Nutter in Fforestfach Tescos, Swansea...

Funny little incident that made me look like the local nutter walking round Tescos this afternoon...

I was sauntering up the rice and pasta aisle, and a family were wandering down in the opposite direction. Dad was at the front, towing a 3 year old girl along, and mum was pushing the trolley about 5 or so feet behind them, gazing at the shelves. As I passed them, the man said back to his wife, enthusiastically, "Oh, d'ya know...the BOXING is on telly tonight!!!" I glanced at the wife as he said this, and her face said it all:

WOOP DEEE DOOOO!

But of course her beloved couldn't see this, and she actually replied, trying to sound keen (but I knew better...!) "Oh right. What side?"

(Wasn't she nice!)

I laughed all the way up that aisle, and all the way back down the next one.

Mamma mia! Here I go again...

Chick flick, chick flick, chiiiiiiick fliiiiiiick...and so if you're a guy and reading this, the chances are you won't agree with my chicky opinion. What-EV-A.

Mamma Mia has definitely been my film of Summer 2008. The first excursion to see it was with Michelle, my 2nd counsellor in the Primary presidency. Our fatal flaw? We didn't book. When we got to the cinema on Port Talbot seafront (yes, it DOES have a seafront...beware of the foam in the sea though...) it was completely and utterly sold out, with lots of middle-aged women out on the razz, milling around the foyer. Pff! So we dashed over to Bridgend, and it was sold out there too. We ended up dejectedly sitting on a bench, eating our munchies (the cinema ones are just TOO expensive to buy donchafink?), yapping and gazing at the ocean and the sunset over Swansea Bay and Mumbles lighthouse.

The tide was almost in to the tippy top of the beach when we suddenly became aware of a man who had walked down the steps onto the sand and was paddling out to sea. Were we witnessing a suicidal cry for help (for anyone who actually touches the sea in Port Talbot certainly has a death wish in my opinion)? No no.

He then...straddled.

"Gah! That's disGUSting!" snorts Michelle. We couldn't physically SEE the wee, but we knew it was there (putting ALL gospel analogies firmly to the side on that one). Then, can you believe it, literally 3 minutes later another bloke descends the steps and starts to paddle out to sea as well. Seriously...do men just see the sea and think "Ooo, a great big toilet!"?? As he came up the steps and past our bench, I remarked, "Did you flush?" He laughed.

So, instead of watching Mamma Mia, we got to watch men pee in the sea instead. Lucky, lucky us.

I've spent the last two-and-a-half weeks back in Reading, housesitting for my friends, the Pines, (who were on holiday in Nevada/Utah/NY)and also working, because I can actually get work there. More about that in a sec. Because I was around, I spent time with some friends I rarely get to see, and Mamma Mia featured heavily on the list of things to do. Trip number 2 to see the movie was with my mate Christina who desperately wanted to go "cos Andy will NEVER go with me to see THAT!" Well, what a HOOT. We both just LOVED this movie and it was all we could do to sit still in our seats during 'Dancing Queen'...major furtive singing going on in row E I'm telling you. We later found out that the following week they were having a 'Mamma Mia Singalong' showing, where we could have indulged our bridled passions...but Christina was going on holiday that weekend.

However, the following week another friend returned from holiday and so we trotted off to the singalong performance last Saturday night. I was a tad concerned that it would be us and then maybe two other women in the whole theatre, singing at the tops of our lungs, making right prannies of ourselves, but it turned out well in the end. I can honestly say I've never sung and danced (yes, danced) in a cinema theatre before...until now...!

I returned to Wales a couple of days ago and got talking about the film with my friend Ann who hadn't seen it. Spontaneously later, we were in the Swansea Vue with her sister too, singing away. There was plenty of dancing going on at the end again too...the ushers always look mighty amused! LOL

So...viewing number 3 and I think I can say I am now officially a FAN.

The things I love about this film? Well, the music of course. I loved ABBA then and I love them now. What great songs! Dancing Queen has to be the highlight fun song of the whole movie, but the song Donna (Meryl Streep) sings about her daughter growing up is sooooooo moving, and then 'The Winner Takes it All' just has me in proper proper tears (it's a bit close to home...). Her acting is outstanding in that scene. I also looooooove the scenery. Just makes me want to leap on a plane and go to Greece again. Gorgeous. And I particularly love the stag night scene, when all of Sky's friends are in snorkel masks and flippers on the jetty...I guffaw with laughter every time.

Anyway...

I got to work for a week at a property and construction consultants in Theale, which was a handy location cos it takes less than 15 minutes to get there from Burghfield Common. It's a shame I only completely mastered the backroads route on my last day...! LOL It was a lovely company...very friendly...and I actually got to use my brain a little bit. In fact, I put in place a new system for completing one of the main tasks because I worked out it could be done more quickly and efficiently than the current process. A couple of the surveyors remarked on how organised I was and I was chuffed to mintballs on the last day when the girl at my agency told me that the company were really "impressed" with my work there and "please please please let us know if you're back in Reading again, and need some work!" The irony of it is that the two secretarial jobs I've applied for in Swansea have both told me I don't have enough experience to do the job. What a pile of bigoted poo. I don't have the right accent to do the job more like. Pah.

So now my dilemma is...shall I move back to Reading? Comments welcome.

Ginger's Nuts

I'm going to castrate my cat. And that's not a metaphor.

