearly walked into the potatoes wondering if Jeff had remembered his erm...jacket.

I've unfortunately slipped into buying a bit of shopping everyday because I've forgotten to do the online shop, so at some point during the day I decide what is for dinner and I go out and get it, dull, dull, dull. 

On Tuesday night I didn't get home until 7:30pm after leaving the office at 5pm thanks to a barrage of city fans clogging up the tram going to watch them lose against Barcelona. In fact I'm happy they lost because not one of them let me get on the tram, they all raced forward and pushed passed all the regular commuters to go watch their precious game. Did I mentioned that they lost? HA!

Yesterday was another busy day leaving the house at 7am and not getting home until 10pm and I did all that in heels, which for me is a big deal. I mean I like heels and I enjoy wearing them but I'll always choose a comfy shoe over them. I tend to eye them up and think how lovely they look, then I imagine myself walking like a newborn deer after my toes have gone numb, but I thought to myself that I should glam up a bit for the office as I'm an adult, so I put my trusty pumps to one side and swapped them for heeled ankle boots.

I have to admit, I had more of a strut in my step and it was nice trotting around, coffee in hand, hair in the wind etc but by 8pm at band I really wanted to be in my pumps and comfy clothes, although I quite enjoyed blowing my instrument in heels, it's not as naughty as it sounds....honest.

Next week, I will do an online shop.....I wonder if Jeff managed to empty his basket......









Thursday, 19 February 2015

Seducing a snood and being late for everything

I popped up out of bed on Monday morning like a jack in a box on speed. I was so organised that I could have had backing music as I gathered my car keys and walked out my front door.

And that's where it ended,

the wind blew torrential rain in my face and I wrestled with my brolly to the car, my satchel got caught in my brolly handle and I turned around and around like a dog chasing its tail, finally I closed the car door, peeled my hair out of my face and wiped my glasses on my jeans.

As I started my pilgrimage to the tram the wind picked up, It was freezing, the tram stop is unnaturally cold, as soon as you step on the ramp it is basically Antarctica, my knees begin to knock, my fingers turn blue and time goes that little bit slower waiting for the metallic snail to turn up.

But it didn't turn up, in fact nothing arrived for 50 minutes and in that time frostbite had set in and my patience had frozen with my face. I had a train to catch which I had missed and in fact I had spent the past five minutes wondering if I could get away with beating the tram driver with my brolly and claiming that I had quite unfortunately lost my mind from hyperthermia.

Fortunately I didn't act out my brolly vengeance but I'd missed my train so I used my train app to find the next departure, I can't read the departure board, I have the eyesight of a naked mole rat and I make the same face as the mole rat whilst squinting at the board, but as I looked to my left I saw a very red, wooly snood giving me the eye.

Oh yes he was pretty, very thick, looking nice and snug, and matched my top perfectly, but how much was he........oh on the sale are you? Ah ha.......yes.....well just let me touch you........oh my you are warm.....and soft........and only £8.50.......you tease......but my train.....I have to go.......wait....you want to come with me........well ok then.......

So I bought it and popped it over my head, it was glorious.

I was late for everything......... The trams were late all day, I was late for work, for uni and when I finished uni I was late for band rehearsal.

No big deal you're thinking........yeah no that in fact was the worst thing to be late for.

I arrived with my poor friends who had driven me because as discussed before I have the vision of a naked mole rat, it's always a bad sign when the band is already playing..........I was summoned to the stage in a manner that could only be described as a child being directed to the naughty step, there was pointing, the disappointed glare and my personal favourite parenting tactic, the tone of voice........

The stage is pretty high and I had to stand on a chair to get the leverage onto the stage, I have tiny legs and the balance of a drunken clown, it was touch and go whether I could make it up there, I'd already contemplated not going up but the second request to get on the stage was worst than the first and to be honest I'm not sure where the naughty step is in the bandroom......

Anyway it was ugly, not the conductor, but the atmosphere was, I mean how could the trams cause so much trouble, I paid £6.50 for the displeasure of travelling on them for the day, at least my snood was happy, that enjoyable piece of neck decoration is now my favourite thing to wear. Maybe being late isn't always such a bad thing but if it happens again next Monday.........that tram driver better be prepared for my umbrella!!!!! 