Our cat, Gingernut...so named by darling daughter, despite the fact that he's not ginger (although he does have a nut...or two. But not for much longer...)...where was I...our cat, Gingernut is a big bag of heaving testosterone. He is, I am sure, quite the stud muffin on our estate. Long legs, markings to die for, and a good line in chat-up purrs. Grrrrowwwl. However, either (a) other toms in the neighbourhood are green with jealousy or (b) the female felines are having none of 'it'. Whichever it is, he keeps getting into set-tos with them and coming home with various problems.

The first, back in the spring, was a weepy eye full of conjunctivitis. This had me trotting to the animal hospital with him and discovering that our local vet is THE most stunning 6' something Italian with beautiful green eyes and an accent that made me go weak at the knees. And really really lovely too...not smarmy "bella, bella". Truly gorgeous. All the powers of writing I can muster cannot begin to describe the things that man did to me. Mighty mighty fine. I think I booked 3 return appointments (JUST to make sure the eye was definitely alright of course). I nearly developed a serious case of Munchausen's Syndrome by Feline Proxy, trying to work out what on earth I could do to get the cat back to the vet on a regular basis. However, forty odd quid later... and I was cured.

Then Sir Gingernut Catchmouse (if you want his full title) came home with a great big scar above his left ear, which I bathed and kept clean and hoped would heal of its own accord, cos even the Italian couldn't sway me to spend another forty quid that I haven't got. It did go, and the bald patch is now growing fur again, thankfully.

But then he came home with a limpy foot. He'd cut the pad on one of his hind feet and was moving around mostly on three legs. *sigh* This one couldn't be ignored I thought...he could have broken it for all I knew. But we were looking at that £40 again, absolute minimum, so this time I contacted the PDSA who are a veterinary charity that will treat pets for next to nothing, if you're on council tax benefit, which I am.

So, off we went this morning. Well...what an experience.

As I arrived in the car park, there were two women parking and stepping out of their car, both smoking, with a little girl in the car with them. 2 years old...possibly 3. AND one of the women was heavily pregnant as well.

Then as I queued at reception, a dog behind us went for Gingernut's cat-basket, and when I looked round to see what had just pushed me, the man who owned the dog glaaaaaared at me like it was my fault. Eh?!

Then I had to deal with Attila the Hun *read ' receptionist'* who was speaking to everyone like they'd just peed on her children or something.

Then I had the joy of sitting next to a couple whose dog kept farting the stinkiest farts you've ever encountered. They smelt exactly like dog poo...well, they would wouldn't they?

Then that couple went into a consulting room, and another family sat down, and the mum was moaning at the dad quite loudly because the dad wanted to hit their son (a grown up son, but hey...).

And then, to top off this cornucopia of delights (and I would just like to remind everyone that I am a redhead)...the door on the furthest side of this jam-packed waiting room opened, and the vet calls out "Mrs Willicombe - Gingernut?!" And as I stood and walked across the room, there was audible giggling.

Marvellous.

And just to add a little more to the ordeal, I had to deal with Attila again, who actually, physically dismissed me with a wave of her hand. And I'd just put a donation in their blummin' box 'n' all!!!!

So all of these scrapes he keeps getting into because of his hormones are stopping right now! They're coming off boy, they're coming off.

Holy bin bags Robin! Let's get to the Batmobile and find a hazlenut hot chocolate...and fast!! Kapow!

A couple of times a year the people in charge of the stake primary children (a 'stake' is a group of 'wards' in the church...a ward is a congregation, usually one or possibly two wards to a town...well, in Britain anyway. More like 200 wards per town in Utah! LOL)... where was I? Oh yes...the people in charge of the primary children in a stake organise an activity day and today was the day when Merthyr Stake did theirs, and in Swansea, happily enough (read *I didn't have to travel far*). The remit was for the children to arrive in their favourite super-hero costume.

Now. As I am (a) not exactly flush with wealth at the moment and (b) completely useless at all things sewing, unless you count cross-stitch, and let's face it, no one does...I was a bit panicky about the whole superhero outfit thing. Especially as Celyn wanted to be Bat Girl and that was that. But then my mate Debbie said the immortal words "bin bags" to me. Holy bin juice Robin! That's a fantastic suggestion! So, I gathered all the relevant materials, got Celyn's 'good at such things' daddy in on the act (see...I'm an organiser...this is my forte!) and hey presto, one Bat Girl dress, belt, cape and mask. Cost? Next to nothing. Ha!

Parents milled around yapping and helping out a bit until lunchtime, when we were told, basically, to naff off (the children had a 'secret mission' to complete). So I suggested to the Wigglesworths and Michelle who I'd been chatting to that we all nip off to Starbucks up the road for a lovely hot chocolate. I am, of course, a genius.

Can I just say that I had a ball! We sat around on comfy chairs, drank hazlenut hot chocolate with whipped cream, consumed a cream-cheese frosted cinnamon roll (or two), talked about grown-up stuff and chilled out. Bliss. I have known Matt Wigglesworth for about 12 years and I love him to bits (we used to hang out all the time as students and of course I know his cousins and aunt and uncle from living in Reading). And I'm just getting to know his wife Sara but have to say, he picked a good'un! She's lovely! And am also just getting to know Michelle but like her immensely too.

We chatted so long we were 10 or 15 minutes late back picking up our kids. Ha ha ha ha ha ha...bad parents, bad parents.

Thank you for a lovely day guys xxx

So, here's something that's been rumbling around in my thoughts...

Who recognises the photo I've attached? No, it wasn't taken on my last holiday to Lanzarote, you silly fools...it's from a film. Close Encounters of the Third Kind (and if you didn't know the answer to that, you actually ARE an alien...seriously, where have you been?) Classic Spielberg.

Well, it was on telly last weekend. I happened to catch it as it started and that was that...I thought, "Ooo, good film. Haven't watched this for aaaaaages" and planted myself in a rooted position on the sofa. Proper potato of the couch variety.

And it IS a good film, there's no denying it. The scenes at the end when the big mother spaceship arrives are fantastic (I don't think I have to put a 'spoilers' warning on this post...I mean, the film was made in 1977 for pity's sake). But something that happens in the last scene just tickled me.

Ok. Richard Dreyfuss...he's obsessed by the aliens. He's seen the little flying saucers. He keeps building mountains. He loses the plot. His wife and kids go to her sisters to escape his lunacy. He drives to Oregon. Or was it Washington? Anyway...he drives to find the mountain. Blah blah blah. So also does the woman whose son was taken by them in an earlier scene (can you imagine if that was your child????!!!!!). At the end the aliens arrive in STYLE, return a bunch of people they've taken over the last 30 something years, and then are offered other humans to take with them. Dreyfuss puts himself forward.

See, here he is. He's being taken by the aliens aboard the spaceship. They seem a friendly bunch. No hair or clothes,but hey ho...pretty much like half the people sunbathing on beaches in the Med.

And off he goes. Into the unknown. Cue credits and very well known theme music.

And I start MUTTERING! Blummin' typical MAN! "Ooo, I feel like abandoning earth and going off with aliens because, coo, that'd be an adventure wouldn't it? And I wanna, I wanna!" Nooooo thought at ALL about his wife, his four (yes, 1, 2, 3, 4) children, not to mention any other family we may not have seen in the film. He wanted to do it, so off he blummin' well went. Absolutely blummin' typical! Selfish to the core! I am telling you, there is not a woman on this earth that would have abandoned her children to get on some spaceship with aliens just for the adventure. It's true, isn't it?

And if there was, we'd all despise her.

Well...it's still a great film...and the music's fab *doo dee doo daa daaaaaaa*...but I think Close Encounters II needs to be made when he comes back and sorts out his family life! Ha!

And therein concludes my brain rumblings.

Man on a White Charger...Come Rescue Me!

Well, I have finished marking. 300 papers later and it seems odd every evening NOT to be sitting down to a pile of children's writing. Some great spelling errors in my last batch too...the 'rowman' catholic church, or 'in gou ball' (enjoyable!) or "parrenjrs" (power rangers!) or "it's like doing cat willes" (cartwheels!!!) ...see what I mean about having that seer stone? Anyway...life's never completely free from things to do (hardly!) but I thought I would blog now that I have some time.

I was very disappointed with the company who gave me the marking though. They had said I would "definitely" get another batch to mark (read *I will earn more money* which I certainly could use right now...oh I so so could). And on Monday when I'd sent my final papers in a day early, I rang to ask when the next lot would arrive and they said that I hadn't been allocated any after all. Big sloppy steaming poo on a big fat stick.

I also applied for another 5 jobs last week (Friday was, as they say, 'mental' trying to get 2 job applications in that hadn't even been started that morning...mental I tell thee). Earlier in the week I'd had to nip over to a school about 15 minutes' drive from my house to pick up 2 application forms for infant and junior teaching positions going begging (for a newly qualified 'cheap' teacher who's male and plays the piano, no doubt...). It took me another whole 15 minutes just to find the school (AA Routefinder sucks) and then their car park consisisted of a narrow piece of land adjacent to their fence, with lots of gravel and then their school field. When I parked down there, I realised that actually it was closer to the school office to park on the road round the other side. So I started up the car and began to back out of my space. The back wheels of the car reversed onto the field a bit, but hey ho, no biggie.

Or so I thought.

What I did not realise was that the first foot or so of the field, where it met the car park, was actually a little ridge...a ridge of exactly the height of the undercarriage of my car. Think see-saw. Think balancing. Think wheels spinning round and the car not moving, neither forwards nor backwards.

I began to wonder what I might do, deary deary me, what a predicament, goodness gracious.

Just as I was about to call Green Flag, a gorgeous man on a white steed came galloping around the corner. Oh...alright then...a man who worked for the council and had a white pickup truck came back to his van for a piece of equipment. "Er...help!" I said. He rolled his eyes and said, "I'll come back with my mates...hang on" (probably thinking, "silly mare" as he walked off). The peripatetic French teacher then turned up (just finished her classes for the day in that school and was getting into her car) and admitted that she'd done the self-same thing the week before so that made me feel better...and I got to yap to her in French which was super chouette (she was actually French...we weren't both being pretentious I have to point out...).

And then 3 tanned, muscly, good looking men all turned up to shove me off the ridge, so who's a silly mare NOW then!? Heh! "Helloooo chaps!" is what I was thinking, let me tell you. "Oh dear, I seem to have dropped my hanky as well boys" did also cross my mind. Well, when I walked into the school office I was just giggling all the way. Being rescued had sent me into a girly-girly state of giddy delight! I did mention my dilemma to the school secretaries because I just knew not one person from the school was watching me keeping calm under pressure. Surely that alone was worth an interview? Eh? Eh?

Anyway...those five job applications last week consisted of numbers 33 to 37 in my list of jobs applied for. My friend Mary has bet me a fiver that I will have a job by the middle of September. My response to that was "A FIVER!!!!? A FIVER!!!? That is such a SKANK bet! Come on Mary...make it worth my time!" But no...a fiver is all that's on the table. Ah well...I can spend it on some new ink to print out more applications. Oh wait...A FIVER ISN'T REMOTELY ENOUGH!!! *rolls eyes*

More amusement from children...