Wednesday, 11 February 2015

School run

Sometimes I look at the clock when it approaches 2:30pm and we have a little blackmailing game. I ask it to make time go slowly and let me enjoy another half hour of warmth and tea drinking and I promise it a new juicy double A Duracell battery. It looks back at me, gives me two fingers and I look up at it again and it's 3pm......great.

Before you run at me with pitchforks and placards declaring that I don't wanting to see my children or I'm a "selfish hag" I do actually like the company of my own spawn but I hate the school run.

For instance today, it's freezing and I stride down to the school in my woolliest clothes and my wellibobs from Joules, they are without the doubt the warmest footware to own, with their fleeced lining and watertightness that can only be comparable to a ducks bottom. 

Whilst trying to find the optimal position away from everyone else in the playground, I look up, and I hear the tinny sound of a mobile phone playing very crap rave music. I expect it to be some hooded yoof but to my surprise it's an adult, an adult that looks like they're off their tits on something provided by a friend's car boot. In fact, on second glance, this adult's face looks as vacant as a Blackpool B&B in Winter.

I get lots of different lectures at school , the recent one is about not providing enough spare clothes for my son, he....well....sharts a lot at school and finds it hard to do a number two anywhere but home so I take in stuff but sometimes I forget to re-stock, and I get the "talk" which always makes me feel like crap mother number one........but hang on........I get taken to one side for not providing enough equipment for shartageddon but, off-my-face-rave parent can stagger into the school and leave without even a passing glance.

Once I was pulled into school because my very smart eldest daughter figured out if she told the breakfast club teacher that her, too-lazy-to-do-anything-but-make-cups-of-tea-and-write mother, had not given her breakfast, she could in fact have endless free toast....every morning. This was highly embarrassing when the teacher pulled me to one side ready to have social services rescue my poor starving children, to find out that they all have breakfast every morning made by us, and when I asked the teacher if she was getting free food and she mumbled yes........I sort of did the maths and clever child was then found out, hats off to her though for using the old noodle, no one can resist hot toast though.

Anyway back to the freezing playground, one by one my chicks come to me all happy which I love and then we leave the school gates and suddenly the pavement is like the M60 at 8am, we crawl up the hill dodging the dog muck, undertaking the wobbly legged toddlers, walk through the fag smoking mums who are swatting their children with their other free hand, we walk even faster past the over-parenting mums who are vocalising their after school schedule of free play and "we already got you a video game and a comic yesterday you spoilt sausage *insert tittering shit laugh here*" finally it's the crossing where my son decides that is it and he won't hold my hand and lies on the floor like a bag of abandoned spuds.

I pick him up, hoisting him onto my hip with the flow of school traffic still pushing us onwards, if we slow down we are sure to be caught up in crap-rave-B&B adult's walk, which is a good mix between Captain Jack Sparrow and a zombie. Finally we're on our street, which is quiet and I let us in our house and I collapse on the sofa and swig the remaining drops of my tea, ready for tomorrow's round of school runs, I'm exhausted just thinking about it.





  


Tuesday, 10 February 2015

Catching chickens with boxing gloves

Parenting at the moment has been a bit like catching five chickens, blindfolded whilst wearing boxing gloves.

I mean, each one runs off in a different way, clucks differently, clucks louder than the others, one doesn't like the way one clucks and I'm running, with my too big Wellington boots on, like I'm wearing someone else's but still trying my best, slipping and sliding in the mud, my legs are now moving too fast, I'm leaning forward with mud splashing everywhere and then bam........I'm face down in the mud, with my skirt over my head, wondering how on earth I can bring a little bit of order to my chicks.

I'm at the beginning of my second week back at university, and I can admit that I hopelessly lost my heart to my course. I love being there, I love learning, I love my course, my friends, I even love the building - I know I've got it bad but I do feel a massive sense of guilt feeling like this.

Sometimes I come home with such a feeling of achievement and then I see the children, shaken and bewildered as their routine has been bulldozed by me not being around as much. Now it could be argued that my last sentence was a bit over exaggerated, after all they need to get used to me in a full time job next year, but I see their tired little faces, their grumpy pouts and I feel bad.

But then daddy goes to work and they certainly make up for any time I've missed and unfortunately it mostly involves me standing in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea as I try to rustle up the energy to try and catch the chicks. 

So the dance begins again, and afterwards  I slump into the armchair and wonder what on earth will tomorrow bring, a mixture over excitement over my work, my course and keeping the coup happy..........maybe I need a different method to round up my chicks, or I need to find my own Wellington boots.