I am currently marking children's English tests...which is why I haven't blogged very much for ages, as every spare second I'm reading their papers. It's not always very easy. Unlike maths or science where the answers are mostly just right or wrong (but not always, before anyone starts moaning at me) you have to look at their writing and draw out all kinds of information to level their work. You need a very sound knowledge of grammar just for starters, and also a seer stone wouldn't come amiss sometimes--my mind boggles on occasion just trying to decipher their writing or dodgy spelling, bless 'em. But sometimes the sentences they write make me chuckle or raise my eyebrows in amusement or sometimes just make me guffaw out loud. You can also tell when the teacher's been giving them a lecture about, for example, using better adjectives...when they actually include the lecture as part of their "fun, exciting, interesting and nice" writing! Ha!

Anyway, my favourite things said so far...writing about a game of 'Ponies' as a playground game: "...and you tell them to candter - means run slow, tort - means jog, and gaoopla - means sprint" Gaoopla???! LOL!!! And I thought a tort was a pie...just shows you. Or there was a kid who said that most ponies are girls. Uh huh. If you say so. They must all fight something terrible over lone pony-boy.

And then there have been some funnies written about doing a treasure hunt too, like the kid who said the treasure should be a whoopie cushion (parp! Hands up who thinks this child is a boy?) or someone who said that for their treausre hunt they would invite the Queen and let the Head Teacher go free (Ach, you're sure now? Very kind) and make sure Security are with the Head all the time (can you just see the two big burly, skinhead, sunglass-wearing guards following the Head round the school?). In fact, this child said he would "make sure" the queen would come and (this was my favourite bit) "make a posh people area." Can I be in the posh people area?! I'll throw my teddy out of the pram if I'm not in there! Bet the Queeeeeeen gets to go in there (I heard she was being made to come you know) *sulk*

Of course, not all children are so generous. One kid said that whoever found the treasure then had to give the treasure back to the person who the stuff belonged to. What a crap treasure hunt! Of course, if the Queeeeen was there and I was in that posh area, I might still be swayed to attend....

Another child made sure that people understood that during this treasure hunt "...if a child runs away they will not do it." Absolutely. No running away! Of course, we could always pen them in the posh area.... And one child was very concerned about those security guards not doing their job properly as they said that we should bring a knife in case a big giant bug might attack and we shouldn't be silly either because we might wake up the werewolves. However, they also said that if you believe in magic it will come true. Perhaps they could magic the bugs and werewolves away then, instead of resorting to violence?

And then there are some fabulous spelling mistakes--"plarm trees" and drinking "coonut" milk. Nummy. Coonuts! My favourite. I wonder if the Queen likes coonuts?

But my absolute, 100%, Number 1 favourite made-me-pee-my-pants answer was a kid who was asked: How can you make a treasure hunt more interesting for the treasure-hunters?

And their reply?

"Sell it on e-bay"

I laughed SO hard for a whole minute!! I wanted to give the child a mark just for making me howl!

I still have a few more tests to go before I'm done marking, so this post may very well have a Round 2. Meanwhile, I'm off for a gaoopla down to the kitchen for some coonut milk.

Have you ever felt Mother Guilt?

Oh I had the most wonderful thing happen to me today. I was just loading these photos and whilst waiting for them to do their thing, I thought about it all over again and my heart just filled with love for that child of mine. So...this is what happened.

I had spent all this morning in my office filling out a job application that needed to be in today. It takes forever to hand-write those blessed forms, and then another age to type a good application letter, each one being tailored to suit the requirements of the job in question. I was nearly there...neatly filled out pages on the desk next to me (along with a pile of English tests I'm marking) ...just jiggling with the last paragraph of the letter on the computer. When suddenly I become aware of my 5 year old, Celyn at my elbow. At the same moment as I turned to see her, I also became aware of a cup of juice spilling...spilling...spilling. All over the marking. All over the application forms. All over the floor. So...what's my very very first reaction?

Hands up all you mummy's out there. Come on, hands up. What's my first reaction? Yes, yes...you. You at the back...what's the answer?

Thaaaaaaaat's riiiiiight.

I yelled.

"CELYN!!!!!"

At which point there are two or three heartwrenching sobs and she puts down the paper plate she'd been carrying (and unfortunately balancing a cup on...no wonder it had spilled) and runs bawling from the room.

It is at this point I realise that the plate had on it a sandwich. A cheese sandwich. She had, without any help whatsoever and no prompt whatsoever except her good natured and loving heart...Made. Me. Lunch.

Okay. All you mummy's out there. How would YOU feel in that situation? Just to recap...your sweet little 5 year old has independently made you lunch and you've reacted by yelling at her. Yes, yes...you on the far left...what do you think?

Thaaaaaat's riiiiiight.

I felt CRAP.

For the first time EVER in her life, she had had the ability (perhaps not the first time ever of having the inclination, but the ability) to get the step stool, reach all the right ingredients and do something lovely for her mummy without being asked or helped in any way. And I had been talking to her last week or the week before about how I feel a bit sad sometimes because I'm the responsible adult in the house...running around after her and my mum all the time...and no one does stuff for me. And she had obviously remembered that.

Oh I was so mortified. I had YELLED at her!!!! Bad bad bad bad BAD mother!

I quickly rescued the marking (good grief, that WAS a panic...that's official work!!! However, it was slightly damp on the bottom edge...nothing too bad) and my application (only the back page had to be redone...no biggie) and ran after her downstairs. Poor lamb, she was crying fit to break. Oh I hugged her and hugged her and told her how very much that lovely act of kindness had meant to me, and I apologised and said I was in the wrong, and told her how wonderful she was. And when she stopped crying she said,

"I couldn't cut slices of the cheese, so I had to use lumps." On checking in the kitchen, she'd even used one of her Ikea plastic knives, cos she knows she shouldn't play with metal ones.

I love her soooooo much. It was the most delicious cheese sandwich I ever ate...even if it was lumpy. And I had to get my own juice.

Bus

I teach in Primary at church. If you've never set foot across the threshold of an LDS chapel (and for pity's sake, why not!? LOL), Primary is our children's organisation...we have Sunday School type classes, and activities (Sunday and otherwise) for children aged 18 months to 12 years (when they go into the youth programme). So, my current roles at church are to lead the music (which I love) and to teach the Sunbeams--the 3 year olds. I have three regular children. They're just starting to get to know me and do more than stare at me with big wide eyes during the lessons. Always a bonus.

Well, today this is how it went. The lesson was 'I Am Grateful for Animals.' We talked about the creation, and I had brought in a lovely book all about animals (praise be all things Dorling Kindersley) which we spent ages looking at and talking about (yes, that animal would probably bite you Luke. Yes, and that one. Yes, and that one. Yes, and that one. My, you're obsessed with animals biting you eh? Yes, and that one...). And we decided what noises each of the animals made ("RRRRRRAAAAAAAGGHHH"--my word boys, that lion roar was very loud wasn't it?) And then I taught them about all the things that animals give us. Wool for example...and we sang Baa Baa Black Sheep. Or feathers for our pillows (and no, Jake, feathers don't come off a fish...no Jake, don't stick that there...feathers don't come off a fish). Or we get eggs from chickens (yum yum) or we get milk and hence yogurt and cheese from cows (no Luke, that big brown animal there, that's a cow...that's not a sheep. No Luke, honestly, that's a cow). So I bought in some yogurt to taste (they had two tastes actually cos it was popular). And I bought in some cheese to eat too. And then Jake said (with the accent and everything)--

"More cheese Grommit!"

And I wet my pants. Honestly, I think actual wee did come out.

Peeve...

Had a brief shopping trip to the delight that is Tescos supermarket earlier this evening. And I would just like to say, 'fajita' is not pronounced fa-JEE-ta. It is pronounced fa-hee-ta!! HEEEEEEEEEE people, HEEEEEEEEEEE. And, while I'm at it, tortilla is not tor-TILL-uh. It is tor-tee-uh.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Why do these things always happen to me...?

Back from a weekend that entailed mostly a trip to London Temple (down in Lingfield, Surrey if you don't know it). It is SUCH the trek from this part of the country (4+ hours...which is of course a short journey compared to some people, I know, I know, I know...but when you've grown up in Reading where it's a case of just over an hour and you're being smiled at by temple workers in white, it is a BIG DEAL!).

So, Celyn and I stayed at Rob and Kate's on Friday night (which is already 1 hour closer for me), Kate, Celyn and I headed over to Cardiff to pick up Gil and Eleanor on Saturday morning, and then 1 1/2 hours later we dropped Celyn off with the Pine family in Reading so she could play with Zoe all day (which she loved of course) and grabbed some breakfast munchables in Sainsbury's. Then 1 1/2 hours later (because of car-park traffic on the M25 at one point) we arrived at the temple. Which was, by the way, heaving busy that day.

So. So far so good. Par for the course. And the weather was lush.

As we walk up the corridor upon arriving, some men appeared around a corner heading towards us, and among their number was Bob Turney, an old and dear friend from Reading. I always love to see people down there that I know, so in my usual gregarious manner, I said, "Heeellooooo!!!", held my arms out wide, and we gave each other a big hug. As I was unclasping him, I said, "Oh, is Sue here as well!?" (his lovely wife), and then... and only then... I looked into his face up close for the first time.

This was not Bob at all.

This was a man that looked like Bob. But indeed, was not Bob.

The man who looked like Bob replied "Er, no..." to my request after his wife Sue (who is probably not...let's face it...Sue) and scarpered up the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him.

I, on the other hand, scurried off into the women's changing area after Kate and (completely forgetting myself because I was sooooo utterly mortified) practically YELLED across the room, "Kate!" to get her attention (because in the temple one should be speaking in reverent and calm whispers). Oh noooo, not me. I yelled. After accosting a total stranger.

So. If you happen to know a man who looks a bit like this man (who definitely is the real Bob), who is a Latter-day Saint and who is now regailing you with stories about a nutter redhead woman who obviously embraces people willy-nilly (and who probably needs glasses), then please apologise on my behalf. I really was horribly embarrassed and had already decided if I saw him anywhere else that day I was going to dive off into the nearest room. And if you were in the changing room and heard me yelling, I again would like to offer my heartfelt sorries *sigh*.

As my friend Debbie said when I told her yesterday, "If someone had told me that story without saying who it was that it had happened to, and then asked me who they thought had done this ridiculous thing, I would absolutely have guessed you." *sigh*

Funny thing happened on the way home though. Eleanor (who is 20) is getting married in July, so (as you do) we were chatting with her about all the plans, and we were asking about her dress. She said the bridal shop had been great, but "one dress they made me try on...eeeuuw! It made me look...well, it made me look 25 or 26!!!" "25!!!?" Gil and I said simultaneously. "Oh my goodness...25!!!? Where is this dress and can I have one??!!!!" Love her.

The temple was...difficult. It's where Danny proposed (kneeling on the bridge over the pond). It's where we were married on a beautiful summer's evening. It's where we went when we were agonising over being able to have a child (after 2 miscarriages) and received a good deal of inspiration on the matter. It's a place that's all about eternal families. So perhaps you can understand when I admit I did have a weep when I was there and the visit has actually left me feeling quite blue. I enjoyed the journey with friends, I loved seeing the Pines and Samara in Reading on Saturday, albeit fairly briefly, and I enjoyed staying at the Gilmours. But although I know I should go to the temple, it has such strong and emotional memories for me, I don't know how to overcome those feelings I now get of inadequacy and failure, which are multiplied a hundredfold by being there. And then I feel guilty for feeling like that. Any thoughts anyone?

Blogging and Scrapbooking

I read a website called Mormon Mommy Wars. It's good. And often very funny. They discuss the every-day nonsense that is motherhood. Well... being-a-woman-hood actually. With an LDS twist to the mix.

Today's post was really interesting to me and will be to a lot of you out there too, as it was entitled 'Blogging vs. Scrapbooking or Excuse Me While I Navel Gaze.' The writer's basic premise is (her views, not mine) that in scrapbooking life is pretty-pretty and unrealistic (no poo, no horribly grubby children...unless you're pointing out how cute they are with baked beans all over their hair, no drama about your menstrual cycle...just happy families doing happy things on sunshiny/autumnul/snowy days. Happy. Happy happy happy). Whereas in blogging we tend to write about our children having the screaming ab-dabs in the middle of the supermarket (and how we wanted to just abandon them in the frozen peas section, to be brought up by wolves or gypsies or whoever), or how your mother-in-law is driving you nuts (and that you think she actually was brought up by wolves). The writer of said article says, "Basically, scrapbooks are there to show you the shiny stuff. Blogging is there to show you the poop."

The whole post is right here for you to read in its entirety.

*Taking on a Marge Simpson voice* Mmmmm...I don't agree (now there's a surprise...).

I did leave a lengthy reply to her post (now there's another surprise...) in which I said that as someone who a) Enjoys the creativity of writing through a blog and b) Enjoys the creativity of scrapbooking (oh yes I do!)…they are BOTH expressions through graphic design, art, photography, family history, and creative writing all mooshed together. And for me, anything grimy and gritty is fair game for both blogging and scrapbooking, as long as it doesn’t hurt someone…I just will NOT go into bitching about people in an unkind way anywhere on the internet. It’s not the place (in my mind). Bun fights in public? Nuh uh. They make the thrower of buns look like Trash. With a capital T. (I so want to write 'White Trash' there but then all the white trash people would be offended and wouldn't that be ironic...)

But I would and do blog about illness and I scrapbook about illness. I blog about bad moods, and I scrapbook about bad moods. I blog my opinions about the irritant that is George Dubya Bush and I scrap my opinions about the irritant that is George Dubya Bush. I don't, however, blog my ‘dirty laundry’ …in fact, I am more likely to scrap my dirty laundry (Not literally. Cos that would be smelly. And a bit silly. And did I mention smelly?) and keep it in an album for more private viewing so my daughter can know who I really am...when she’s emotionally mature and ready to (poor kid - you *thought* your mum was a marvel, and in fact she's a headcase...).

Blogging just allows me to get the memories down immediately and probably in more lengthy and wordy detail, and then scrapbooking allows me to get it on in an arty, photography, wordy way, but created over a longer period of time. With glue. And cutting implements. Happiness.

So, in short, I don’t believe they’re “versus” one another at all…they complement one another. And if you like one and not the other, no biggie. It’s when you actually don’t like one and feel obliged to do it from some sort of ‘everyone’s doing it and so I must be a bad mother/person/family historian if I don’t’ point of view that it becomes ridiculous. And slightly deranged.

What do *you* think...?

National Scrapbooking Day!

Oh I just know there are people out there now hooting with laughter, but yeeeees, yeeeeees, mock aaaaaaall you like. There is a National Scrapbooking Day (in fact, it should be International Scrapbooking Day because scrapbookers in North America, Europe, Australia, NZ etc. all celebrate on the same first Saturday in May). So there. Nuh.

And I was happily invited to go hang out with Gil and Katie-Jane and Jan at Sue Winters' house in Cardiff. And the liver and onions lunch at The Quarry didn't go amiss neither.

So, after months of scrapbooking inactivity (cos, quite frankly, every time I even looked at my scrapping stuff I would literally feel ill and panic-attacky), I have completed a page. And by jilly-jingo I did enjoy it. I enjoyed the company of lovely people. And I scrapped some of my favourite recent photos.

So...here you go. April Fool!
I'm off out to watch my girl on a trampoline for a bit and then a mooch round Asda. Party on down. Mwaaah x

Get on Facebook Lee Webb.

Conversation with Celyn...

...whilst driving her to her Nanny's yesterday:

Celyn: Mummy, when is that moneybanks day?

Me: *Looking puzzled* What? What day?

Celyn: Moneybanks day.

Me: *Completely not understanding and racking my brains thinking about something I might have said about money or piggybanks or giving her money on a certain day...* Um...can you explain what you mean? Tell me when I said it.

Celyn: You know. That day you told me about...moneybanks day, when I don't go to school

Me: *Ting...lightbulb goes on over my head* Oooooooh!!! Bank Holiday Monday!! *Now have to keep looking out of my right-hand window whilst driving, so she can't see me struggling like crazy to keep my guffaws of laughter under total control* Yes, yes *breathe, breathe..control, control* ...bank holiday Monday. That's this Monday luvvie...

How cool are these?!

It occurred to me I'd better shift my typing fingers and blog about this, because the video won't be around forever on the site. But wait, I'm rambling. Let me explain.

My mate Lee (who is, by the way, brilliant) 'invented' (created?) a new toy a couple of years ago. It's now on sale in FAO Schwarz in New York and will soon be in Macys all over America. I believe they're in Hamleys in London too. Well, aaaaaanywaaaaay...you've heard of Martha Stewart right? The cooking/home decor/general homemaking guru type person? Well, she has a TV show in the States and Lee was asked to be on it. With his toy. Knitwits. I'm not calling you knitwits...that's the name of the toy, nitwits!

So, last week he was on the show (he told me it was all very nervewracking..."don't look straight at the camera, got to get this done in one take (no pressure), be generally wonderful, ya di ya di ya") and this week the show is on her website. Oh yeah baby! So I got to watch my friend (who is truly one of my dearest friends, and yet because of that great big Atlantic Ocean in the middle of us, I haven't seen for...ummm...13 years now). Fun fun fun.

Bit of trivia...when Lee first graduated from university and moved to New York, he shared with 3 friends...one was Brett Helquist who is the illustrator of the Lemony Snicket books (A Series of Unfortunate Events...you know the ones), and another housemate was Rob Blackard (who I met on my trip to NY, NY 13 years ago as it happens...funny guy) who all scrapbookers out there will know as Rob from Rob & Bob Studio. Quite the household...

Aaaaaaanywaaaaay...here's the link to the video. You need to go to the right of the screen and click on the picture that says Quentin Webb Crafts (Quentin is Lee...I can't be tiddled to explain). Watch it. Enjoy the toys (they are REEEEALLY cool). Order one. Order TWO. Order some socks. Or go and pick your nose and do your dusting. Whatever.

Oh.

And the socks they're made from (LittleMissMatched) have a part of their website dedicated to these little fellas...each one has a personality you see. It's all to do with where odd socks disappear to... so check that out too. Click there...there...on the LittleMissMatched link...just there...). Bossy moo.

Mwwaaah x

What could YOU look at for eternity...?

...because I decided on Monday that one of my favourite things to stare at for an inordinate amount of time was bluebells. The colour of them is just wildly lucious and does things to me that might verge on rudeness. But only verge, cos I ain't THAT weird.

Not being a proper local to these 'ere Welshy parts, I had no clue where to even find a bluebell wood. Now, give me a Spring day in Reading and I could pootle off to any number of places of flowery loveliness, but round here, I am twp on all matters of bluebellness. However, I discovered that the beautiful Clyne Gardens in Swansea was the place to be and so, for Family Night, Celyn and I headed over there, camera in hand, child dressed in complementary colours (oh yes...of COURSE! And don't even ASK me about the bright yellow plastic binoculars she decided she had to bring, because how I managed to withhold wigging out at her is probably down to several deep breaths and a determination not to bring contention into the proceedings - LOL!).

So, here are the fruits of my labour. Clyne truly is a beautiful, beautiful park and worth a visit should you ever be down this way and you like a tree or two. Or indeed a bluebell.














The park also has, amongst many other plants, rhododendron bushes. Celyn posing with one of the petals that had dropped to the floor
Clyne Gardens is on the side of a hill and the sea is only a quick walk away from the bottom end of the park. The view from the top is lovely across Swansea Bay, Port Talbot in the distance.
Celyn loved the freedom of being outdoors. She was hard to keep still for a good photo!! This is her running, running, running!



At the top end of the park, by the entrance, is a little animal cemetery. Seriously. Dogs called Joy and Saucy have been buried there since the 1930s. Celyn enjoyed reading each of their names.















Funny conversation I had with Celyn today:

(additional information you need to know is that in her bedtime prayers, she always asks Heavenly Father to bless her with "no bad dreams" because she hates having nightmares)

Celyn: Mummy, do animals dream?
Me: Yes, I'm sure they do. In fact, I know they do because I've seen dogs twitch and wimper and wag their tails when they've been asleep, because they've been dreaming about something.
Celyn: So...are all their dreams good ones then? Because dogs can't say prayers...
Me: Good question Celyn...good question

Get on Facebook Lee Webb.

Britain's GOT TALENT!!!

I just had to share this clip (post below) from Saturday's Britain's Got Talent. I just LOVED this act, on so many levels! I think Amanda Holden summed it up perfectly!

Just for starters, the Michael Jackson dancing at the beginning was surprisingly good, although I did think, "Oh no...not ANOTHER Jackson tribute." And then the whole geezer with the broom fitting into the act was just HILARIOUS. Seriously, WHO can keep still with that great Punjabi music playing. So fab! Even Celyn started leaping around the living room to it :D Add Ant and Dec being their usual warm and witty selves, and that wonderful London crowd (they were just SO London! YEY!) thrown into the mix, and you have a winning bit of Saturday night TV for me.
I always get misty-eyed when I see people achieving like this. I tear up EVERY time I watch it. Dappy woman. I'm the same when I watch someone win a great sporting event. Am I alone in this?!

Oh...scoot to the bottom of this page to pause the Newton Faulkner music when you're watching the vid. Obviously.

Suleman (Signature) - Britain's Got Talent 2008 - Episode 3

Cranford! Cranford! Cranford!

Now, because I've been a bad blogger you lot out there may not know that I was completely, totally and utterly in love with the BBC drama 'Cranford' that was shown at the end of last year. Five one-hour moments of pure, unadulterated TV pleasure. And the last episode?! Well! I could barely contain myself, it was so intense in its emotional attack on my senses. Julia McKenzie's sterling monologue where she describes Miss Mattie's kindness when they were young ladies was truly a work of art. Philip Glenister and Alex What's-his-socks (Etel...that's it) as the estate manager and young boy he takes under his rather manly arm (phwaaa), and Francesca Annis, Judi Dench and Eileen Atkins were all worthy of damehood. Oh, the lovely doctor and the beautiful girl of his dreams...just fabulous. And of course, not to forget one of my very favourite actresses ever, Imelda Staunton and her most hilarious one-liners (she had me roaring with laughter every episode, the best of which was "...and ONE of them had...A HUMP!!" Genius.

I said at the time, 'That Cranford will be up for a slew of BAFTAs, you mark my words' and look, by golly, I'm right. The TV awards are on this very eve, and I am eagerly awaiting them (just LOVE an awards show) (followed by Desperate Housewives...must see TV evening coming up :D). So, in time-honoured tradition, I shall post my guesses for the winners, to see how I do. I expect Rob and Katie-Jane will be doing the same...phone calls between Pontardillydoolay and Usstrid Mynachie will ensue...

Before I begin, I would also like to say that I actually DON'T watch THAT much TV (seriously, I really don't) so I haven't watched 80% of the nominations, so a lot of this is pure guesswork. So.

Best Actor: Matthew MacFayden for Secret Life (just because he's a bit yummy really, oh sad lusty woman that I am)

Best Actress: Now, how hard is this? Eileen Atkins AND Judi Dench both up for Cranford. Aaaagh. Eileen Atkins. There. Done. Eeek. Hard one. Or perhaps it'll be Judi...shall I change my mind? No, no...can't decide. Both. There. I can't decide. Both. So there.

Entertainment Performance: Again, this one's hard cos I do like them all except Harry Hill who I NEVER laugh at and I find completely unfunny. Mmmm...I love Stephen Fry but I think it might be Alan Carr & Justin Lee Collins for The Friday Night Project.

Comedy Performance: Mmmm...James Corden for Gavin and Stacey (another hard one. Stephen Merchant and Peter Capaldi I think are both contenders too)

Sky Audience Award: Well, if this isn't Cranford then the viewing public are all asses.

Single Drama: Umm...didn't watch any of them. Right...The Mark of Cain

Drama Series: Life On Mars (another of my absolute favourites...just LOVE this show)

Drama Serial: Cranford. Cranford. Cranford. (um...Cranford)

Continuing Drama: Eastenders

International: Heroes (not seen any of them but heard a lot about this one on the grapevine)

Factual Series: Tribe (cos it's made in Wales!)

Specialist Factual: The Genius of Photography (cos I agree with the title - LOL)

Single Documentary: Beautiful Young Minds

Features: Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares

Current Affairs: China's Stolen Children

News Coverage: ITV Evening News

Sport: Wimbledon (seriously, who knows! LOL I just like tennis)

Interactivity: The X Factor

Entertainment Programme: Britain's Got Talent (another of my favourites)

Comedy Programme: No idea. Haven't watched any of them. Um...Fonejacker

Sit Com: The Thick of It (again, felt vibes about this one)

There we go. Bring it on.

Some days...

We all have them...some days leave us emotionally battered and weary as we skulk off to bed. We might feel unloved, unimportant, lonely, uninspired. Forgotten by heaven. And when we have a run of days such as these, they can leave scars. They test our faith. I know you know what I mean.

So. Yesterday I had one of those days. You know my tether? I'd reached the end of it. And it left me pretty grumpy and blue. Mostly blue. Same when I woke up this morning.

And then...the phone rang at lunchtime and my friend Ros was at the other end of a line of communication. "I was thinking about you. I thought I needed to call," she explained. I told her all my gripes, why life was particularly hard today, and she (it turns out) had the perfect story from her past to help me. Her mother had had a similar...in fact, worse...experience to mine and once again I learned that, damn it all, I am NOT unique and I am not special...but in a good way! In realising that we share common experiences, we understand that we are not weird or crazy or stupid. We're normal. Our self-esteem increases...our hope. And thus our faith.

Without judging my less-than-spiritual moaning, Ros was able to explain why she felt things had happened the way they had and suddenly I felt supported and loved. I always marvel at the capacity that women have to do this - we have a great, great gift in the way we connect one with another. Then Ros and I had a good old natter and a laugh about her family's recent holiday to Utah (I was amazed she hadn't bought a KitchenAid that was on sale for $205...that's just over a hundred quid folks. Was she a crazy woman!!!!???) By the end of the call, the little black cloud over the top of my head had floated off to precipitate on some Welsh hill, just leaving an artexed ceiling in its place.

And then. Later today I found a way of spending a weekend in Reading and going to the temple on the Saturday for just £24. My friend Steve is coming to Swansea on business and he's going to throw Celyn and me out at Reading on the way back to London on the Friday. We can catch a train back to Swansea on the Sunday - booked seats, cheap as chips. Cheaper than the petrol anyway (it would currently cost me £70 or more to go to the temple and back by car *cough*). So if you fancy meeting up with me, I shall be in Reading 9-11 May and at the temple on the 10th.

And then Steve sent me this. Reflections of Christ: Reflections Slideshow Seriously, you really must click on that link. And turn on your speakers.

And then I felt and knew that God was watching and caring for me the whole time and that despite feeling judged and belittled by others, despite my rebellious heart, He still loved me and he wanted me to know it. He inspired my friend to ring. He gave me a way to get to the temple that I'd been hoping for for weeks. And he filled my heart with beautiful, inspired thoughts of the Saviour.

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Hither by Thy help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee:
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, O take and seal it;
Seal it for Thy courts above.

Some days life is good.